Page 36 of The Bratty Heir

The room was thick with tension as Giovanni settled behind his massive desk. He regarded them with cold, assessing eyes, like a judge about to pass sentence.

"Explain," he said simply, the single word laden with threat.

Rocco opened his mouth, ready to take full responsibility. But Victor stepped forward, shoulders squared.

"It was my fault, sir," Victor said, voice steady despite the muscle ticking in his jaw. "I failed to adequately secure the perimeter. The blame lies with me."

Rocco's heart clenched at Victor's self-sacrifice. He couldn't let the older man take the fall for his recklessness.

"No," Rocco interjected, lifting his chin defiantly. "I disobeyed orders. I followed them to the club against explicit instructions. If anyone's to blame, it's me."

Giovanni's eyes narrowed, flicking between them. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating.

Finally, the don spoke, his voice deceptively calm. "I see. And is there anything else you'd like to tell me? Perhaps about the nature of your... relationship?"

Rocco's breath caught, panic clawing at his throat. He glanced at Victor, seeing his own fear reflected in those stormy eyes.

This was it. The moment of truth. Whatever they said next would determine not just their fate, but the future of the entire Rossetti family.

As the weight of Giovanni's stare bore down on them, Rocco made a silent vow. No more lies, no more hiding. Whatever the consequences, he would face them head-on.

With Victor by his side.

CHAPTER 14

WOUNDED SOULS

The silence in Giovanni's study stretched like a rubber band pulled taut, ready to snap at any moment. Rocco's heart thundered in his chest as he met his father's cold, assessing gaze.

"Well?" Giovanni prompted, his voice sharp as a blade. "I'm waiting for an answer."

Rocco opened his mouth, ready to lay it all bare. But before he could speak, Victor stumbled, a pained groan escaping his lips.

"Victor?" Rocco's attention snapped to the older man, worry eclipsing everything else. "What's wrong?"

Victor's face had gone ashen, a sheen of sweat beading on his brow. "It's nothing," he grunted, but his hand pressed against his side told a different story.

Rocco's eyes widened as he saw the dark stain spreading across Victor's shirt. "You're bleeding! Why didn't you say something?"

"Didn't... want to worry you," Victor managed through gritted teeth. His legs gave out, and Rocco barely caught him before he hit the floor.

"Dad, call an ambulance!" Rocco shouted, lowering Victor gently to the ground. He pressed his hands against the wound, trying to stem the flow of blood. "Stay with me, Victor. Don't you dare die on me, you stubborn bastard."

Giovanni barked orders into his phone, his voice a distant buzz in Rocco's ears. All he could focus on was Victor's ragged breathing, the weak flutter of his pulse beneath Rocco's fingers.

"'M fine," Victor slurred, his eyes struggling to focus on Rocco's face. "Just a scratch."

Rocco let out a choked laugh, tears stinging his eyes. "Bullshit. You're not allowed to check out on me, old man. We still have unfinished business."

Victor's lips quirked in a weak smile. "Bossy little brat," he murmured, his hand coming up to cup Rocco's cheek. "Love that about you."

Rocco's breath caught, his heart clenching painfully. But before he could respond, paramedics burst into the room, pushing him aside to tend to Victor.

The next few hours passed in a blur of sirens and sterile hospital corridors. Rocco paced the waiting room like a caged tiger, ignoring his father's attempts to send him home. He wouldn't leave, not until he knew Victor was okay.

Finally, a tired-looking doctor emerged. "Mr. Rossetti? Your... friend is out of surgery. The bullet missed any major organs, but he lost a lot of blood. The next 24 hours will be critical."

Rocco sagged with relief, his legs nearly giving out. "Can I see him?"

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