Page 45 of The Bratty Heir

As Rocco worked on starting the car, his hands steady despite the adrenaline coursing through his veins, Victor reached out to cup his cheek. "I'm proud of you, baby," he murmured, voice rough with pain and emotion. "You handled yourself like a true don back there."

Rocco leaned into the touch, his heart swelling with a complicated mix of love, fear, and fierce protectiveness.

The engine roared to life, and Rocco peeled out of the warehouse district, tires squealing on the asphalt. His knuckles were white on the steering wheel as he navigated the dark streets, constantly checking the rearview mirror for any signs of pursuit.

"We need to get you to a doctor," Rocco said, glancing worriedly at Victor. The older man's face was pale, a sheen of sweat on his brow.

Victor shook his head, grimacing. "Too risky. We don't know who we can trust. Head for the safe house on Staten Island."

Rocco wanted to argue, but he knew Victor was right. With Carmine's betrayal, they had no way of knowing how deep the corruption in their ranks went. They were on their own.

As they crossed the Verrazzano Bridge, leaving the chaos of Brooklyn behind, Rocco felt the first tendrils of exhaustion creeping in. The adrenaline was wearing off, leaving him shaky and sore.

"Stay with me, Daddy," he murmured, reaching out to squeeze Victor's hand. "We're almost there."

Victor's grip was weak but present. "Not going anywhere, baby boy," he rasped. "You're stuck with me."

The safe house was a nondescript brownstone in a quiet neighborhood. Rocco pulled into the garage, his heart racing as he helped Victor out of the car. The older man leaned heavily on him, his breathing labored.

Once inside, Rocco eased Victor onto the couch and rushed to grab the first aid kit. His hands trembled as he cut away Victor's blood-soaked shirt, revealing the angry wound beneath.

"Fuck," Rocco hissed, panic rising in his throat. "Victor, I don't know if I can?—"

"Yes, you can," Victor said firmly, his hand coming up to cup Rocco's cheek. "I trust you, baby. You've got this."

Drawing strength from Victor's unwavering faith, Rocco set to work. He cleaned and dressed the wound as best he could, grateful for the extensive medical training Victor had insisted on.

"There," he said finally, sitting back on his heels. "It's not pretty, but it should hold until we can get you proper medical attention."

Victor managed a weak smile. "My hero," he murmured, his eyes heavy with exhaustion and pain.

Rocco's heart clenched. He'd never seen Victor so vulnerable, so human. It scared him more than he wanted to admit.

"Rest now," he said softly, pressing a gentle kiss to Victor's forehead. "I'll keep watch."

As Victor drifted into a fitful sleep, Rocco paced the small living room. His mind raced, trying to piece together the events of the night. Carmine's betrayal, Bianchi's resurgence, the chaos at the warehouse—it all pointed to a larger conspiracy.

But who was behind it all? And more importantly, who could they still trust?

Rocco's eyes landed on his phone, sitting innocuously on the coffee table. He knew he should call his father, let the family know what had happened. But something held him back. A nagging doubt, a seed of suspicion he couldn't quite shake.

What if the rot went all the way to the top?

The thought sent a chill down Rocco's spine. He'd always known his father was capable of ruthlessness, but this? Selling out his own son, his most trusted lieutenant?

Rocco shook his head, trying to banish the traitorous thoughts. He was letting paranoia get the best of him. His father might be a lot of things, but he wouldn't betray family. Would he?

A soft groan from the couch pulled Rocco from his spiraling thoughts. He was at Victor's side in an instant, worry creasing his brow.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, checking Victor's forehead for signs of fever.

Victor's eyes fluttered open, hazy with pain but alert. "Like I've been shot," he deadpanned. "But I'll live. Thanks to you, baby boy."

Rocco managed a weak smile. "Don't thank me yet. We're not out of the woods."

Victor's hand came up to cup Rocco's cheek, his touch achingly tender. "We will be," he said softly. "Together."

The simple declaration, filled with such unwavering faith, nearly broke Rocco. He leaned into Victor's touch, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill.

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