Page 49 of The Bratty Heir

"Oh, Daddy," he purred when Victor finished. "You always know just what I need."

Antonio, still on his knees, looked between them with growing terror. "What... what are you going to do to me?"

Rocco crouched down, meeting his uncle's gaze. "We're going to let you live, Uncle Tony," he said, voice dripping with false sweetness. "Isn't that generous of us?"

Relief flooded Antonio's face, quickly replaced by suspicion. "What's the catch?"

Victor stepped forward, his presence looming and dangerous. "The catch, you treacherous piece of shit, is that you're going to live with nothing. No money, no power, no family to call your own."

"We've already frozen all your accounts," Rocco continued, relishing the way the color drained from Antonio's face. "Your assets have been seized, your properties confiscated. As we speak, your wife is being informed of your... indiscretions with certain underage individuals."

Antonio spluttered, panic rising in his voice. "You can't do this! I'll go to the police, I'll?—"

"You'll what?" Victor cut him off, voice cold as ice. "Go to the cops with evidence of your own crimes? I'm sure they'd be very interested in hearing about your role in the Bianchi conspiracy."

Rocco stood, brushing imaginary dirt from his impeccable suit. "Face it, Uncle. You're done. By this time tomorrow, you'll be a pariah. No one will touch you, no one will help you. You'll be alone, with nothing but your miserable thoughts for company."

They left Antonio there, a broken shell of a man, sobbing on the floor of his soon-to-be-forfeit mansion. As they walked away, Victor pulled Rocco close, nipping at his ear.

"You did good, baby," he growled, pride evident in his voice. "Daddy's so fucking proud of you."

Rocco preened under the praise, arousal simmering low in his belly. "Take me home, Daddy," he breathed. "Want to celebrate properly."

Victor's eyes darkened with hunger. "Oh, we'll celebrate alright. Gonna fuck you so hard you forget your own name, little one."

They barely made it through the penthouse door before clothes started flying. Victor pinned Rocco against the wall, devouring his mouth in a searing kiss.

"Fuck, baby boy," Victor growled, grinding his hard length against Rocco's thigh. "You were so fucking hot back there, taking charge, destroying that piece of shit."

Rocco moaned, arching into Victor's touch. "All for you, Daddy," he gasped. "Want to make you proud."

Victor's hand wrapped around Rocco's throat, applying just enough pressure to make his breath hitch. "Oh, you do, sweetheart. You make Daddy so fucking proud."

What followed was a frenzy of passion, Victor taking Rocco apart piece by piece before putting him back together again. They christened every surface of the penthouse, their cries of pleasure echoing off the floor-to-ceiling windows.

As they lay tangled in sweat-soaked sheets, basking in the afterglow, Rocco couldn't help but marvel at how far they'd come. From reluctant charge and frustrated bodyguard to this—partners in every sense of the word, united in love and power and delicious depravity.

Victor pressed a tender kiss to Rocco's forehead, a stark contrast to the bruising grip he'd had on Rocco's hips just moments ago. "What's going on in that pretty head of yours, baby?"

Rocco snuggled closer, relishing the solid warmth of Victor's chest. "Just thinking about everything that's happened. How different things are now."

Victor's arms tightened around him protectively. "Any regrets?"

Rocco lifted his head, meeting Victor's gaze with fierce determination. "Not a single one. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me, Daddy. I wouldn't change a thing."

A rare, soft smile spread across Victor's face. He cupped Rocco's cheek, thumb brushing over his swollen lips. "Good. Because you're stuck with me now, little one. No take-backs."

Rocco grinned, pressing a playful kiss to Victor's palm. "Wouldn't dream of it, old man."

As they drifted off to sleep, tangled in each other's arms, Rocco felt a sense of peace settle over him. The future stretched out before them, full of possibility and promise. Whatever challenges came next, he knew they'd face them together.

Two halves of a whole, forged in fire and blood. Unbreakable. Unstoppable.

And God help anyone who tried to come between them.

TWO YEARS LATER—EPILOGUE

The New York skyline glittered like a jewel box against the inky night as Rocco gazed out the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Rossetti penthouse. So much had changed in the past two years, yet the city's frenetic energy remained a constant, a familiar heartbeat beneath his feet.

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