Page 34 of The Bratty Heir

Decision made, Rocco crept along the wall towards the club's back door. The lock was child's play—he'd spent enough misspent nights sneaking in and out to know all its weaknesses.

As the door clicked open, Rocco sent up a silent prayer. To whatever god looked after foolish mafia princes and the men who loved them.

The service corridor was blessedly empty, the sounds of the club growing louder as Rocco made his way towards the main floor. He passed the DJ booth, snagging a bottle of top-shelf vodka on his way.

In the swirling chaos of the dance floor, no one paid him any mind. Sweaty bodies writhed to the pounding beat, blissfully unaware of the life-and-death struggle unfolding just outside.

Rocco weaved through the crowd, making his way to the raised VIP section. From here, he had a clear view of the emergency exit that led to the alley. More importantly, he had access to the club's electrical panel.

With shaking hands, Rocco pried open the panel. The tangle of wires and switches might as well have been written in Greek, but he didn't need to understand it all. He just needed to cause enough mayhem to give Victor an edge.

Taking a deep breath, Rocco yanked out a handful of wires.

The effect was instantaneous. The music cut out mid-beat, plunging the club into eerie silence. A moment later, the house lights flickered and died, leaving only the pulsing glow of the emergency strips.

Panicked shouts rose from the crowd as people stumbled in the darkness. Rocco used the confusion to his advantage, shoving his way towards the emergency exit.

He burst out into the alley just as all hell broke loose.

Victor and his men had used the distraction to gain ground, pushing Bianchi's crew back towards the street. But Marco himself was nowhere to be seen.

A flicker of movement caught Rocco's eye. There—slipping back into the club through a side door. Bianchi was trying to escape through the panicked crowd.

Without thinking, Rocco took off in pursuit. He shouldered his way through the mass of bodies, eyes locked on Bianchi's retreating form.

He caught up to the rival boss just as they reached the main bar. Bianchi whirled, eyes widening in surprise as he recognized Rocco.

"Well, well," he drawled, recovering quickly. "If it isn't the Rossetti golden boy himself. Come to play hero?"

Rocco's fists clenched at his sides, fury bubbling in his veins. "It's over, Bianchi. Your men are outnumbered, and the cops will be here any minute."

Bianchi's laugh was cold and cruel. "Oh, you sweet summer child. You really think this ends here? This is just the beginning."

Before Rocco could react, Bianchi lunged forward. Pain exploded in Rocco's abdomen as the older man's fist connected. He doubled over, gasping for air.

Bianchi used the moment to make a break for it, shoving aside panicked clubgoers as he made for the exit. Rocco straightened, ignoring the ache in his gut as he gave chase.

They burst out onto the street, the cool night air a shock after the stuffy heat of the club. Bianchi sprinted towards a waiting car, its engine already revving.

"Stop!" Rocco shouted, desperation giving him a burst of speed. He couldn't let Bianchi get away, not after everything they'd sacrificed to bring him down.

Just as Bianchi reached for the car door, a shot rang out. The rival boss stumbled, clutching his shoulder as blood blossomed across his expensive shirt.

Rocco whirled to see Victor standing there, gun still raised and smoking. The older man's face was a mask of cold fury as he advanced on Bianchi.

"It's over," Victor growled, his voice leaving no room for argument. "On your knees, you piece of shit."

Bianchi sank to the ground, his trademark smirk replaced by a grimace of pain and defeat. Victor kept his gun trained on the fallen boss as he turned to Rocco.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" he demanded, eyes blazing with a mixture of anger and fear. "I told you to stay put!"

Rocco lifted his chin, defiance warring with the desperate need to feel Victor's arms around him. "I couldn't just sit back and do nothing. Not when you were in danger."

Victor's jaw clenched, a vein throbbing at his temple. For a moment, Rocco thought the older man might actually shoot him out of sheer frustration.

But before either of them could speak, a deafening explosion rocked the night. They turned in unison to see flames erupting from the roof of The Inferno.

"Fuck," Victor cursed, already moving towards the burning building. "There are still people inside!"

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