OBSIDIAN HEIR

Chapter 2 - Siena

When Rocco finally woke, everything felt wrong. The only thing he saw were the sterile, the machines, and the plain white wall. His body was aching and his body parts being bandaged. He realized what happened.

The last thing he remembered was Draco and his voice, his blood, his grip slipping away. Then fire. Then nothing.

He wasn’t in a hospital. He’s sure of it. Because despite the empty area and white wall, a stinky smell can still be noticed around.

He thought he’s alone however when he saw a man sitting in the chair across from him, arms crossed, expression unreadable. He realized, there’s someone else in there.

Rocco had seen him before. A family associate. One of his father’s quietest allies. He wore expensive suits and never showed emotion.

Now, he looked at Rocco like a craftsman assessing a shattered blade.

“You survived,” Alejandro said. There was no warmth in it.

“Why am I here? Where is my family?”

Rocco tried to sit up, but his body wouldn't move the way it used to. Everything is just so painful.

“Your property shuts right after that ambush. Sadly, your father didn’t survive. As well as your brother.”

“What?” angered fueled him. “Why did they do it?” His voice cracked as he spoke.

Alejandro leaned forward, locking eyes with him.

“The general,” he said coldly. “He ordered to ambush your property and kill everyone.”

Rocco blinked, dazed. The general?

Alejandro didn’t give him time to process it. He pulled out a photo from a file and placed it gently on the bedside table.

“This man ordered your family’s destruction. He hid behind his uniform and let others do the killing for him. But make no mistake—it was his bullet that ended your father’s life.”

Rocco stared at the face. The man’s expression was stiff, formal, a photo taken in uniform, all medals.

Alejandro’s voice lowered, calm but sharp. “He burned your home to the ground. Killed your father. Slaughtered your men. And took your brother from you.”

Rocco’s hands curled into fists beneath the blanket.

“He’s already dead now,” Alejandro added, voice tinged with disgust. “I killed him. I tried to rescue your brother but it’s too impossible. So I saved you instead.”

Rocco’s chest heaved with shallow, aching breaths. He didn’t know what to say. The grief was still new, so deep it hadn’t settled.

“Do you want them to live freely while you lose your entire family?”

Rocco said nothing. The thought barely registered.

“I could help you get revenge,” Alejandro continued, lighting a cigar with a flick of silver, “Manuel was a good friend of mine so I could help you.”

His hand ball his fist. “How?”

Alejandro crushed the cigar into the ashtray and stood. “You don’t need to worry about that. Your path is already written.”

Rocco swallowed. “What path?”

“To rise,” Alejandro said. “To rebuild what they tried to erase. And when the time comes, to make sure the last remnant of that bloodline is buried just like the same as your family.”

He turned to leave, but paused at the door.

“You’re not a boy anymore, Rocco. You should get your revenge.”

Rocco felt the rage. Something to hate. Something to hunt. Something that would justify all the pain.

All he knew was that his brother was dead. His family gone. And someone had to be held responsible.

So when Alejandro asked, days later, if he was ready to become something more, Rocco nodded.

And didn’t speak again for weeks.

THE gym smelled like sweat, iron, and rage.

Rocco's fists slammed into the punching bag again and again, each hit harder than the last. The leather thudded under his hands, swinging violently on its chain. His shirt clung to his back, soaked. His chest rose and fell, jaw clenched, lips tight.

Still not enough.

His knuckles throbbed under the wraps. The ache felt good. He needed it. Needed to feel something that wasn’t this constant pressure choking him.

He felt more anger as he punched when he remembered Alejandro said in their talk earlier.

“New intel came in from Valencia,” he said. “Surveillance flagged someone. But I felt like –”

Rocco opened the folder. A photo of a girl with dark hair, soft eyes, and a simple smile. She looked… normal. Ordinary.

But Alejandro’s voice darkened. “We retrieve the data of Ariana Alivio. There was no body of her found so probably, just like I told you, she’s out there, very alive.”

His brows furrowed as he looked at the city lights in front of him.

“She’s the final thread,” Alejandro said. “And I want you to find her and make her feel your pain. We’ve waited for fifteen years for this.”

Alejandro’s voice played over and over in his head like a bad echo.

They didn’t even know what the girl looked like now — just an old name: Ariana Alivio and her old old photo. Honestly, she looked familiar to him but maybe because Alejandro keeps on showing him different pictures of Ariana’s siblings, making him remember them as well.

He was tired of ghosts.

Tired of being told to wait. To hunt air. To burn everything down in case she might be hiding under it.

His fist cracked into the bag again. Harder this time.

The pain spiked, sharp and welcome.

But it wasn’t enough. Nothing was.

Rocco stepped back, breathing rough, chest tight. He ran a hand down his face, sweat dripping from his jaw.

He needed to f**k.

That was what it was. Plain and simple. He didn’t want comfort or company. He wanted to bury himself inside someone and forget everything for one damn hour.

He grabbed his phone off the bench and called someone. The line clicked after one ring.

“Mr. Montenegro,” a soft voice greeted, smooth and trained. “It’s been a while. Would you like someone tonight?”

Rocco didn’t waste time. “I want someone who knows how to f**k and doesn’t ask questions.”

“Of course, sir,” the woman replied, calm and quick. “Would you like one of our regulars?”

“No. Someone new. I don’t want to look at a face I’ve seen before.”

There was a pause on the line.

“We have someone fresh,” the voice said after a moment. “New. No history. Clean. Smart. Beautiful. Submissive, if you want her that way.”

Rocco let out a slow breath. That’s what he needed. Someone untouched by this world.

“I don’t like virgins.” His jaw clenched after saying it.

The woman gave a soft laugh. “Then you might want to skip this one… but I don’t think you should. She’s trained, just…a virgin. That makes her more fun, doesn’t it?”

He didn’t reply.

“You can take a look,” she added. “I’ll send her file now. Your eyes only.”

A few seconds passed before his phone buzzed. One photo. A name: Siena Reyes.

Rocco tapped it open.

The picture wasn’t like the usual ones. No forced posing. Just her face turned slightly toward a window, light catching her cheekbone. Lips parted. Eyes soft. There was something… untouched about her. Something quiet, almost innocent.

Something that didn’t belong in his world.

He stared at the screen a moment longer than necessary. Not because she was beautiful — plenty of them were. But because something about her felt wrong. Out of place. Familiar, but not.

His jaw flexed.

“Send her,” he said. Voice hard now. Done talking. He ended the call.

The photo still glowed on his phone screen for a second longer before he locked it. Turned it face down.

He shut his eyes and look again at the photo. Something about those eyes…

They were going to f**k with him.

And he already knew it.