Taken by the Italian Mafia: A Dark City Romance (17 page)

S
afe in Rocco's arms
, warm beneath the sheets, Whitney had never slept more soundly. Exhaustion from terror was real, but so was the relief from it that followed. Now that the shock had worn off and she'd found her safety net, Whitney cherished every second that she was still alive.

And as messed up as it made her feel, she didn't recall a time when she was happier.

Even living paycheck to paycheck, career uncertain, the fleeting nature of life had never hit her as hard as it had in the last twenty-four hours. There was no predicting what would happen, and it was a fact of life Whitney had to learn to live with whether she was with Rocco or if she was on her own. What mattered was how you dealt with it and got through it, and Whitney was done with worrying. Instead, she intended to live each moment to the fullest and enjoy what good she had while it lasted.

It didn't last long.

In what felt like seconds after she'd closed her eyes and fallen asleep, the slam of their closed bedroom door against the wall startled her awake. The hall light was off, but even in the shadows, Whitney could recognize the stumpy, chubby silhouette of the man in the doorway.

Arturo.

"You killed Mikhail?!" Arturo roared as he entered the room. Whitney was awake at once, and clutched her robe around her as she scrambled up towards the headboard. Rocco had already sat up, peering at his brother through the darkness. "You fuckin' killed Mikhail over some black slut? All this bullshit over a tight cunt and a taboo, Rocco? Are you shitting me?"

"She's not a slut, she's not a taboo lay, and what we do behind closed doors is none of your fuckin' business," Rocco growled. He rose from the bed. "You leave her the fuck alone and stop sticking your nose in my business! I'm Don now, and you're going to listen to what I tell you, or God help you, Arturo, I won't be held responsible for what happens."

The whites of Arturo's teeth caught in the moonlight as he sneered. A rustle of fabric followed a quick hand gesture, and he pointed his gun at Rocco's head. Rocco froze. Naked and unarmed, Arturo had the clear, lethal advantage.

"You know what?" Arturo said, holding his aim steady. "I'm fuckin' sick of your bullshit power trips and your superiority complex. Ooh, I'm Rocco. I'm dad's favorite and I'm gonna be Don one day, so you'd better shut your trap, Arturo. Ooh, we're in a war with the Black Mafia? I'll just bang this black slut anyway cuz I'm above the rules."

"Arturo, stop—"

"Arturo, stop! I don't like it when you call me out on my BULLSHIT. WHY CAN'T YOU JUST BE BLIND TO ALL MY FUCKUPS LIKE DAD IS?"
 
Arturo burst into screaming, eyes wild and shoulders tight with unchecked rage and delusion. "Well you know what, Rocco? Dad's in fuckin' jail. Now that he's locked up there's only one thing that's stopping ME from being on top, and that's you."

A flick of his thumb unlocked the safety. Whitney gasped. Rocco was frozen on the spot, face a cold mask of impartiality.

"So buckle in for a wild ride," Arturo sneered. All of a sudden his aim pivoted from Rocco to Whitney, muzzle of his gun trained directly at her skull. "Cuz I'm gonna ride her until she's beggin' me to stop. I'm gonna make you watch as I slice away that black skin until she's all pink and red all over. As she's still alive and screaming in agony, I'm gonna go back and fuck that pretty pussy you love so much until I'm ready to shoot my load all over her skinless carcass. I'm gonna slice off those lips and make her eat the pieces. I'm gonna—"

An inhuman cry of rage echoed through the room and cut Arturo off mid sentence. Emotion slipped through Rocco's stony mask, overriding the hardened criminal he had fostered through the years. Before Arturo knew what was happening, Rocco lunged through the air at him, fists swinging.

The gun went off. A deafening pop and the bright light of an explosion filled the room with their violence. Whitney dropped onto the bed, but searing pain shot through her, burning like nothing she had ever felt before. The sensation was so overwhelming she had no idea where it originated from. All she knew was that she'd been shot.

"YOU FUCKIN' BASTARD!" Rocco cried. Another shot went off, but the bullet lodged into the wall. The sound of metal skittering across the hardwood floor marked the moment the gun was struck from Arturo's hands. Rocco was on the attack, and no injury was going to stop him from defending Whitney's honor.

Both men fell to the floor, screaming at each other. Their voices mingled as one, words impossible to pick out. Fists flew. One moment Rocco had pinned Arturo to the ground, slamming his fist into his face as he had the night before on the stairs, and the next Arturo had gained the advantage and was sinking low blows in an attempt to cripple his brother. Even as she lay in agony on the bed, warm blood seeping from her shoulder, Whitney knew that no matter what, the key to victory lay in the one gun that had skidded across the room. She couldn't let Arturo have it. Gritting her teeth and struggling to rise, Whitney got up from the bed and staggered across the floor. The gun had come to a stop when it met the wall. She scooped it up and held it tight, finger hovering near the trigger. If Arturo came at her or Rocco broke away from him, she would shoot him. Until then, she didn't want to kill the wrong man.

Rocco's fist connected a savage blow with the back of Arturo's head. Arturo slumped, momentarily stunned, and Rocco ripped the belt from around his brother's waist and wrapped it around his neck. By the time Arturo began to recover, it was too late. Rocco rose to his feet and planted his foot against Arturo's head to secure it in place. With one hand he pulled on the length of the belt, tightening the choker until Arturo struggled to breathe. Still, Rocco pressed onward. Whitney watched as Arturo's face turned bright red, the color visible even in the low light of the bedroom. His noises he made grew fainter, then stopped entirely. Still Rocco pulled at the belt. It wasn't until Arturo's body had laid still and silent for a good thirty seconds that he dared drop the noose.

Arturo was dead.

"Goddamn it," Rocco muttered, taking his foot away to stand beside his brother's corpse. "God fucking damn it, Arturo. I told you what would happen. I fucking told you."

Whitney lowered the gun she held, her relief greater than any sorrow she felt. The gesture caught Rocco's attention, and he turned his head to look at her. There was no question that this man was dangerous, a man who didn't hesitate to kill, but there was also no question that Rocco was a man who would defend Whitney at any cost. He was a man she could count on.

"Are you okay?" he asked. "You're bleeding. Oh fuck, are you okay?" The vulnerability cracked his voice, and Rocco rushed to her side to hold her close. At long last, Whitney looked down at herself. The bullet had worked its way through her shoulder, mirroring the location of the stab wounds Mikhail had inflicted on Rocco.

"I got shot," she mumbled, numb. "I can't believe it. I can't believe I'm still alive."

Rocco's clenched around hers, forcing her fingers to hold the gun that much tighter. He clicked on the safety as he did so.

"And I want you to stay alive. This gun, it's yours now. You keep it on you wherever you go. I'm gonna teach you how it works, how to load it, where the safety is, how to aim... No one is going to threaten you again. If ever I'm not around, I need you to know how to stick up for yourself. No one is going to fuck with us."

"No one," Whitney parroted back, dazed. The pain was vibrant and real, but with Rocco there it didn't seem all that bad. At his side she found protection. At his side she found strength and adoration. More than adoration... As insane as it was, Whitney knew that her feelings ran deeper than that. In the wake of yet another attempt on her life, facing her mortality, she knew it clearer than ever before.

"You got it," Rocco praised, pressing a loving kiss to the side of her head. "You got it, babe. You and me, I promise. We're in this together now. We've even got matching battle wounds to prove it. I promise you're gonna be okay."

"Rocco," the suddenness of the word startled even Whitney. She fixed him with her gaze, knowing that if she didn't speak now, she wouldn't have the guts to say it again. "I love you."

He kissed her with raw passion, and when he pulled away, his blues stared down at her with the kind of love she'd been looking for all her life.

"And I love you too, Whitney Greene," he whispered to her. "You told me once that the world was ours. Now I think that you were right."

          Rocco pulled her to the door of the bedroom. He threw the white robes they'd worn from the bathroom back over them. Whitney's quickly soaked through with blood.

"I'm taking you to the Lombardo doctors, screw the police investigations. C'mon. We've gotta vacate the area anyway so my own clean up guys can take care of this mess."

They left the house together, settling back into the car to drive back to the city to seek care from the Lombardo family doctors. On the drive, Whitney watched Rocco as he worked. Already on the phone with his clean up crew, on his way to take care of her injury, he was exactly the right kind of man for the job. Tough, responsible, and unwilling to back down from the problem at hand.
Would it be tough to stick by his side? Likely
, Whitney thought. The danger of being associated with one of the most lethal men in New York was unlike any she'd faced before, but then again, Whitney had never had an easy life.
What was one more hurdle if it meant she finally had the love she'd wanted since she was small?

One more hurdle was nothing. Rocco was worth it all. The mysterious stranger who'd enchanted her from first glance was hers. No matter what business he was a part of, she wasn't willing to let him go.

E
pilogue

 The Lombardo penthouse was beautiful. Whitney had never lived in such splendor before. Through the broad windows, New York stretched out before her as though she owned it all. 

When it came down to it, that wasn't all that far off from the truth. In six short months Rocco had risen to power in ways Vittore could never had dreamed of, so she was told. For the most part, Whitney liked to stay out of the family business, but when they paid their visits to Vittore at Stonecrest Penitentiary, the former Don covertly gushed as much. 

The pride in Rocco's father’s eyes wasn't put on. Whatever Rocco was doing, it was great. Regardless, he still worked tirelessly to try to find a loophole to spring his father from jail. Vittore had been sentenced for life, but Rocco was determined to find a technicality in there somewhere. There always was.

"I've got work tonight, babe," Rocco called to her from the bedroom where he dressed following a long shower. Whitney reclined on one of their couches, a book propped open. 

The television on the wall cost more money than she'd ever had on hand. While Whitney wasn't sure how much the paintings and other artwork that livened the space were worth, she wasn't sure she wanted to know. Deep down she was still the same girl she'd been before she'd met Rocco, but now that girl had access to riches beyond her wildest dreams.

"You call me as soon as your safe," Whitney called back. "Doesn't matter if it's four in the morning, I'll answer." The call was dear to her now. Every time Rocco went out she worried. Despite his assurances that as Don, he was far less involved with any messy business. There were underlings for that now. His presence was only required for certain situations.

"Before I go, though," he called from the bedroom, "there is one thing that I
 
want."

Whitney frowned and tucked the receipt of her book to mark her place. This wasn't the typical exchange.

"Um, yeah? What's that?" she asked.

The bedroom door opened and Rocco stepped out, dressed up sharp and looking as handsome as he'd ever been before. The remote for the television was in his hand, and he clicked it on before tossing the remote onto a nearby couch. Whitney turned her head to look at the screen, but as she did, the first notes struck her hard and registered at once.

Michael Jackson's Smooth Criminal began to play.

Whitney's heart jumped into her throat.

Rocco sank down to his knee before her, maintaining eye contact. From his back pocket she withdrew a small black box. From the look of it alone, Whitney knew what was inside — a ring.

"Oh my god," she whispered. "Oh my god, oh my—"

"I want you to marry me," Rocco said as he pulled back the lid on the box. Upon a golden band sat an exquisite princess cut diamond, its inner fire dazzling. Smaller diamonds aligned upon the band, making the whole thing sparkle. "I'm a man of my word, Ms. Greene. We're in this together. I want to make it official."

"Oh my god," Whitney whispered. She cast her book aside and stood on shaking legs. "Rocco, I... Yes! Of course I'll marry you!"

A satisfied smirk spread across his face as he took the ring and slipped it onto her left ring finger. The ring was barely on before Whitney caught him by the hands and drew him into a standing position. Before he could catch his balance, she threw her arms around him and held him tight.

"I can't believe you did this now, right when you're about to go to work."

"Mmm, a strategic move on my part," Rocco said with a grin. "While I'm gone you can let the excitement build, and then when I get home, you can reward me in whatever way you see fit."

"Then you better damn well come home to me tonight," Whitney insisted. "I don't want to lose my fiancé before I can show him in full how excited I am to be his future wife."

"A Lombardo is nothing if not honest," Rocco whispered into her ear and kissed the bottom lobe in parting. He pulled from her embrace and kissed her once on the lips before turning to head towards the door. "... When the circumstances allow it, of course. But I swear, you are my reason to keep coming home. I'll be back home before you know it."

Rocco's hand was on the door, already set to go. Whitney's knees still trembled as she watched him, overwhelmed with happiness at the prospect of their future together. For now, and forever.

"I'll see you later, handsome."

"Before you know it, Mrs. Lombardo."

And as the door closed behind him, their future began.