Taken by the Italian Mafia: A Dark City Romance (8 page)

          "I'll be good," Whitney promised. "Goodnight."

          "Goodnight."

          There were no more words exchanged. Today was one screwed up of a day he was eager to be done with. If Whitney's luck was contagious, tomorrow would bring better things.

T
he lights were
out and the room was silent. Yet each breath she took was proof that Whitney was still alive. 

Somehow. 

Still alive after being taken at gunpoint. Still alive after she was supposed to be executed in an abandoned warehouse. And, thank God, still alive after almost being raped by a monster. She was lying in bed next to the man who should have killed her by now.

If only Oprah could see her now.

Whitney lay on her back and did her best to digest what she'd been through. What had started as a crappy day at work had turned into chaos beyond anything she could have imagined. Given what she knew now, she would've shaken the new girl's hand and trained her herself. Hell, she would've sat down with Liam and discussed how thirty was the new sixty if you worked at a bar. Anything would've been better than meeting Rocco by the dumpsters.

Only the more she thought about it, the more she knew that wasn't true.

Rocco had abducted her, but Whitney couldn't help but see his redeeming qualities. Since she'd spotted him in the bar, before she knew what kind of a man he was, she'd felt a pull towards him. Something rare and addicting. Sure, initially it was just because of his looks. As the night wore on and Rocco opened himself to her, she got a better feel for the man, and realized her attraction ran deeper than the superficial.

Rocco could have walked away as Arturo raped and choked her to death. It was Rocco's plan to have her killed, leaving her to Arturo would have simplified the process. Yet he'd dove down the stairs, naked, to come to her defence. He'd beaten his brother senseless to make sure he backed off. There was a deeper connection there than Whitney could discount. If she were to guess, Rocco wasn't keeping her alive because he had to — not anymore. There had been plenty of chances to kill her, and yet one excuse or another had prevented him from taking action. Whitney had never been that lucky her whole life. Something else was at play here, something a lot more human.

A small sigh signalled that Rocco was settling in for the night. Whitney felt the mattress shift as he rolled over.

And truth be told, she found herself sympathetic. Rocco had threatened to ruin her life, but he had definitely saved it as well. The way he'd come running down those stairs to save her life — there was no other way to explain it away other than protectiveness. As long as she was by his side and didn't cause trouble, Whitney knew she'd be okay. Rocco was going to keep her safe, even though he was dangerous.

No longer comfortable on her back, Whitney rolled over onto her side facing away from Rocco and curled up in a little ball. Moments of extreme hardship built character, she told herself. It happened when she was little and her mom left her out of the blue, when her grandma died, and each time a new foster family dropped the facade and began to neglect her. Although many years had passed since her life had been as tragic as it had been during her childhood, it didn't mean she was invulnerable. Tonight was a good reminder of her mortality and the fragility of life. Tonight Whitney told herself that this would teach her to let go.
What was the point of life if you didn't stop to enjoy it?
It was time to enjoy as she never had before.

"Mmph, you don't toss and turn in your sleep, do you?" Rocco's sleepy voice startled her, and Whitney turned her head towards him. He was close — closer than she remembered. When she didn't reply, he exhaled another sigh and slid an arm over her waist to hold her loosely. To Whitney's surprise, he pressed against her back and spooned her.
Was he awake, or had he done this in his dreams?

Unsure of the answer, and not sure if she cared to know, Whitney closed her eyes. The worries and stress slipped away when she was close to him. Rocco's body was warm and comforting. Here she was safe from Arturo.

For now, she was happy, and despite the terror she faced earlier in the day, Whitney couldn't wish for much more.

T
he beach house
, Rocco would recognize those clean white walls and seashell decor anywhere. The house's dining room faced the water, opening out onto the deck that led down onto the sandy dunes. The sky was clear, light bright and yet dreamy, like there wasn't a care in the world to be had. The days at the beach house had always been the calmest times of Rocco's life. Those were the days before Arturo had grown into a terror, the days before he was responsible for the deaths of others. Everything was just as Rocco remembered it.
Had nothing really changed after all these years?

On bare feet he walked forward, the hard wood cool against his soles.
How had he gotten here?
His father had given the beach house away to an associate he was pleased with, despite Rocco's cries to the contrary. One moment it had been his favorite place in the world, and the next he was told he'd never see it again.

Translucent white curtains billowed, Rocco caught the scent of the sea and stopped. New York wasn't exactly far from any body of water, but the air smelled different here than it did in the city. It was crisper. Better. Perfect. He stood still and admired the smell.

At the long, pale colored dining room table there sat a man. Rocco hadn't noticed him for a long while, but when he did, there was no shock or surprise. It was only natural that Vittore Lombardo would want to sit at the table in the house he owned. Rocco turned his head to look at him, and managed to smile. After keeping a serious expression for so long, the gesture felt alien on his face.

"Rocco," his father said with some warmth and an inviting hand gesture, "come sit down. Sit with your old man. Let's talk."

Rocco moved across the space that separated them and drew back the chair to Vittore's right. The gesture was effortless.

"I miss this place," Rocco said.

"I miss it, too," Vittore replied. "Sometimes the price you pay to keep the ones you love safe is worth the heartache of sacrifice. Sometimes it's not."

Vittore was never so straightforward. Rocco curled his arm on the table and leaned against it, watching his father's face as it spoke. Despite his age, Vittore was still handsome. Cunning blue eyes, so much like Rocco's, sparkled behind modest wrinkles. Vittore's hair was greying, but with age came dignity. No man dared disrespect such a distinguished Don. One day, Rocco hoped he could amount to half the man his father was.

"I'm thirty-seven, and I still feel like I've got so much to learn," Rocco lamented. Casual talk like this was not his father's preferred style of communication, and yet here they were. Rocco felt at ease to share anything, and hear anything. In this moment, his life was good. "How can I ever fill in for you when I still feel like an amateur at my age?"

"If you didn't feel like an amateur," Vittore replied, "there'd be something wrong with you. The business we're in, Rocco, it's not a business for men with weak hearts or weak wills. This is the work of giants, the work of generations. If you weren't a little concerned about stepping up to fill your old man's shoes, I'd be worried about you."

Truth held in those words, and Rocco sank back against his chair and soaked them in. Everything felt hazy and slow, like waking from a great night's sleep and feeling warm and rested beneath the sheets.

"Were you worried when you took over?"

"Of course I was," Vittore replied. "And so was every other Don. It's part of the territory. But you, there's something special about you. There's something good. Ever since you were a little boy I've been shaping you, building you into the man you need to be. You're a good boy, Rocco. A good son. A good worker. I expect a lot from you, but only because I know you are capable. I trust you, and in this industry, that's a hell of a lot to say.”

Trust. Rocco closed his eyes and though for a long moment. The room felt like it was spinning, and yet he couldn't recall why.
Was it because he'd had something to drink? That must have been it.

"That means a lot to me. I just hope that I can live up to your expectations and do you proud."

"You'll do fine, Rocco. Let me give you a piece of advice that my father shared with me when I was getting antsy about replacing him. He told me that being Don isn't just about the work. As much as you fear all the responsibilities and all the relationships you'll need to achieve, there's more to it than that. It's about understanding people and having it in your heart to forgive, but to never forget. Never forget. Let people love you and know how generous you can be, but do not let them take advantage of your generosity. When you know how to read men, how to manipulate men, and how to weed out those who seek to do you harm, you will rarely need anything more. Listen to your gut, listen to your heart, and let yourself be the leader you were born to be."

Each word burst inside of his chest like a firework, sparkling and illuminating, lifting Rocco up higher. The room continued to spin, and Vittore's voice spun with it.
Had he been drugged? Was he drunk?
Once more, Rocco tried to piece together how he had arrived at the beach house, and how Vittore was there.
Hadn't he been arrested?
As the pieces began to fall into place, a narrow hand set itself on his shoulder and squeezed gently. The room stopped spinning. Rocco opened his eyes and looked up at the person who stood just behind him. Light cocoa skin, big beautiful curls, and lips to which none other could compare. Whitney. She leaned over his shoulder to reply to Vittore's speech.

"And what about when it isn't enough?" she asked. The question was softly spoken and plain, as though she'd always been a part of their lives. Vittore was unfazed by her presence, and responded with the same kind of attention as he had to Rocco.

"That is when you must show what you're made of, what the years have shaped you into. Show no mercy. Show what you are capable of. Give every one of them a reason to fear waking the monster inside of you."

"Ah," she said with a little nod of her head. Rocco looked down from her and across at Vittore.
How was this real? It couldn't be real. The beach house, his father, and now Whitney...
"I guess that's straightforward enough. I think Rocco is going to do you proud when he takes over. He's gonna do the mafia justice."

Whitney, the scared little captive with the soulful eyes, now chatted with one of the most dangerous men in the world like it was nothing. Rocco bit down on his bottom lip, but felt no pain. No matter how hard he bit, there was no change.
This couldn't be real.

"How do you know?" Vittore asked, the hint of an amused grin lurking behind his serious expression. Whitney grinned at him, shook her head, and settled upon Rocco's lap. One of her arms hooked loosely around his neck. The weight of her body felt real, and so did its heat. When she sat on him like this, Rocco could barely keep his thoughts together.

"I know because when he's getting too crazy or going down the wrong path, I'll be there to reel him in. I'll be that little bit of light optimism in his dark that'll keep him kind, but still ruthless. He's going to be everything you need him to be, and more."

The words that were coming out of her mouth — Rocco couldn't believe them. Between the pressure of her body on his lap and the sudden blinding confidence she demonstrated, he was getting hot. Whitney shifted upon his lap, and he felt himself begin to harden.
Wrong. So wrong. And yet...

Each time she moved, her thighs brushed against his. Like silk upon his skin, he'd never felt a woman who felt so fantastic. And the smell of her... Rocco recalled savoring it before. Energetic, vibrant, and fun, like he imagined she was in her down time.
What was she like when she wasn't caught up in nightmare scenarios of life and death?
He felt he knew. He felt he knew too well.
How was a woman as interesting and as attractive as her stuck working for a schmuck like Liam? Why was she still paralyzed in a career that led nowhere?
Rocco had no answers, but he had solutions. There were other avenues for her to explore, and he could set her up with them with just a few strong words and a repaid favor or two. It was as easy as that.

"Rocco," Whitney murmured. She'd turned a little so that she faced him, arm still hooked around his neck. Rocco blinked a few times and focused his eyes. The room and his father were gone — they sat on a wooden chair alone, in a house he didn't recognize, but felt familiar.

"Yeah?" he asked, blinking once more to bring himself back to the situation at hand. How easy he felt around her. How free.

Those dark irises locked with his, and Whitney smiled. There was a look in her eyes, a sharp, dangerous kind of look he recognized as part of his own repertoire. This was a Whitney he'd never seen before, but one he found he trusted, just as his father had trusted him. And yet, beyond that look, there was more than just the cold detachment necessary for a life in the family business — there was desire.

"I know that you've got this," she whispered. The touch of her body lit him on fire, and he found himself desiring her with increasing urgency.
How could a woman's body feel so right? How could her lips look so tempting? How could every curve of her body root itself in his memory the way it did, dragging him into her web and holding him there?
Subjected to her touch, he was just a fly caught up in a spider's silk, and she had him wrapped up tight. "I know that you've got this because I've got you, and as long as that's the case, the future is ours. Nothing will hold us back."

Ours. Us.
 
The memory of they bounced in his mind to bump other thoughts aside. Ever since he was a young man, he had wanted someone he could depend upon, someone he could think of as a partner. The desire was not just professional.
After all these years alone, caught up in sex for pleasure, had he found someone he could count on when times got rough?

Whitney smiled and turned her head to the side, allowing the tip of her nose to slide down the length of his. They locked lips, and the feeling of fireworks in his chest returned in full force. Rocco slid a hand over her hip and held her closer, but just as the kiss was about to progress, a realization jarred him from his enjoyment:
none of this was real.

With a sharp inhalation and a jump, Rocco woke up. The dark eyes from his dream now peered into him in real life, just as gorgeous as they had been while asleep. Whitney was beautiful. As he gazed at her, he knew yesterday's failures hadn't been the result of coincidence. He hadn't found it in himself to kill her because he wanted her all for himself.

No matter how much the professional in him urged him to end her life, he knew he couldn't bring himself to do it. Rocco would keep the one person who made him feel this way safe no matter what she knew. If she felt anywhere near the bond that he felt with her, he knew that his secrets would be kept safe.