"Got it," Whitney whispered. She sank back into her seat and wrapped her arms around herself. When Rocco glanced back at her in the rear view mirror, he saw her gazing out the window, eyes sad. The deflated way she held herself hit him hard. What was it about her that ate at him like she did? Rocco wished he knew so he could address it and get over it. Feeling like this was a liability.
"So keep those pretty lips of yours shut, and we won't have a problem."
"Do you really think I'm pretty?"
The question took him by surprise, and Rocco was stunned into silence. A glance in the rear view mirror found Whitney looking at him instead of out the window, face serious. Had she heard any of what he'd just said? Yet, despite his request for silence, Rocco found himself compelled to answer.
"Of course you are. Why is it that all the pretty girls ask that? Is it just because you like hearing it, or what? You're pretty. Anyone who thinks otherwise is blind."
A glimmer of confidence crossed her sad eyes, and Whitney sat up straighter.
"No, it's because no one's ever told me that and meant it before. And lately, I've been feeling more old than I am pretty."
Fifteen minutes passed in the blink of an eye, in another fifteen they would arrive at the safe house. Her stories made the time fly by. Whitney Greene. It was a good, simple name. Sharp, beautiful, funny... It was a shame he had to kill her. No amount of money could buy silence. Vittore had always told him that the only sure bet for a still tongue was a dead body.
"The world we live in's obsessed with youth and narrow beauty standards," Rocco replied. Why was he baiting her along? Deep down, he realized it was because he was hoping she'd keep talking. It wasn't the things she said that mattered, but the sound of her voice was so alluring. "Screw what the world thinks. Man is evil by nature. No one's gonna think twice about tearing you down, so you gotta rise above and hold your head high. That's what I do, at least. No one messes with me."
She was as good as dead, but if he could put her mind at ease in her final moments, it felt like a nice thing to do. After all, this was his fault. If he'd been quicker on the trigger, sharper in his reflexes, Whitney wouldn't be an issue anymore. All the unnecessary drama he was putting her through wasn't her fault. As an innocent, she deserved to go as easy as possible.
"Thank you," she mumbled. "I think... I think I've always kind of known that. People have been cruel to me my whole life, even since before I was born, really. My dad left when mom was pregnant. My mom left when I was six. When grandma died and I got put in foster care, it was just more of the same. People only wanted me because I meant an extra check in the mail each month. They didn't give a shit about me as a person. And just tonight, my boss..."
The conversation trailed off. Whitney plopped back against the back seat and looked out the window again.
"What about him?" Rocco asked.
"It doesn't matter," Whitney replied. "All that matters is that I think you're right about most people. They don't care about anyone but themselves, even if they pretend otherwise. I guess that's why so many marriages end in divorce, right?"
There was a turn in the road ahead. Rocco took it in silence, and once the way because straight once more, he replied.
"Yeah. I guess you're right."
Nothing was said, and yet something different hung in the air between them, unspoken. The pull of it was like gravity, inescapable and fundamental. It was a sensation the likes of nothing Rocco had felt before, and he found himself craving more of it. Maybe one day, when his life settled down, he could search for something like this again.
The rest of the drive was spent in quiet reflection. Rocco glanced in the rear view mirror to see what Whitney was doing, but every time he looked it was more of the same. The gorgeous bartender sat with her elbow on the window ledge, head in her hand, looking out the window. While her posture mimicked his on the drive to The Factory, her attitude was different. There was a battle happening inside of her, a clash between hopelessness and positivity. With any luck, she'd find her closure before she lost her life.
In the distance, Rocco spotted the lights from the safe house. Had another fifteen minutes really gone by? It seemed hard to believe. As they approached, he slowed. A skeletal staff maintained the house twice a week, and the lights were kept on timers. If everything was as it should be, the house would be clean, tidy, and stocked. Rocco didn't know how long they'd be looking to stay, but they'd have their needs taken care of.
They.
He ran his tongue over his top teeth.
It wasn't like Whitney was going to be staying with him. As soon as he figured out a good way to off her, she was going to be gone.
They.
Rocco bit down on his back teeth and corrected himself. They meant him and his brother, of course. Whitney didn't figure into this at all. And yet, as he pulled up the dirt driveway, he couldn't shake the thought that Whitney was exactly who he'd been considering.
They.
They arrived at the safe house. It was time to get back to business.
Chapter Nine
Rocco
A twisted mile of driveway led to the safe house. The untouched snow stretched out before him meant Arturo hadn't made it in yet.
If this was some kind of joke, there would be words. Knowing Arturo's temper and personality, words wouldn't be enough. The only punishment Rocco's brother responded to was physical. Rocco was very different from his brother. To Rocco, the family business was just business. To Arturo, the family business was pleasure.
Rocco popped the locks on the back doors. Whitney did not move to open her door, so Rocco did it for her. The night was frigid, wind whipped through the surrounding trees. If Whitney had dressed for the cold weather it would have been a fine time for her to try to run. But in her revealing vest and indoor flats, she was in no condition to get away. The cold would get her long before any passing motorists would.
"Inside," he instructed, and slammed the door closed behind her. Since their talk, her mood had improved. Faced with her inevitable death, she'd come to accept her mortality. It was good. Rocco wouldn't have to feel so bad when the moment came.
"This is a safe house?" she asked in a near whisper. Rocco wasn't sure if she was talking to herself, or if she was asking him.
"This is a Lombardo safe house," he replied, then nudged her forward with his palm.
"I guess when the apocalypse hits, you'll be the most popular family on the block."
Rocco laughed and shook his head, pushing her up the stairs and towards the front door.
"We're already the most popular family in New York," Rocco replied.
Whitney shook her head in disbelief, "you guys are the real deal. At first, I didn't know what to think of you and your setup, but I mean... Who are you guys? Who are you with? You keep mentioning your family, but-"
"It means exactly what you think it means."
Rocco dug his hand into one of his inner jacket pockets and withdrew another key, jamming it into the door lock.
"So you're... You're who, exactly?" Whitney asked.
"I'm the boss's son. Oldest son. And right now, with my dad facing an emergency, so I'm in charge."
"Jeeze," Whitney murmured, and this time he was sure it was to herself. Rocco pushed her into the front hall. Portraits of men and women from his family lined the walls, serious faces looking down to remind him of all that he had to live up to. It was the kick in the pants Rocco needed. Right now, his father needed him to be the strong leader that he was brought up to be. Rocco wouldn't let him down.
"We're on a large property, with no one around. If you try to run, I'll hunt you down and this will end messy. If you make a lot of noise, all you're going to do is make me angry. Got it?"
"Yes," she agreed. Whitney glanced from portrait to portrait, taking in his history. Something about it made Rocco uneasy. He caught her by the arm and dragged her down the hall to a polished staircase. Rocco paused in front of the first step, bringing Whitney to a halt. Now that they'd arrived, what was he to do with her? Rocco's plan had run out of steam. This was a hostage situation, and she needed to be treated like a hostage.
"Stay here," he barked. The keys to the car were with him, and unless she was a lot more hood than she let on, he figured a sweet little bartender like her had no idea how to hotwire a car.
When Whitney didn't reply, he made haste from the hallway and into the kitchen. One of the kitchen drawers had a false bottom where small items could be stowed. Rocco pulled the drawer free, slid the bottom out, and pulled a pair of handcuffs out.
Rocco slid the tiny key into his pocket, put the board back in place, and returned to the stairs. Whitney had wandered, but hadn't gone far.