Taken by the Italian Mafia(12)

Step by step he drew closer, taunting her like a cat stalking its prey.  Only Whitney was no bird - her liberty was tucked away in Rocco's coat  pocket, the small key to the handcuffs far beyond her reach.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," she breathed.

"Nah. Ya do," the man insisted. He stood just a few feet from the stairs  now, eyes glittering with malicious intent. "It's not by chance that  you're here. Now I know what Rocco meant when he said he was in the  middle of some business. I think this runs much deeper than a 'witness'  situation, now doesn't it?"

Whatever he was implying, Whitney didn't understand. Instead she  struggled against the railing that much harder, desperate for mobility.

"I have no clue what you mean," she said, some of her inner desperation leeching into her tone. "I didn't do anything."

"So what, you were Tyrone's lover?" The man leaned down over her, nose  nearly brushing hers. The blue eyes he fixed her with looked like  Rocco's, but their intensity was all wrong. Instead of gorgeous, they  were crazed. Frightening. "Sister? Cousin? Because all you black sluts  end up related to that shit somehow. I know it."

"I don't even know a Tyrone," Whitney squeaked. The man's breath was  rancid, and every time she inhaled she could taste it. Stale and  pungent, like yeast mixed with tobacco. It turned her stomach.

"Well," the man said dismissively, clucking his tongue, "I guess in the  end, it doesn't matter. It's all going to end the same way, anyway.  Going to start the same way, too."

Both of his hands squeezed at her breasts through her vest, and Whitney  yelped in surprise and pulled back. There wasn't far to go, bound to the  railing as she was, but it was enough to knock the stranger's hands off  of her.

"No! Stop!"

"I don't stop for no one," the man hissed, "dumb slut."

The hands returned, but this time the fingers sank into the tightly  woven cotton and ripped it apart. The buttons shot across the room and  skittered across the hardwood in all directions. The destroyed garment  fell onto her arms. Whitney hadn't been wearing a bra. Her bare breasts  were exposed. The short man drew back to ogle them.

"Guess my big brother isn't so stupid after all," he said to himself.  "Hooking up with this piece of dark chocolate before it's all gone is  the smartest thing he's done in a while."

"Stop!" Whitney begged, tears starting to pool along her lids as fear  and helplessness set in. She would have rather been killed back at the  warehouse than raped and killed by Rocco's brother.

"You have a problem with listening, doll?" he asked. Both hands returned  to her breasts and squeezed hard, and try as she might to break away  from him, there was no place for Whitney to go. Her back was already  pressed up against the railing. "I said that I don't stop for no one."

The thumb and index finger caught her nipple and twisted it hard, and  Whitney howled out in pain. The short man laughed and twisted it harder,  then let her go and slapped her hard across the cheek.         

     



 

"I'm gonna fuck that dirty cunt of yours, you dumb bitch," he rasped,  more animal than man. Already he was working his belt, and to her horror  he pulled it off completely and fit it around her neck like a choke  collar.

"I'm gonna fuck the life outta you. Won't that be a good way to go, with  a fat cock pounding you as you take your last breath? I bet you'd love  that, you dirty slut."

Before he had the chance to tighten the belt around her neck and crush  her vocal cords, Whitney let out one last blood curling scream. If  anyone lived nearby, they'd hear it.

As Rocco's brother worked his fly open, a crashing noise from upstairs  followed the sound of hurried footsteps. Rocco appeared at the top of  the stairs, naked from head to toe and soaking wet.

"Back the fuck up, Arturo."

Even as he spoke, Rocco took the stairs two at a time to close the  distance between himself and the pair. Whitney looked up to watch him,  but as she did, Arturo tightened the belt around her neck and caused her  to sputter and choke.

"Yeah, well what cha gonna do about it?" Arturo sneered. The belt  tightened further, digging into Whitney's neck. No matter how she  strained to breathe in deep, she couldn't. Deprived of oxygen, her body  began to panic, and she flailed uselessly where she sat.

There was no reply from Rocco. Instead, the belt loosened, and almost  immediately after a thud shook the house. Gasping to fill her lungs,  Whitney shook her head and then looked towards the noise. On the landing  of the stairs were Rocco and Arturo, swinging their fists wildly; Rocco  had tackled him from above and knocked Arturo away from her in a bid to  save her life.

It wasn't the first fight Whitney had seen, but it was the ugliest. Both  men were experienced with violence, and they didn't hold back. Arturo  was on his back, pinned to the ground, but not for long. The ugly,  sinister expression he'd fixed Whitney with was now directed at his  brother. It looked like he was going to love knocking Rocco down a peg  or two, and knock him down he did.

Arturo's fist flew through the air and connected with Rocco's jaw. Rocco  fell back, the force of the hit causing him to roll onto the floor. For  the first time, Whitney got a good view of his nudity. Through all that  was happening, she couldn't help but sneak a look downward to see what  the handsome killer was packing. Even fresh from the shower and  unexcited, Rocco was hung. Ashamed that she'd even thought to look when  both men were fighting and her life was on the line, Whitney closed her  eyes and turned her head away. Grunts and growls and the crack of bone  and flesh as it was struck were her only indications to how the fight  was going. It didn't sound good.

God, Whitney thought to herself, if you're there, please help me get out  of this alive. I know I'm not religious, and I haven't been the best,  but... But I could really use some help right now.

A last ditch effort. Whitney opened her eye a crack to peek at the  fight. Rocco was back on top, and with a mighty slam of his fist, he  stunned his brother. Scrambling to his feet, Rocco backed up to the  stairs, undid the belt from around Whitney's neck with quickly, and  lunged back into the fight. A snap of his wrist licked the belt across  Arturo's side, and the man recovered enough to yelp with pain.

"FUCKER!" Arturo spat. "WHAT THE FUCK IS YOUR ISSUE?"

"You wanna keep being beat, Arturo?" Rocco asked, tone devoid of  emotion. The cold killer was back - this was the same man who was out in  the alley, not the one Whitney had got to know on the car ride over.  "Cuz I can keep going. We can make this just like when you were seven,  when you lit the cat on fire and dad beat you until you bled. Do you  want that?"

"SHE'S JUST A WHORE," Arturo screamed, spittle flying from his lips.  Rocco cracked the belt down again, catching Arturo in close to the same  spot. The belt cut through his shirt like it was nothing, exposing the  raw skin beneath.

"I don't care what she is," Rocco said, "what I care about is she is my  responsibility, my job. You are not welcome to step in and make  judgments in my place. Until dad gets out, I am the one in charge around  here. Is that understood?"

"You're sick, Rocco. I'm family."

"And she is my business. If you don't step in and fuck with my job, I won't have reason to fuck with you."

Rocco tossed the belt over Arturo's chest, and Arturo snatched it up  with such vigor that Whitney was sure he was going to keep fighting.  Instead, the younger of the Lombardo brothers scrambled to his feet,  glared daggers at Rocco, and turned on his heels. Arturo left the house.  The front door slammed in his wake.

At least, Whitney thought as she watched him go, she hadn't ended up in a  back alley with Arturo. Next to him, Rocco looked like a saint.         

     



 









Chapter Eleven





Rocco





When Arturo scrambled to his feet and turned tail, there was no  satisfaction in it. The fact was, Arturo didn't know when to stop and  didn't respond to punishment well. Even as he gave in, Rocco saw the  glint greed in his eyes, as though his younger brother enjoyed being  beaten within an inch of his life. The fight taught him nothing. If  Rocco didn't watch his back, Arturo would stab it without a second  thought.

When he heard the slam of a car door, Rocco exhaled, cleared his mind of  what had just happened, and turned to look at Whitney. The sting of  deep bruising along his jaw was a familiar pain, and he paid his  injuries no mind. Instead, he went to Whitney.

Her vest was torn open. Two full breasts were his to take in, a prize  for the victor. Rocco only allowed his eyes to linger for a moment as he  approached before he looked her in the eye. His brother had abused her  enough - right now she deserved some respect.

"I, uh, I'm sorry for my brother. I didn't want that to happen to you."