Taken by the Italian Mafia(14)

"You're not done yet. You said you had a room mate - do you have a  boyfriend?" As much as Rocco tried to convince himself the question was  purely to make sure no one suspected anything, he couldn't. There was a  selfish element of curiosity to it that he tried to ignore.

"No," Whitney said, voice small.

"Then I need you to text your room mate and let her know that you met  someone you're going home with, so she doesn't expect you tonight, just  like we talked about before. After that, is there anyone else who you  need to check in with who would notice you missing after a few hours?"

"No."

"Then just text your room mate and tell her you won't be home. Remember that I'm watching."

With practiced ease, Whitney left the call history and opened her text  message folder. She recalled a conversation and composed a simple  message: met a hot guy 2nite n I'm going home wit him. c u l8er!

Perfect. Message sent and received, Rocco took the phone back and turned  off the screen. The night was dragging on, and it had been one hell of a  rough ride. Between Tyrone, his father's jail time, and his fight with  Arturo, there was a lot to process. Tomorrow would be just as busy,  visiting Vittore and contacting lawyers to make sure all loose ends were  tied up. There was no way a little bust was going to keep his dad down.

"Now that all that's taken care of, I'm heading to bed. As far as I see  it, you've got a choice. Either you can sleep handcuffed on the chaise  over there, or you can sleep uncuffed in the bed beside me. Either way, I  don't give a shit. I'm a light sleeper. If you try to sneak away, you  can bet your ass I'll wake up."

Heavy footsteps on the stairs and a masculine grunt reminded Rocco that  his brother was here to stay as well. Whitney's eyes turned to the  bedroom door, and true fear returned in force. Her encounter with Arturo  had hit her deep, and Rocco capitalized on the situation.

"Plus, if you try to make it out of the room, you've got Arturo to worry  about. As long as you're close to me, he's not going to try nothing.  The second you decide to haul ass, he'll be on your tail, and I can't be  held responsible for what he does if you tempt him like that."

Whitney's eyes shot back to him, and she nodded quickly, making a  decision. As much as Rocco despised his brother, in this moment he was  glad for him.

"I'm going to sleep in the bed with you," she said. "I don't trust that  guy at all, not even if I'm across the room from you. I don't mean you  any disrespect, but there's something not right about him, like he's not  even human."

Blood came first, Rocco tried to remind himself, but he couldn't help  but agree with what Whitney said. Arturo was dangerous, and he liked it  when he was stirring shit up. There was no telling what he might do.

"Up to you. It's not any skin off my back one way or the other." So why was he so thrilled about her decision?

Without waiting for her to make a reply, he headed to the front of the  room to close and lock the bedroom door. Arturo wasn't going to get in.  He flipped off the lights and crossed the room again. Whitney waited by  the king sized bed, not daring to move. Smart girl.

Rocco tore back the crisp sheets on his side of the bed. Rocco slipped  beneath them wearing only his shorts. Hesitantly, Whitney moved to the  other side of the bed and crawled in next to him. She was still wearing  her jeans and the oversized t-shirt he'd provided, but that couldn't be  helped. There weren't many sleepwear options for her.

"Be good tonight," he warned her. Even though she didn't lie all that  close to him, he could smell her now. The smell was impossible to  pinpoint, but he knew it suited her. Energetic, vibrant, and fun, it  stirred his senses and caught his attention. How had he not noticed it  before?

"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.









Chapter Twelve





Whitney





The 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.









Chapter Thirteen





Rocco





The 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.