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.