Taken by the Italian Mafia(15)

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.