The toilet flushed, but the door did not open. Water ran. Whitney showered. Rocco uncovered his face and looked at the bathroom door. If he was going to visit his dad in jail, the least he could do was shower so he didn't stink the place up. Rocco climbed out of bed, he walked to the bathroom door and slipped inside.
Behind the glass door of the shower she looked fantastic. Water streaming down her body, hair soaked through and surprisingly long now that it wasn't curled, eyes closed as she tilted her head towards the stream, she was like a model out of a commercial. Rocco made his way across the tile floor and slid the door open. The sound of the door running across the track alerted Whitney to his presence, and she jumped in mute fright. Big, frightened eyes locked on him, then softened with recognition. At least she still had the presence of mind to be afraid.
"Hearing you shower made me realize that I needed to take one, too. Might as well save on time and do it together, if you're still comfortable being naked around me."
Whitney hesitated. The dark, soulful eyes he couldn't get enough of looked him up and down before she nodded.
"Yeah," she said. "That's no problem. I mean, it is your house. It was rude of me to shower without asking permission, but I..."
"You what?" Rocco stepped past the entrance way and slid the door closed behind him. A thin layer of warm water slicked the shower floor, running downward towards the center drain. Mist already kissed at his skin and promised comfort.
"Well, I was in here, looking at the shower and I realized that this might be my last time seeing a bathroom. It might be my last chance to step under a shower and feel warm and fresh, or touch a plush towel. I thought I'd better take the chance to savor this moment and remember it. Enjoy it."
She was talking about her own death. Rocco's lips pressed into a thin line as he stepped closer, wasting no time wrapping his arms around her and drawing her body against his.
"I know that I fucked it up yesterday, and that I scared you," he said, "but I meant what I said when I told you I was going to fix this. You're smart to be skeptical, but I am a man of my word. I'm going to get you out of here."
Whitney let her head rest against his chest, and for a brief moment it was as though they'd never felt bed. Comfort and happiness filled Rocco from his toes to his scalp at the simplicity of the moment. This was happiness like he'd never felt before. If for no other reason, it was why Whitney deserved to go free. The price she paid for her life was one she couldn't see or understand, but it was one he appreciated to no end.
"What's the plan?" she asked after a long while.
"I'm not sure yet," he admitted. The water rushed around them both, blanketing them in liquid serenity. "I'm gonna have breakfast, talk it over with Arturo, and figure it all out from there."
It was the best he could do. Whitney pulled away from him and finished washing. Without speaking, they both finished showering, toweled off, and returned to the bedroom to dress. Whitney's jeans had another few days wear in them, but her thong was done for. She slipped into the jeans commando.
"If I can't get you some underwear," Rocco said, "at least let me get you breakfast. You have to be hungry." After the morning they'd had, Rocco was ravenous.
"Breakfast sounds great. Do you need any help?"
"I don't know yet; I have no idea what there is in the kitchen. I'll let you know when I do."
From captor and captive to couple. At least, Rocco thought they acted like a couple. All this love mush they snuck into movies was like this. Domestic. Boring. But now that he was in the midst of it, it was anything but. Whitney was interesting enough that he didn't mind slowing down for a little to spend some time with her. The realization was as troublesome as it was inspiring. Maybe what he'd projected into his dream was true - maybe Whitney was the bit of light amongst his dark. Rocco struggled to accept the thought.
With him dressed in casual clothes, and her in tight jeans and an oversized men's t-shirt, they headed downstairs and into the kitchen. The place was spotless. A small bowl of fruit occupied the end of the counter space, and Whitney went right for it and plucked up a red apple.
"Vegetarian?" Rocco asked as he moved to the fridge. A half dozen eggs and a pack of bacon waited for him, alongside an assortment of lunch and dinner items.
"When I was eight for about two weeks. My foster family wouldn't listen when I said I didn't want to eat meat anymore, so I just ate the side dishes, but it wasn't enough for my growing body. These days I eat what I can afford. With rent as high as it is, sometimes that means chicken ramen until my next shift if other big expenses come up."
"I thought girls in nightclubs made tons of dough." Rocco tossed the pack onto the counter near the stove and gathered the eggs.
"If people are tipping right, yes," Whitney said. "But when you're splitting a three thousand dollars one bedroom with a room mate, and you slice your hand open on a rusty tin can lid your room mate left on the can opener and you've gotta go to the ER so you don't die of tetanus, things can start running a little tight in a month."
A pair of scissors cut the plastic wrapping open. A skillet already heated on the stove.
"But that's not an every day thing, is it?"
"No, but you get the point. Unforeseen stuff pops up and all of a sudden money's tight. That's just how it is in New York."
Rocco didn't know.
Bacon laid into the pan, sizzling as it cooked, the pop and hiss of searing fat was all that laid between them. Whitney seated herself upon a stool near the kitchen's center island. The island divided the kitchen from the living room, where a large television was mounted on the wall surrounded by chairs and a plush couch. Rocco left the bacon to go turn it on and flip it over to the news. If there was public coverage of the bust, then there might be coverage of any following investigations. He needed to know what he was walking back into so he could be on his best game.
"You must be in and out of the hospital on the regular, with the um, kind of work you do," Whitney said. "I'm not a fan of doctors. I mean, what kind of a person is able to jab a needle into another person's arm, or wants to expose themselves to contagious diseases every day?"
"Comes with time," Rocco remarked. His eyes were glued to the television. "When you deal with people like I do, after a while you realize they're just meat. All you got to do is take care of your own meat. Guess doctors must come to the same conclusion."
On the television, smiling like a prep school kid who won a contest, was Luka Belmonte, New York's youngest mayor.
"This morning I stand before New York with exceptional news. Last night the city's special forces, conducted a raid on the mafia activity. I'm proud to announce that we have placed thirty-one confirmed members of New York's mafia behind bars, including suspected ring leader Vittore Lombardo. With so many arrests, corruption in the city is destined to reach an all-time low. Even though today's announcement is a victory, I encourage all of you to keep your eyes open for illegal activities -"
"What a fucking dickwad," Rocco mumbled as he muted the television. Whitney planted her elbows on the counter and leaned forward.
"Mayor Belmonte?" she asked. "I thought all mayors were corrupt. Does that mean that he's not working with you guys?"
"Not anymore," Rocco said between clenched teeth. Luka's smug face and treacherous attitude grinded on Rocco's nerves to no end. When he went to Marcello Belmonte's funeral to deliver a message, he wanted to pop a cap straight through Luka's obnoxiously white teeth. That charming grin of his was enough to win political favors, but there was no way it was enough to stop a bullet.
"Oh." Troubled silence from Whitney. "I guess there's a lot that I don't understand about how your world works."
"And it's going to stay that way," Rocco said as he returned to tend to the bacon. A pop of fat hit him on the arm, and he bared his teeth in pain but otherwise did not react. Luka had his blood boiling.
Just how far had Belmonte forced Vittore to fall?
Chapter Sixteen
Whitney
As he muted the television and made a scathing remark about not letting her into his life, Whitney bowed her head and let the storm pass. Now that the afterglow from orgasm was wearing thin, and the excitement of the lay was over, she remembered who she spoke with. Rocco was a killer, a mobster, and exactly the kind of man she didn't need in her life.
So why was it that she couldn't get over the thought of him?
Tall and athletic. Handsome and well spoken. Intelligent. Capable. Were he to apply himself to any other field, he would have been the perfect guy. But no one was perfect.