Taken by the Italian Mafia(19)

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.