During that episode of Oprah, after discussing what to do during a hostile situation, Oprah had talked a little about Stockholm Syndrome. During a hostage situation, the captives would sometimes begin to sympathize with the man keeping them. Some would even be compelled to help the criminals. At the time, Whitney couldn't imagine anyone in their right mind could sympathize with someone threatening to end their life. Now she understood a little more. Was what she felt for Rocco Stockholm Syndrome, or was it something more?
Oprah hadn't talked about how to tell if your feelings for the man holding you hostage were real or not. As Rocco cooked breakfast, Whitney came up with her own litmus test in order to judge whether her attraction was genuine. If she could list what she liked about Rocco with honesty, then she'd know what she felt was real. If the reasons felt too flimsy to be genuine, she'd accept it was Stockholm Syndrome.
With any luck, he'd be good on his word and let her go home, and she could go on with her life without looking back. After all of this, she wasn't sure she wanted to go back to The Avenue at all. It was time to move on and find a new spot in life, something better suited for her age. Maybe it was time to give New York City up for cheaper pastures.
"How do you like your eggs?" Rocco asked as he switched the finished bacon out for a few more raw slices. He'd collected himself enough to be civil, and some of the tension Whitney felt eased away. Rocco was doing his best to keep his cool around her - that had to count for something.
"Over easy is my usual."
And he was considerate. Rocco could have made eggs however he wanted, but he checked in with her instead to make sure she'd enjoy her meal. Still, a person could be considerate but still not be a good person. Whitney folded her arms on the counter and stared at Mayor Belmonte as he made his speech. From time to time the angle would change, presenting him in a different way. What made a man like the mayor so different from a man like Rocco? The answer wasn't as obvious as she hoped.
Both had followed in their father's footsteps, and both were motivated enough to make bold decisions. In Mayor Belmonte's case, his decisions were for the good of the people. In Rocco's case, his decisions were for the good of his family. Morally, Mayor Belmonte was far superior, but did that make him a genuine person? Or did that make him a puppet to society?
After the talk she'd had with Rocco last night, Whitney wasn't sure. She'd experienced herself how selfish people were. Snatched up and spat out by a new foster family every year for the check, Whitney had experienced cruelty, neglect, and abuse by the very adults who swore to protect her. Every employer she'd worked for had been the same kind of sleazy, and now even Liam was showing his true colors. No one was a good person at heart. Was hiding it from the public more noble, or was being true to who you were braver?
It was hard to tell.
But beyond what Rocco did during for a living, somewhere inside was a respectable person. He tried to soothe her as she kneeled on the warehouse floor, facing certain death. He put off shooting her time and time again for no solid reason other than that he couldn't bring himself to. He saved her from being choked to death and raped by his brother. Whitney looked over her shoulder and studied Rocco's back as he tended to the cooking. The cold murderer was also her fierce protector. He'd held her close and promised he'd fix everything.
It wasn't Stockholm Syndrome if she wasn't a captive. The attraction she felt for him predated the kidnapping, anyway. From the very first time he'd set foot in the nightclub and she'd spotted him through the crowds, Whitney had felt something stir inside of her. Time had only strengthened that bond. Was it crazy in the eyes of most people that she could have feelings for a man born this bad? Sure. But people had never been kind to Whitney anyway; what did she care what they thought?
It sounded like desperation, she realized. Her fingertips dug into her arms as she tried to work it all out. Love had never been a big part of her life. Not even as a kid. Maybe this wasn't Stockholm Syndrome, but it could have been something else. Rocco was the first person who'd been really nice to her. Was she desperate for love no matter the source? After all, if Arturo was Rocco's blood brother, how far could two acorns fall from the same tree? If she couldn't find any redeeming qualities in Arturo, why could she find them in Rocco?
"Well uh, it's going to be scrambled eggs I guess," Rocco announced. The bacon was all done and draining on a couple paper towels on a plate by the stove. "I'm no cook, and these eggs are in pieces now."
The image brought a grin to Whitney's face, and she ducked her head down to try to keep from laughing. No, Rocco wasn't his brother. To try to pin him with that would be like saying that Whitney herself was just like either of her deadbeat parents. She knew that no matter what, she'd never abandon any child she had just because she felt like it. Her life would go a different direction from her mother's, just like Rocco's would go a different direction from Arturo's.
"They turn to plastic yet?" she asked, holding back that laugh. It was peeping through in her voice.
"Eggs can turn into plastic?" Rocco asked, incredulous. "What the fuck kind of witchcraft is- oh. Oh, I see it now. Um. Yeah. What exactly is goin' on here?"
There was no holding back the laugh this time. Whitney rose from her chair and joined him at the stove to point him in the right direction. Some of the egg pieces were beyond saving, but most of them had pulled through and would be edible. Just as she was about to tell him how to proceed, the swinging kitchen door creaked on its hinges as it was pushed open.
Arturo stepped into the room.
The atmosphere darkened, and Whitney stepped back from Rocco and kept her eyes on him. Crossing her hands over her chest, she watched as Arturo approached the kitchen area and sat down. The way he looked at her was just as ugly as it had been the day before, but as soon as Rocco turned to look at him, Arturo's expression changed. The hard lines of his face softened, and a charming smile sat on his lips as though it had always been there. Whitney shuddered. It seemed Arturo and Rocco were opposites of each other. Rocco was hard and emotionless while on the job, but thoughtful and caring while on his own. Arturo was vile and unfeeling in his day to day life, but able to slip on a mask of placidity whenever he wanted to.
"What's for breakfast, brother? It smells great."
Seeing the change in Arturo opened Whitney's eyes. All this time she worried about her feelings for Rocco. She should've been worrying about what Arturo was capable of. If she wanted to stay safe, she was going to have to stay alert and keep a constant eye on him until she got free.
If she got free.
Chapter Seventeen
Rocco
"What's for breakfast, brother? It smells great."
The overly chipper tone made Rocco's skin crawl. Arturo sat on the stool, hands on his knees, fixing both of them with his blue eyes as though nothing happened last night. The bruising on his cheekbone reminded Rocco otherwise. He was surprised Arturo didn't have a full on black eye after their fight last night.
"Bacon and eggs," Rocco replied. He held the skillet with the egg bits in one hand. It was his first time cooking eggs, and while some of them were ruined, it wasn't the biggest fuck up he'd muddled his way through.
"I didn't know you cooked," Arturo remarked, sweet as could be.
"I don't," Rocco said, blunt.
"Well, you're doing a good job at it regardless."
This was an act. Arturo pulled this shit when he was disciplined but still wanted whatever it was he got in trouble for. Rocco had seen it more than once. When he was a kid it had been about dessert or the newest game his father refused to buy for them. As an adult, it had been about drugs or unplanned murders. Rocco wasn't going to let that kind of shit fly.
"Cut the shit, Arturo. You think these games are gonna work? Think again. I can see through this kind of thing."
"What kind of thing?" Never had Rocco wanted to punch him more. The sugar sweet tone Arturo was trying to pass off as innocent came across as condescending. "That's no thing, brother. We're just having a civil conversation for once instead of beating each other up. Are you not used to non-violence? That's a shame. How sad it must be for you."
Instinctively, Rocco clutched the frying pan tighter. If their only eggs went flying across the kitchen, it would be worth it to bash Arturo upside the head.
"No you dolt. Between the two of us, I'm the one who's got their shit together. Don't you dare try to pass this off on me."
If it was any other time, Rocco would have let Arturo say whatever lies made him rest easy at night. But here, in front of a girl he was trying to hard to put at ease, Rocco didn't need any kind of personal sabotage. He wouldn't stand for Arturo's lies.