Taken by the Italian Mafia(20)

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.