"I guess that's true," Arturo remarked with a whimsical, far off voice, as though he were dreaming. Rocco bit down on his bottom lip in an attempt to control his anger. Was that Arturo's game, to get him so angry he'd lose his cool in front of Whitney? Rocco wasn't sure. But whatever Arturo's intentions were, they were making him pissed. "After all, you're the one who's gotten so soft that you brought a hostage here. What would dad think if he knew you brought a black girl home, Rocco? I don't think he'd be very happy at all, do you?"
First one way, then the other. If Arturo inherited anything from Vittore, it was his way of beating around the bush to infuriate his target. Arturo was doing a fantastic job.
"Do you see what you're doing?" Rocco asked. For fear of actually swinging the skillet as a weapon, he set it down. Whitney had crept into the living room while they exchanged verbal blows. She was smart, Rocco wouldn't want to be caught between himself and Arturo either if he were in her shoes.
"All I see if you making breakfast like the fantastic big brother you are," Arturo said, chipper.
Rocco clenched both of his fists, digging the rounds of his fingernails into his palms. No. Arturo was not going to play this game.
"You don't think I'm a fantastic big brother. You don't give a shit whether I can cook or not. If Whitney wasn't here, I'm sure you'd be lounging on that couch in your boxers jacking off whenever you thought I wasn't looking. Just like you did the last time we were forced to come here."
Whitney, who peeped over the back of that same couch to watch them argue, looked down and got up slowly, a look of mild disgust on her face. She moved to the next arm chair over and took the same position.
"That's not nice, Rocco," Arturo scolded.
"Yeah, and you're not nice, ever, Arturo, so drop the fuckin' act. You weren't sweet and innocent ten years ago, and you sure as hell weren't sweet and innocent last night when you tried to rape and choke her to death." Rocco nodded in Whitney's direction.
The smallest shrug punctuated the silence between them. When Arturo spoke again, it was with the same boyish charm as before.
"I was on the job last night. You know how it feels when you can't unwind after a hard night. I did some things I regret, yeah, but that's over now. We duked it out and I burned off some of that energy, and then I went to bed and now it's all better. It's interesting to know she has a name, though. Do you always name hostages? Whitney the witness. Catchy. I can see the humor in it. So when will Whitney the witness whisper her final wishes? Because I feel like you're going on close to twelve hours at this point, and we both know that that's missing person territory, brother."
Did Arturo want to be beaten to a pulp? Rocco shook his head, trying to draw himself back from the situation and let it go. Having Whitney around was a good reminder that it wasn't always worth it to resort to violence right away. Like his father always told him listening and forgiving came first. It was time to approach the situation with the cold calm only man worthy of being Don could muster.
"She's not a hostage anymore. I'm letting her go with her life. That means that you're gonna let her go, too. No one is going to hurt this girl. We've come to an understanding, and I made her a promise. Unless she does something stupid, no harm is gonna come to her."
Irritation twitched in Arturo's temple, but he otherwise didn't let it show on his face. The easy, placid look remained.
"Well, I suppose you know what's best. It's your job, after all, and it's your promise. I'm just here at your side, along for the ride. You're the big man of the family right now, at least until dad gets out and takes the reins again."
The jab was there, but Rocco let it roll off his shoulders. Arturo was overstepping his boundaries, but he wasn't going to worry about him. More likely than not, their dad would be sprung before the end of the day and taking care of Arturo wouldn't be his concern anymore. What a relief that would be.
"Yeah. Thanks for your encouragement. I'm gonna do a great job, I know. Dad's been prepping me for this day for years - but I guess you know that, don't you?"
Their father's preferential treatment for his first born son over his younger son was a sore spot for Arturo. After all the poking and prodding Arturo had just done, Rocco had no qualms about bringing it up. Let him hurt a little, too.
Arturo clammed up, lips scrunched together like he'd tasted something sour. The silence was beautiful. Rocco turned back to the stove, opened the cabinet beside it to take out some plates, and divided up the food he'd cooked. All of the gross bits of egg went onto Arturo's plate, as did the worst looking slices of bacon. Just because they were brothers didn't mean shit. If Arturo valued their relationship at all, he'd treat Rocco with a little more respect.
"Here you go, brother," Rocco announced with just as much condescension. He placed the plate of overcooked eggs and bacon in front of Arturo. A fork laid atop it for Arturo's convenience. Rocco brought his plate and Whitney's at the same time into the living room, and sat near her on another arm chair. She settled down onto her seat and accepted her plate with silence. Not willing to draw attention to herself, she mouthed him a thank you. Rocco grinned at her in return. She'd kept him from lashing out and starting a fight, and for that he was grateful.
Your light among the dark.
Rocco bowed his head and shoved a forkful of eggs into his mouth to push the thought aside.
"We're going to have to go see dad in prison today," Rocco said when the first mouthful was swallowed. "With all the press coverage, the cops are gonna expect us to show up, act like a normal family, all that bullshit. You cleared out your schedule for that, right?"
"Yeah. Course I did. This ain't the first time something like this has gone down."
A small relief. At times Arturo could be stubborn; it was nice to know that today, of all days, Rocco could count on him to behave. He still didn't trust him any further than he could throw him, but for now his cooperation was enough.
"You gonna wear something nice, but not work nice?"
"Not my first rodeo, Rocco," Arturo bit back. He reeled himself in quickly. Rocco knew it had all been an act. Finally, the cracks were starting to show. "I mean, yes. I'm gonna go through the clothes here and find something nice enough that it's presentable, but not too nice. I'll play the part, don't you worry."
In the armchair beside him, Whitney ate slowly and kept her eyes on Rocco. Rocco's gaze swept to her, watching her as she watched him. What thoughts were going on behind those beautiful dark eyes? Thoughts that he couldn't pin down, but found himself wanting to know. The realization that in hours their paths would split weighed on him heavier than it should have.
What a girl.
Breakfast was otherwise silent. The rest of the day was a write off. No matter how much there was no do, there was no guarantee any work would be done at all. Until the details got sorted out, the whole family business would slow to a snail's pace. With reports of up to thirty other men arrested alongside Vittore, Rocco wasn't even sure who he had left to call upon.
When the last of the food was cleared from his plate, Rocco stood and stretched. "I'm gonna go get dressed for the visit," Rocco told his brother. Like a shadow, Whitney had followed him from the living room and into the kitchen and now stood an arm's length away. "You ready to do the same?"
"Yeah," he said, and rose from the stool. He left the plate on the island. "Meet back in twenty, in the hall. We'll take my car."
Would the insidious back and forth ever end? Not wanting to stir the pot, Rocco nodded. He gestured towards the door for Whitney to follow, and together they left the kitchen and made their way back upstairs.
"Is he always like that?" Whitney asked in a whisper as they ascended. "It felt so... creepy. Like he was pretending to be human."
"That's Arturo," Rocco muttered back. "And he's really starting to piss me off with his disrespect."
Whitney sat on the bed. As he dressed, she'd tied the t-shirt into a knot at her side in an attempt to make it fit better. The change was remarkable, and the way the shirt rode up her side to expose the subtle curve of her hip and the chocolate skin along it caught his breath and sped his heartbeat.
"Here's the plan. In my pile of clothes in the bathroom, there's two thousand dollars in cash. I want you to take it. Use it to call a cab and get you home, pay some rent, pay off your medical bills, get groceries, blow it all on male strippers, I don't care. It's yours."
"You think I'm the type of girl to hire male strippers?" Whitney asked with a laugh. Rocco tried to internalize the sound of it, it was likely the last time he'd hear it.