Taken by the Italian Mafia(21)

"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.