Taken by the Italian Mafia(22)

"No. But I mean, after what you've been through, maybe you wanna celebrate still being alive. Hell, I know I would."

"Hire male strippers?" she asked with a mischievous grin.

"No! I mean I'd wanna get out there and celebrate like I'd won the  lottery. Which you kinda did. Not many people walk away from the  business end of a Lombardo gun, you know." It was true. In all his years  serving beneath his father, Rocco couldn't remember the last time  they'd spared a witness. The only promise of silence was death, after  all. But when it came to Whitney, there were other motives at play.

"I'm honored." Although she still found it within herself to have fun  with him, there was a bittersweet sorrow that hung between them like  sheets dampened with rain. Heavy, oppressive, and impossible to miss,  Rocco did the only thing he could think to do to address it - he sat  beside her on the bed and pulled her against the side of his chest,  holding her tight.

"If things were different," he whispered, "I'd want to see where this  goes. I'd want to see if there was something more between us than the  thrill of a botched job. Right now it's killing me to let you go.  There's nothing that I can do about it, but I thought I'd let you know.  You're worth a lot more than you give yourself credit for. Don't let me  and what happened last night bring you down, you hear me?"         

     



 

When he turned his head to look at her face, he saw the wet streak down  her cheek where tears had fallen. Some soaked into his shirt.

"I don't want to go," she confessed, voice burdened with sorrow. "There  isn't anything for me back in my old life. Liam was gonna take my shifts  away until he forced me to quit, I've got no family, and my friends are  few and far between. All that I've got going for me right now is you,  and even you're leaving."

The words were touching, but Rocco knew she was misguided. Strong  emotions spurred from the panic of the night before left her doing and  saying things she didn't mean. How could anyone have feelings like that  for someone as low as him?

"You're gonna be fine," he promised. "Just keep your chin up. You'll  find your way. And if you don't, if you keep struggling and are  miserable... When all this is over, when my life stops being so insane,  I'm gonna track you down. But don't let that stop you from finding  happiness on your own, you got it?"

In time she'd forget about him and find another guy who'd make her  happy, Rocco was sure. But right now Whitney needed that confidence to  get there. And by all means, when life was less crazy, he had every  intention of following through on what he said. More than likely he'd  find her at a new job, with a new boyfriend, and he'd leave without  making his presence known. That was the way it went sometimes. Rocco  accepted what they had for what it was: beautiful and temporary.

Whitney looked up at him, a smile on her lips, and Rocco found himself  smiling back. His fingers brushed her jawline, and he inched his face  closer until their noses brushed in warm affection.

"I got it," she whispered, eyes sparkling with tears.

"Good girl," he whispered back, and closed his eyes. When their lips met  and worked through a tender kiss, Rocco knew he had never felt joy like  she brought him before. And he might never feel it again.

The kiss broke, and deep inside, so did a part of Rocco.

"Fifteen minutes after we leave, you get the cab to come pick you up.  Use your cellphone, I don't need it anymore. And no matter what, take  care of yourself."

Whitney nodded. In parting, Rocco squeezed her hand, then stood. He'd never been much for goodbyes.

"See you around, Ms. Greene," he said, then turned and walked away.

The distance between the bed to the door felt like the longest stretch  he'd traveled in his life. Every fiber in his being begged him to turn  around and reconsider.

Rocco had fucked up last night beyond belief, but he wasn't ready to  give in to failure again. After a vulnerable vacation, it was back to  business. A rising Don didn't cry over a woman. He didn't cry, period.  Like all storms, this would pass. He just had to pray it would pass  quick. If he was going to run the family business, Rocco needed every  ounce of his concentration devoted to the job.

Not some girl who made him feel like he was on top of the world.









Chapter Eighteen





Arturo





The door to the master bedroom was already closed by the time Arturo  made his way up the stairs. Remains of disgusting, crinkling egg film  stuck between his back teeth. There was a reason Rocco didn't cook - he  was terrible at it. Arturo couldn't wait to scrub the filth out of his  mouth, but didn't know if he'd get a chance to get to it. In the next  twenty minutes, there was a lot to do.

Skipping his bedroom in favor of the upstairs bathroom, Arturo closed  and locked the door behind him. If he wanted to get any satisfaction out  of today, what happened next had to go exactly as planned. Arturo  twisted the knobs of the bath tub then turned on the shower. Water  rushed down from the overhead nozzle and pattered against the tub floor  to drown out any noise he made. Unless Rocco pressed his ear against the  bathroom door, he wouldn't know anything. Arturo was sure he was too  busy fucking his black slut to care what his little brother was doing in  the shower.

Arturo took his cellphone out, sat down on the toilet, and dialed a number by memory.

"Who speaks?" a heavily accented Russian voice asked.

"Arturo Lombardo," Arturo replied, the smirk creeping into his words.  There was a laugh building up inside that he was having a hard time  holding back.

"Oh, Arturo," the man said, tone warm within an instant. "How are you,  friend? Been long time since last call. Were you pleased with my last  work?"

"Oh, yeah, I was pleased alright. Can I just take a moment to say what  excellent work it is that you do, Mikhail? Cuz boy, do you get some  excellent work done." Arturo's eyes focused on the painting hanging on  the wall opposite the toilet. Painted at a distance on the beach, it was  of a property that his father used to own and parted ways with. Such  was life. Such was business. Arturo had few memories of the place.         

     



 

"Praise is appreciated from one such as yourself. Many thanks. Now, we  cut to heart of business. For what do you call today, Arturo? Do not say  for me to practice English, I know you better than that."

Arturo's smirk grew, and he let his head fall back so he stared at the ceiling, neck bared.

"Perceptive as always. I've got a little job for you to do, Mikhail.  Let's just say you've always liked to clean up trash, and boy, do I have  some juicy trash for you."

"Yes, clean up," Mikhail agreed. "Messes are specialty. What kind of mess you have? Big mess, big pay."

"Oh, when it comes to pay, I don't think you're going to be charging,"  Arturo cooed. "The truth is; my mess isn't a mess yet. I want you to  come take out some trash that I can't get to, got it? And when you see  what kind of goods we're talking about, you're gonna thank me. You can  have as much fun with her as you want, and make it as messy as you want.  All I care about is that the trash is gone and won't be seen again."

"I think I have understood," Mikhail said slowly. "Pay... Pay is this trash you want gone?"

"You got it, bud. And I swear, if you're not happy with the price, call  me back and we'll negotiate something else. As far as I see it, I think  you're gonna be over the moon. If you're in the business of making  videos, this is gonna make you rich."

There was hesitation on Mikhail's end, but Arturo was confident. It  wasn't big news to him that Mikhail made snuff films. Shit like that  sold like mad on the black market and the deep web, and his father and  Rocco were fools for not getting their mitts on something so lucrative.  Common whores only went so far; speciality items were where it was at.

"I accept offer, and will call if price no good. What address and what time may I pick up trash?"

"The trash will be available in twenty minutes at 11903 NY 79. The house  is down a long dirt driveway, and there'll be fresh tire tracks - I'll  be leaving. One car will be out front, and the trash will be inside the  house, unaware and ready to be picked up."

"I have written address and am on way. Will be there in half hour."

"Now that is what I love to hear," Arturo said, smirking wide. "You have  lots of fun with this one, Mikhail, and think fondly of your friend  Arturo as the money rains down on you from above."

"I appreciate the many money showers to come," Mikhail replied, serious. "Until the next time, Arturo."

"Until then," Arturo replied.

So far, so good. Things were about to get a lot more interesting.









Chapter Nineteen





Whitney





Rocco closed the door behind him and didn't look back, and Whitney felt  like she might fall to pieces. The roller coaster ride of emotions had  finally come to a stop - at a low point. Last night she'd prayed to get  out of this alive, so why did she feel like she'd lost something along  the way? Rocco was little more than a stranger, and although the time  they'd spent together was intense, he didn't deserve this much of her  heart. Why wasn't she okay with letting him walk out of her life?