"Yeah. Tell me."
"I've been banging Cecili Hinsley."
Silence. Tyrone Hinsley's sisters were hot, but they were off the market. No Lombardo would sleep with a Hinsley if he wanted to wake up alive. What was Arturo thinking?
"I see what you're thinking," Arturo accused. "I told you, I liked it and I went for it. Turns out Cecili's a little freak in bed. All it took was a bit of dirty talk to get her going at first. I told her I was gonna turn on dad for his bullshit tendencies of favoring you, and she was purring like a kitten. So I hit it again and again, and then last night shit got real."
The blood on Rocco's lap was making more sense by the second. He looked down at it and waited for the other foot to drop.
"So what was different about last night?"
"Last night, she set up this situation for me, this twisted, wonderful situation. Had three hostages tied up when I arrived at her house. I fucked her in her bed it was so sexy. And then, after that, she got me to come downstairs and pump lead through each of their skulls."
There it was - classic Arturo. Rocco hit the down button on the window and began to toss the paper towels out the window. They caught the wind and blew away, scattering the evidence. No one would know any better. Rural roads were perfect for eating up incriminating trash.
"So I guess you got a little dirty from that?"
"Not even," Arturo said, proud of himself. The glee was building, impossible to hold back. Rocco glanced to him. The smirk that spread Arturo's lips was diabolic. "Once that was done, she was gonna suck my cock. As soon as she was on her knees in front of me, I blew her brains out. I ended up stepping in her blood by accident, the bitch, so I had to clean it up."
"You killed Cecili Hinsley?" Rocco asked, mouth dry. As much as Vittore hated the insolence of the Black Mafia, they weren't authorized to off the family on a whim. Tyrone Hinsley was cleared, because Vittore had asked Rocco to deliver the message one way or the other, but Cecili? "Dad's gonna be pissed."
"Dad can suck it," Arturo said, lighthearted. "All of those black bitches think they can bat their eyelashes and prop up their tits, and the Black Mafia knows it. They know we're weak when it comes to offing women. They know we'd never target a woman when a man makes a bigger impact."
"No..."
"And they're using that to their advantage, Rocco. Can't you see?"
What was Arturo going on about? Rocco raised the window and turned his full attention to his brother. A sinking feeling sullied his mood worse than it had been before. Arturo wasn't just deranged anymore; he was compelled by whatever story he'd made up. Women simply didn't play as large of a role in most jobs. Rocco had taken down a couple of them before by orders of the Don, and he knew in the future he'd order a few more of them removed.
"No, I can't see."
"Cecili Hinsley was pulling the strings for her family, and was trying to use me against my family. That's what they do. They don't have guns; they don't kidnap or strong arm their way into power... They marry their way there. Cecili was trying it with me, and I know for a fuckin' fact that the Simmons girl is doing it with Belmonte. Why else would a family as powerful as the Belmontes turn their backs on us? We had it good, us two. Marcello was one of dad's best friends, and look at what happened. His son met one of those black bitches, and all of a sudden, the Belmontes are spittin' in our faces and tellin' us to get lost. It's no coincidence, Rocco. Cecili Hinsley and Ciara Simmons might as well be the same girl cuz they're pulling the same shit."
The accusations were as wild and unfounded. Rocco stared, composing his thoughts. Arturo was the voice of passion and insanity, and he was the voice of logic and reason. It was time to put his brother in his place, but he needed to do so in a way that would force Arturo to listen.
"There's no reports from any of our informants that Simmons is involved in the Black Mafia."
"Bullshit," Arturo shot back. "I trust informants as far as I can throw 'em. There's no way a black woman sunk her claws into one of the biggest political figures in the city without being part of something bigger. Luka was hittin' the clubs five nights a week and closing the establishments down. Don't tell me that all of a sudden he changed his ways because he met some girl. That's not an average girl who can change a party boy, that's a girl who knows what she's doing and has reason to do it. Simmons is working behind the scenes and planting ideas in his head to weaken us, and look what she's done. Now there's dozens of our guys in jail, and look, all of a sudden, she's accepted his apology and they're engaged again. Coincidence? Fuck no. If you can't see it, you're just as blind as dad is."
"Just because she's black doesn't mean that-"
"You must be caught up in the same shit that Belmonte is," Arturo cut in with a shake of his head. "You fucked her, didn't you, that black slut you brought home? She's infecting your mind."
Whitney.
Anger coursed through Rocco's veins and forced him to act. One hand lashed out and grabbed Arturo's arm, fingers digging in painfully. It didn't matter if his brother was driving, he wasn't going to get away with insulting Whitney.
"Fuck you," he hissed. "She isn't infecting me, she's a goddamn girl who got caught up in an unfortunate accident, nothing more. Take what you said the fuck back."
"Let go!" Arturo roared. The easygoing mood slipped away, and he jerked his arm from Rocco's clutches. The car swerved, swaying past the center line before Arturo corrected their course. "Fuck. What is your issue? You really have been indoctrinated, haven't you? They're fucking everywhere, those black spies. I'm gonna take every one of them out I swear to god."
"Pull the car over," Rocco rumbled. If Arturo wouldn't listen to logic, Rocco would beat it into him. No one was going to badmouth Whitney like that. She was a good girl who didn't need to be caught up in all their shit.
"I'm not pulling over."
"Then I will make you pull over."
Rocco caught the wheel and twisted it in his direction. The car swerved to the right and crossed the outside line. Arturo hollered and yanked it back.
"Stop being so crazy, you fuckwad! We're driving to see dad in prison. We don't have time for you to get your thong all tied up over some slut."
Red hot anger blinded him. Breathing hard, teeth gritted and grinding, it took all of his strength not to punch Arturo out on the spot. Whitney was not a slut, she did not have an agenda, and she was worth much more than the shade Arturo was throwing her way. Rocco rolled down the window and let the cold air blast against his face to cool him down.
"Once we take the Black Mafia down and all the dirt on them comes to the surface, you'll see I'm right," Arturo said. "I know you're not gonna believe me now, but I'm sure. One day you'll remember this, and you'll be the first to track down the little slut you let get away so you can pump some lead into her brain. The only way to fix this is the purge New York of our problem. It's gonna take a while, but I'm gonna get it done. I've already made it my mission loud and clear with Cecili. And I've got my next target already lined up."
This was sick.
Rocco felt his upper lip pulling back in a snarl, but he kept his head facing the window so Arturo couldn't call him out on it. He'd pushed his brother about his activities looking for a distraction, but instead he'd renewed his agony. Whitney wouldn't be safe until she got the hell out of New York if this was Arturo's new game. Now Rocco wasn't going to be able to stop thinking about her until he knew she was gone.
"You're sick."
"We live in a sick world, brother," Arturo said, as saccharine as he had been that morning in the kitchen. "Either you're disgusted by it, or you're a part of it. It's time to make your choice."
The choice was clear. Rocco would never be a part of Arturo's world. Sometimes, the ties of blood weren't all they were chalked up to be.
Chapter Twenty-One
Rocco
Stonecrest Penitentiary sat tucked away within the limits of New York City. Barred windows overlooked high fences topped with spikes and barbed wire. Even should a felon escape from within, getting past the walls would be next to impossible. Once in, the only way out was being released. No convict had ever managed to escape, not even a Lombardo.
Belmonte wasn't fucking around.
Arturo checked into the visitor parking and brought his car to a stop. Since the heated exchange Rocco hadn't spoken to him. If there was one thing decades with his brother had taught him, it was that Arturo wasn't going to change his mind. No matter how much Rocco came to Whitney's defense, and no matter how much he struggled to teach Arturo, there was no point. Rocco could beat him until both of his eyes were black and his jaw was broken, and Arturo wouldn't change. Silence was a better option for both of them, and Arturo had been strangely respectful of it. What was he hiding behind that polite facade?