Taken by the Italian Mafia(8)

They arrived at the door, and he fished a solitary heavy duty key out of  his pocket and fit it into the lock. The big door let them into the  main warehouse. The place was empty.

"If you want to do it the hard way, that's fine, too, but it's not going  to be pleasant. You're going to hurt. You're not going to like it. It's  going to be a bigger pain for me, and ruin my Friday night. So the  choice is yours, but if I were you, I'd want it to be simple and easy."

Through it all, the bartender remained silent. She was an obedient one,  Rocco appreciated that. When they finally made it into the halo of  light, he stopped her with a firm hand. It was time to see how she  wanted to spend her last moments on Earth.         

     



 

"Get on your knees," he instructed. Either she would listen to  instructions, or he'd make her listen. There was no way around his word.

The bartender sank to her knees. Rocco couldn't help but notice her  breasts barely concealed beneath her flimsy vest. She was hot. But it  wasn't her body alone that made him hesitate.

Rocco pulled his gun from inside his jacket and stared at the back of  her head where he should have already placed the muzzle. On her knees,  quivering, he took her in from behind. What was the problem? As he  mulled it over, Rocco ran his tongue over his top teeth. It had to be  those eyes. The next time he had to haul ass and bring a woman along  with him after a kill, he'd order her not to look at him.

"I want you to think about something you love," he said. The words came  out of nowhere. During an execution, he forced his target into position  and pulled the trigger, simple as that. Tonight was the first time he'd  ever tried to ease someone towards a peaceful death. "Or lots of things  you love. Pizza. Chocolate. Kittens. That show on tv you watch over and  over even though it ended ten years ago. A massage. Your boyfriend. I  don't know, whatever it is girls go gaga over. Picture that."

A moment passed. Rocco ran his finger over the trigger, but the gun wasn't in position yet. Why was he having such a hard time?

"Think about how often you got to enjoy all those things, how good it made you feel."

The quivering stopped. Rocco pressed his lips into a thin line and  raised the gun into position, but did not touch it against the back of  her head. He wouldn't let her know that death was coming until it  already claimed her. The sound of his voice would lead her to the grave.  He intended to pull the trigger mid-sentence.

Just as his finger was tightening, a sound interrupted the moment. A  shrill series of ringing noises echoed through the empty warehouse, and  Rocco dropped his arm. It was a sound he recognized well, but rarely  heard. His brother was calling from his emergency line.

"Hello?"

Gun pointed at the ground, the bartender on her knees before him, Rocco  wasn't in a position to chat - but his brother left him little choice.  Arturo didn't call from that number for no reason. Whenever that custom  ringtone played, it meant trouble.

"Where the fuck are you?"

"If this isn't life or death, I'm gonna beat you next time I see you.  I'm busy. What do you think I'm doing?" Arturo was never  straightforward, preferring to make a show of everything. Right now he  didn't have time to waste on his brother's theatrics.

"Well, whatever you're doing, it's not as important as what's goin'  down. Dad just got caught up in a major raid. We're talking special  forces involvement. Some kinda fucking sting operation. It's being  broadcast live on TV right now. I just saw him dragged outta the big  poker game in handcuffs."

"Shit."

Arturo didn't have to tell him what the implications meant. Vittore had  been in and out of jail his whole life, but nothing had ever stuck.  Still, in Vittore's absence it would be Rocco's job to step up. And if  the cops were cracking down on their organization, it meant that the  entire Lombardo family would be under the microscope. It was time to  clean up the act until the pigs looked the other way.

"So, you know the drill. When can I expect to see you at the safe house?"

The bartender did not tremble anymore, but her head was hung in  resignation. If Arturo hadn't interrupted, she would've been a corpse at  his feet.

"I have a situation on my hands right now. The meeting didn't go well,  and I've got a witness I need to deal with. I need to tie up loose ends  before I can head out."

On the other end, Arturo snorted. It was no secret that he held contempt  for his older brother, and Rocco was sure he wouldn't hear the end of  his failure.

"Yeah, okay. Just make sure you get it tied up neat. The cops are comin' sniffin', and we don't want to stink of shit."

"I fucking know," Rocco replied, terse.

"See you soon, big brother."

The call ended, line dropping dead. With silent dread, Rocco tucked his  phone back into his pocket and looked down at the bartender. A body to  clean up so soon after a bust was risky business. As far as he knew, the  woman at his feet was an innocent. If the cops found an innocent woman  murdered, there'd be an investigation. Rocco knew that with the murder  at The Avenue, her place of employment, the trail would lead back to the  Lombardo family right away. The no witness rule only applied if it  wouldn't sink him in more shit.

"Get up," Rocco ordered. The bartender picked up her head, but didn't  look at him. With any luck, she'd keep being good while he figured out  the best course of action. An execution was out of the question for the  moment. He'd need to pull some strings and get her taken care of by  someone who wouldn't lead back to him.         

     



 

Why did the thought distress him so much?

Legs no longer wobbling, the bartender rose. When she was back on her  feet, he directed her back to the idling car. Piero was smoking, arm  hanging out the window.

"Get outta the car," Rocco said as he approached. Piero turned his beady eyes toward the young Don and narrowed his eyes.

"It's my car ya fuckface, I'm the driver. Get back in and I'll take you where you wanna go."

"I don't have time for this right now," Rocco rumbled. "There's been an  emergency with my father. I'll call someone to come pick you up, but I  need to take the car."

Piero's face contorted with distrust, but he didn't object. No one joked  when it came to matters involving the Don. The driver left the driver's  side door open.

"What about the girl?" Piero asked, gesturing at the bartender. She had  her arms crossed over her chest, trying to hide her spilling cleavage.

"I'm gonna take care of it. She's my responsibility, and for now, she's coming with me."

To prove his point, Rocco moved around Piero and popped the child lock on the back doors.

"Get in the car now," he directed her. "If you try anything, remember who's got the gun."

Without a word, the bartender ducked into the back of the car. Once the  door closed behind her, Rocco locked the doors again and offered Piero a  nod.

"Consider this calling it even for all the shit you've been talking tonight."

"You're still just a kid to me, Rocco. An old guy's gotta have some fun," Piero replied.

"And as of tonight, I'm stepping in during the Don's absence," he  replied, sharp and to the point. "There's a clean slate between us right  now, but talk down to me again, and I won't be so forgiving next time."

Before Piero had a chance to dig himself any deeper, Rocco swung himself  down into the driver's seat and closed the door. The keys were still in  the ignition, engine idling.

Too much time had already been wasted. It was time to go.









Chapter Seven





Whitney





What happened to Rocco's father? Whitney found herself more concerned  than she should have been. This was the man who'd abducted her and tried  to kill her, after all. She had no right to be concerned with his  personal life. Whitney crossed her arms over her chest and looked away,  willing herself not to listen in.

"What about the girl?"

"I'm gonna take care of her in due time. She's my responsibility, and for now, she's coming with me."

The click of the lock mechanism stirred her from her introspection.  Whitney lifted her chin just a little to acknowledge she'd heard, but  did not turn to look at Rocco. He opened the back door of the car for  her.

"Get in the car now. If you try anything, remember who's got the gun."

It was a reality she wasn't likely to forget. Whitney did as she was  told, settling onto the back bench as Rocco closed the door behind her.  The driver's side door was open, and she could hear the conversation  between Rocco and his driver, but she chose not to acknowledge it.  Instead, Whitney took the time by herself to try to cobble together a  battle plan.

A hard life meant that she wasn't unfamiliar with types of guys like  Rocco. Back in high school, Whitney had dated a guy like him. Dangerous.  On the edge. Unpredictable. But high school thugs weren't the same as  seasoned hitmen. At least, she assumed Rocco was a hitman. The getaway  car and the blood on his shirt told her as much.