by Sadie Black
"Yeah. I bet." With Arturo just outside, Rocco knew he couldn't leave Whitney cuffed to the railing. If he was going to keep her alive until the storm passed, he was going to have to take better care of her. "I'll be right back. If he comes in again and I'm not here, scream like you did that last time and I'll come for you."
A bob of her head was his only reply. Rocco took to the stairs and returned to the master bathroom to retrieve the key to the handcuffs.
Rocco returned to the stairwell and Whitney's side. The key fit in the pinhole, freeing Whitney's hands. Scratches covered her wrists where the metal dug and pulled as she fought against Arturo. For a short moment, Rocco felt guilty. Then he felt frustrated. There was no guilt to be had here — she was a witness, and right now she was his hostage. Little cuts and bruises were to be expected.
"Thanks," Whitney murmured, moving her arms across her chest to cover her exposed breasts. "Does this mean that I can go?"
"You wish," Rocco replied with a snort, then kicked himself. Laughter was not part of being a Don. "Come with me."
When Rocco began to climb the stairs once more, Whitney rose and followed. The handcuffs, open, still dangled from his hand, the key tucked safely against his palm. Maybe they'd be better used on Arturo to keep him in check; Rocco had no idea how he would control his brother otherwise.
"I'm gonna get you something to wear, since Arturo destroyed your uh, shirt," he said. An old wooden dresser was stocked with men's casual wear, but a plain t-shirt, although too big, would do the trick.
"What about you?" Whitney asked in a small voice, as though timid around the topic. Rocco looked at her over her shoulder and furrowed his brow before he realized what she was talking about. All this time he'd been naked. The fight with Arturo had taken his mind from his state of undress.
"Yeah. I'm gonna get dressed, too."
Whitney already saw everything he had to offer, but Rocco still found himself wanting to cover up. He tossed her the shirt, then wrenched open the top drawer and pulled out a pair of shorts.
"Do you think—"
A musical tune broke the question before it began. Both captive and captor looked towards the bathroom, and Whitney bit down on her bottom lip. The dull buzzing from the other room gave the noise away — it was her cellphone going off. The one he had confiscated earlier that night.
"Shit," Rocco mumbled. They'd ignored the text message from before, and now someone was reaching out again. Whitney left her shift, and if she was the kind of girl he thought she was, that behavior was likely unusual. If he didn't act soon, she was going to become a missing person's case. With a body so close to The Avenue, shit was going to get real.
"Listen," he spoke fast, and he spoke cold. Whitney's eyes were on him, and he could tell she was paying close attention. "I'm gonna keep you safe from my brother, unless you try something stupid, in which case I'll let him at you. But in exchange for my protection, I need a little something from you. Until we get this mess all figured out and I can figure out a way to let you off the hook with your life, you've gotta be a good girl for me. Whoever's callin' right now, I need you to come up with a story about where you are, and that you're fine. If it's work, you tell 'em that you went home sick. If it's your friends, you tell 'em you met someone and you're gonna spend the night out. Got it?"
"Yeah, I got it," Whitney said with a nod of her head. It was a big risk, letting her speak to someone on the phone, but it was a risk Rocco was willing to take.
"Remember that I've got a brother who won't hesitate to fuck you up, and if you really go behind my back, I will shoot you. Best you play nice and get set free for good behavior, right?"
Dangling freedom before her was bound to get her to behave. At this point in the night, she had to be desperate enough to believe it. It wasn't often that someone survived this long in one of the Lombardo's hostage situations; tonight lady luck was on Whitney's side. How much longer that luck played out was the question. All Rocco knew was that no matter what he said, he wouldn't let Arturo near her with a ten-foot pole. Let luck play its part, fate didn't need to be tempted.
Rocco left the bedroom to grab her phone. While there, he grabbed his holster and the gun within. Often the sight of a gun was enough to discourage any rebellious behavior.
By the time Rocco arrived in the bedroom, the caller had hung up.
"Unlock the phone and I'll watch you as you redial, just to make sure you're not trying to pull a fast one on me by calling the cops. Nice and casual, nice and simple, like we talked about."
Whitney's face soured as he reviewed his instructions, and she took the phone from him with more confidence than he guessed she had in her.
"I know that you're nervous that I'm going to rat on you and do something stupid, but I'm not a kid. You don't need to keep repeating the same thing to me over and over; I got it. I'm good. Yeah, I'm scared, but that doesn't mean that I'm an idiot."
The bite to her words impressed him. Usually women were stricken with terror at the sight of a gun. Whitney wasn't just any other woman — there was something special about her. Something grounded, something Rocco admired.
As soon as the thought came, he pushed it aside. No matter who she was, how she looked, or what she did, she was still his hostage. No matter how brilliant she was, her life was destined to end. What was his issue? His dad hadn't raised a sissy.
Whitney unlocked the phone, then opened up her call history and brought up the first number on the list. According to her caller ID, she'd missed a call from Cassandra. Rocco drew his gun and pointed with it to the name before Whitney placed the call.
"That your room mate?" he asked.
"My work mate," Whitney replied. "She was the one on shift with me at The Avenue, along with a newer girl. She knows it's not like me to ditch work."
"All you tell her is that you got really sick and you needed to head home," Rocco insisted. "Make sure that Liam knows it, too."
"You know Liam?"
Shit. Rocco bit down on his tongue and wiped the expression from his face. Revealing information like this was a blunder — a big blunder. Whitney was making him sloppy. If she knew that her boss was tied into mob affairs, and word somehow got out, it would be a disaster.
"Scoped the place out online before the hit. When you're going into a place cold, having the owner's name on hand can be an asset."
It was a damn good thing he could talk his way through just about anything.
"You didn't do a good job if you wanted to fit in — but it's not like that's a bad thing. You were way hotter than any of the normal guys who party it up on a Friday night. If you'd stuck around to dance rather than... doing what you did, I think you would have been the most popular guy in there."
Hot? Rocco was stunned into momentary silence. "Call the number." No more falling for her charms, no more letting himself be vulnerable. It was back to business.
Whitney did as she was told. As the call connected, she cradled the phone against her ear and locked eyes with him. In those black pools there was fear, but there was also resilience. She'd come a long way from the trembling, weeping creature she'd been in the back alley behind The Avenue.
"Cassandra?" Whitney asked. To Rocco's surprise, she sounded calm and composed. "Yeah, I went home. I started to feel so sick — you know why. I just couldn't keep up anymore, and after I went out back and had a sort-of run in with Liam, I couldn't stay on the floor. I'm sorry."
Silence as Cassandra responded. Rocco focused on everything Whitney said, careful to listen for any code words or secret cries for help. So far, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Although he did wonder what was happening in Whitney's professional life. Was Liam giving her a hard time?
"Yeah. Yeah, can you uh, can you tell Liam? I can't bring myself to talk with him. Not now. I need to get my shit together first."
Another stretch of silence. Rocco kept his eyes on the gun in his hand, twisting it back and forth beneath the overhead light and watching it glint.
Whitney hung up and extended the phone towards Rocco to return it, but he shook his head.
"You're not done yet. You said you had a room mate — do you have a boyfriend?" As much as Rocco tried to convince himself the question was purely to make sure no one suspected anything, he couldn't. There was a selfish element of curiosity to it that he tried to ignore.
"No," Whitney said, voice small.
"Then I need you to text your room mate and let her know that you met someone you're going home with, so she doesn't expect you tonight, just like we talked about before. After that, is there anyone else who you need to check in with who would notice you missing after a few hours?"
"No."
"Then just text your room mate and tell her you won't be home. Remember that I'm watching."
With practiced ease, Whitney left the call history and opened her text message folder. She recalled a conversation and composed a simple message: met a hot guy 2nite n I’m going home wit him. c u l8er!
Perfect. Message sent and received, Rocco took the phone back and turned off the screen. The night was dragging on, and it had been one hell of a rough ride. Between Tyrone, his father's jail time, and his fight with Arturo, there was a lot to process. Tomorrow would be just as busy, visiting Vittore and contacting lawyers to make sure all loose ends were tied up. There was no way a little bust was going to keep his dad down.
"Now that all that's taken care of, I'm heading to bed. As far as I see it, you've got a choice. Either you can sleep handcuffed on the chaise over there, or you can sleep uncuffed in the bed beside me. Either way, I don't give a shit. I'm a light sleeper. If you try to sneak away, you can bet your ass I'll wake up."
Heavy footsteps on the stairs and a masculine grunt reminded Rocco that his brother was here to stay as well. Whitney's eyes turned to the bedroom door, and true fear returned in force. Her encounter with Arturo had hit her deep, and Rocco capitalized on the situation.
"Plus, if you try to make it out of the room, you've got Arturo to worry about. As long as you're close to me, he's not going to try nothing. The second you decide to haul ass, he'll be on your tail, and I can't be held responsible for what he does if you tempt him like that."
Whitney's eyes shot back to him, and she nodded quickly, making a decision. As much as Rocco despised his brother, in this moment he was glad for him.
"I'm going to sleep in the bed with you," she said. "I don't trust that guy at all, not even if I'm across the room from you. I don't mean you any disrespect, but there's something not right about him, like he's not even human."
Blood came first, Rocco tried to remind himself, but he couldn't help but agree with what Whitney said. Arturo was dangerous, and he liked it when he was stirring shit up. There was no telling what he might do.
"Up to you. It's not any skin off my back one way or the other." So why was he so thrilled about her decision?
Without waiting for her to make a reply, he headed to the front of the room to close and lock the bedroom door. Arturo wasn't going to get in. He flipped off the lights and crossed the room again. Whitney waited by the king sized bed, not daring to move. Smart girl.
Rocco tore back the crisp sheets on his side of the bed. Rocco slipped beneath them wearing only his shorts. Hesitantly, Whitney moved to the other side of the bed and crawled in next to him. She was still wearing her jeans and the oversized t-shirt he'd provided, but that couldn't be helped. There weren't many sleepwear options for her.
"Be good tonight," he warned her. Even though she didn't lie all that close to him, he could smell her now. The smell was impossible to pinpoint, but he knew it suited her. Energetic, vibrant, and fun, it stirred his senses and caught his attention. How had he not noticed it before?
"I'll be good," Whitney promised. "Goodnight."
"Goodnight."
There were no more words exchanged. Today was one screwed up of a day he was eager to be done with. If Whitney's luck was contagious, tomorrow would bring better things.
* * *
Chapter Twelve
Whitney
The lights were out and the room was silent. Yet each breath she took was proof that Whitney was still alive.
Somehow.
Still alive after being taken at gunpoint. Still alive after she was supposed to be executed in an abandoned warehouse. And, thank God, still alive after almost being raped by a monster. She was lying in bed next to the man who should have killed her by now.
If only Oprah could see her now.
Whitney lay on her back and did her best to digest what she'd been through. What had started as a crappy day at work had turned into chaos beyond anything she could have imagined. Given what she knew now, she would've shaken the new girl's hand and trained her herself. Hell, she would've sat down with Liam and discussed how thirty was the new sixty if you worked at a bar. Anything would've been better than meeting Rocco by the dumpsters.
Only the more she thought about it, the more she knew that wasn't true.
Rocco had abducted her, but Whitney couldn't help but see his redeeming qualities. Since she'd spotted him in the bar, before she knew what kind of a man he was, she'd felt a pull towards him. Something rare and addicting. Sure, initially it was just because of his looks. As the night wore on and Rocco opened himself to her, she got a better feel for the man, and realized her attraction ran deeper than the superficial.
Rocco could have walked away as Arturo raped and choked her to death. It was Rocco's plan to have her killed, leaving her to Arturo would have simplified the process. Yet he'd dove down the stairs, naked, to come to her defence. He'd beaten his brother senseless to make sure he backed off. There was a deeper connection there than Whitney could discount. If she were to guess, Rocco wasn't keeping her alive because he had to — not anymore. There had been plenty of chances to kill her, and yet one excuse or another had prevented him from taking action. Whitney had never been that lucky her whole life. Something else was at play here, something a lot more human.
A small sigh signalled that Rocco was settling in for the night. Whitney felt the mattress shift as he rolled over.
And truth be told, she found herself sympathetic. Rocco had threatened to ruin her life, but he had definitely saved it as well. The way he'd come running down those stairs to save her life — there was no other way to explain it away other than protectiveness. As long as she was by his side and didn't cause trouble, Whitney knew she'd be okay. Rocco was going to keep her safe, even though he was dangerous.
No longer comfortable on her back, Whitney rolled over onto her side facing away from Rocco and curled up in a little ball. Moments of extreme hardship built character, she told herself. It happened when she was little and her mom left her out of the blue, when her grandma died, and each time a new foster family dropped the facade and began to neglect her. Although many years had passed since her life had been as tragic as it had been during her childhood, it didn't mean she was invulnerable. Tonight was a good reminder of her mortality and the fragility of life. Tonight Whitney told herself that this would teach her to let go. What was the point of life if you didn't stop to enjoy it? It was time to enjoy as she never had before.
"Mmph, you don't toss and turn in your sleep, do you?" Rocco's sleepy voice startled her, and Whitney turned her head towards him. He was close — closer than she remembered. When she didn't reply, he exhaled another sigh and slid an arm over her waist to hold her loosely. To Whitney's surprise, he pressed against her back and spooned her. Was he awake, or had he done this in his dreams?
Unsure of the answer, and not sure if she cared to know, Whitney closed her eyes. The worries and stress slipped away when she was close to him. Rocco's body was warm and comforting. Here she was safe from Arturo.
For now, she was happy, and despite the terror she faced earlier in the day, Whitney couldn't wish for much more.
* * *
Chapter Thirteen
Rocco
The beach house, Rocco would recognize those clean white walls and seashell decor anywhere. The house's dining room faced the water, opening out onto the deck that led down onto the sandy dunes. The sky was clear, light bright and yet dreamy, like there wasn't a care in the world to be had. The days at the beach house had always been the calmest times of Rocco's life. Those were the days before Arturo had grown into a terror, the days before he was responsible for the deaths of others. Everything was just as Rocco remembered it. Had nothing really changed after all these years?
On bare feet he walked forward, the hard wood cool against his soles. How had he gotten here? His father had given the beach house away to an associate he was pleased with, despite Rocco's cries to the contrary. One moment it had been his favorite place in the world, and the next he was told he'd never see it again.
Translucent white curtains billowed, Rocco caught the scent of the sea and stopped. New York wasn't exactly far from any body of water, but the air smelled different here than it did in the city. It was crisper. Better. Perfect. He stood still and admired the smell.
At the long, pale colored dining room table there sat a man. Rocco hadn't noticed him for a long while, but when he did, there was no shock or surprise. It was only natural that Vittore Lombardo would want to sit at the table in the house he owned. Rocco turned his head to look at him, and managed to smile. After keeping a serious expression for so long, the gesture felt alien on his face.
"Rocco," his father said with some warmth and an inviting hand gesture, "come sit down. Sit with your old man. Let's talk."
Rocco moved across the space that separated them and drew back the chair to Vittore's right. The gesture was effortless.
"I miss this place," Rocco said.
"I miss it, too," Vittore replied. "Sometimes the price you pay to keep the ones you love safe is worth the heartache of sacrifice. Sometimes it's not."