The Rocchetti Queen (The Rocchetti Dynasty Book 3)

by Bree Porter

  He made a dark noise low in his throat.

  In response, I took him in my mouth, hands wrapping around the length of him.

  “Shit,” he hissed, his grip on my hair tightening to near pain.

  This was my first time ever giving a blowjob, but I was a quick study. I watched and listened for Alessandro’s reactions—took my directions from how tightly he was gripping my head.

  I ran my tongue down his cock, scraping the head with my teeth.

  “No teeth,” Alessandro barked, the words barely audible.

  I laughed but obeyed, taking him further down my throat. With my fingers, I gently cupped his balls, softly rubbing my thumb over the tight skin.

  Alessandro groaned.

  His hips bucked, his body’s warning—

  He came into my mouth, hot and salty.

  “Sophia,” was the only word from his lips, so dark and low I wasn’t sure if it was a confession of love or a threat.

  I pulled him out of my mouth, looking up at him. Cum dripped from my swollen lips.

  Alessandro crouched down, hands on either side of my face. He kissed me deep and slow, tongue entwined with mine. “My Sophia,” he whispered, more to himself than me. “My love, my donna.”

  The holidays were always an exciting part of life in the Outfit. Any chance to spend time together as a family, drinking and talking about each other, was a highly anticipated event. Especially with Don Piero’s death still looming over Chicago, any chance to celebrate was enjoyed.

  Thanksgiving was spent with immediate families, whereas Christmas was the more publicized event. After spending the morning in Church (after opening presents, of course) there was the Christmas party, one of the more beloved events in the Outfit.

  Alessandro found Dante and I in the kitchen as staff bustled around, decorating and cooking.

  “What have you done to my son?” he asked.

  “He’s a reindeer.” I wiggled Dante’s foot. He smiled slightly. I had dressed him up in a little reindeer onesie, with antlers on his head. “He’s matching Polpetto.”

  Alessandro looked down at Polpetto, who was in fact matching Dante. “Jesus Christ. At least wait until he can fight back.”

  “Then I’ll never get to dress him up.”

  Alessandro scooped up his son, holding him above his head. “What has your mother done to you, my boy?” He took off the antler headband, tossing it to the side. He gestured to the meals being laid out. “Everything almost ready?”

  “Yes. I just have to go and get ready.” I kissed Dante’s forehead before giving my husband a soft kiss.

  “Is your little politician coming?” he asked.

  Salisbury was joining us for the party. “He is.”

  “Do you not want me to talk to him?”

  Alessandro was referring to that fact that Salisbury had gotten a bit big for his boots. He had been challenging me briefly, first at the Historical Society and now whenever we met up. He was forgetting that I was on his side. I had written it off as arrogance, but it would very quickly turn into something more dangerous.

  “No. I’m not sure how I am going to handle that yet,” I murmured. “Let’s wait until after the holidays.”

  He bowed his head.

  When I came back downstairs a couple hours later, a few guests had begun to arrive. My husband stood in the foyer, Dante in the crook of his arm, trying to greet our family members patiently. From the bunching up of his muscles, he was growing agitated quickly.

  Like he could sense me, Alessandro turned his head toward me, eyes darkening.

  “Do you like my dress?”

  “I do,” he said gravely.

  The dress itself was long, and a deep red, the collar high and sleeves long. Despite the modest cut, the velvet clung to me. I had twisted my short hair over my shoulder, adding a red ribbon to the curls, but Alessandro hadn’t even noticed—his attention was sliding down the dress.

  I grabbed his arm, squeezing almost warningly. “We’re in public.”

  “That could change very quickly,” he said. “This is my house.”

  I rolled my eyes, fighting my blush, and scratched Dante’s belly. Alessandro hadn’t changed him out of his reindeer onesie. “My little baby, you look as grumpy as your father.” Dante did have a scowl on his face. “Where is my boys’ Christmas spirit?”

  “Mine’s upstairs,” Alessandro replied.

  I laughed. “Come on. Let’s greet our guests.”

  My house had been decorated within an inch of its life. From mistletoe above the doorways, to wreaths on the doors and golden red ribbons curling around candles. A huge tree sat in the living room, shimmering with twinkle lights, with an angel gracing the top.

  Outside, the snow was coming down fast, so we lit the fire, the crackle of the flames the unofficial background song to our chatter.

  As the night wore on, gifts were exchanged and food consumed. I eventually found myself looking around, my eyes glancing over familiar faces.

  In the corner, by the tree, Nicoletta was with Ophelia, paging through a musical book Alessandro and I had gifted her. A few feet away, Nero watched in the shadows.

  By the fire, Sergio spoke to Narcisa, their heads bent together. His usually hard face was smooth, bright even. And Narcisa, usually so delicate and shy, was smiling and replying, no fear in her face.

  Gabriel and Oscuro sat on the couch, laughing at a story. Their drinks threatened to spill over the sides of their glasses, but they managed to still their movements before staining my furniture. Lucky, I thought.

  Farther along the couch, Beatrice sat, weeks away from her due date. Pietro brought her food, watching her as she ate and grinning whenever she said anything. They would go home early. Beatrice was too uncomfortable to be out for long.

  I spotted Rocchettis lining the walls, from Santino to Beppe and Big Robbie. They laughed about something. Enrico and Toto the Terrible were deep in a conversation, Carlos Jr only half-listening, his attention trained on his plate of food.

  Speaking to Carlos Sr were Davide and Nina Genovese. Nina’s grandson and Angie’s son pressed against his grandmother’s legs, eyes heavy as the night wore on.

  From the Palermos to the Tarantinos to the Schiavones and di Traglias, the atmosphere was warm and celebratory. Even Chiara was smiling, recovering from the news of Adelasia and her lost baby.

  By the window, staring out into the snow, was my father. He was getting married again soon, but his fiancé was nowhere to be seen. All those years of expectations and rules and resentment had blown away in the wind, forgiven but not forgotten.

  Our story was over, it had reached its climax and dwindled to an end. No longer was I beholden to him—or him to me.

  “Papa,” I murmured, coming to his side. “Can I get you anything? A drink, a plate?”

  He looked over at me, the eyes that he had passed down to me brightening. “No, bambolina. You can just stand here with me.”

  I cast my gaze out the window, taking in the dark street and glimmering snow.

  “Your boy is very gorgeous,” Papa said eventually.

  “He looks just like his father,” I replied.

  Papa shook his head. “I can see you in him. Subtle, but it is there.”

  I smiled, flattered. “Thank you. That is very kind of you to say.”

  “Is it?” My father continued to stare out the window, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I should have said this years ago, but if you need anything, just let me know.”

  “Oh?”

  “Anything at all.” He turned his head to me, eyes growing more intense. “I am a mafioso first, but I am still your father. If you need anything, you just let me know.”

  The intensity of his tone made me wonder what anything could be. But I already had everything I needed, so I smiled gratefully “Thank you.”

  “You’re like your mother, do you know that?” he said suddenly.

  “Dita said she was incredibly boring,” I murmured.

/>   Papa shook his head. “Your mother...Antonia. She...figured out very early on in her life how to stay alive. Growing up, I did not recognize that trait in you, maybe because I didn’t want to, or you were too good at hiding it, but you carry that same understanding.” He looked thoughtful. “The only difference is, while your mother made herself boring to survive, you have chosen to thrive, to succeed.”

  “Right under your nose.”

  “Right under my nose.” He didn’t sound angry about this fact. “Just like Catherine, but she had different plans, didn’t she?”

  That was an understatement. “I suppose she did.”

  Papa smiled brightly. “Your husband is looking for you. Go and be with your family.”

  I kissed his cheek softly. “Congratulations on your engagement. It will be nice to have another thing to celebrate.”

  “I am celebrating the future Don killing the man who tried to kill my daughter,” he said. “Anything else will never be as festive.”

  A laugh bubbled out of me, but I left my father by the window, deep in his own thoughts about how he’d failed his daughters.

  Alessandro still held Dante, and was speaking to a few of his men. They scattered as I approached, the jerk of my husband’s chin their first warning.

  “What did your father want?” he asked.

  Dante let out a mewl at the sight of me. I took him from Alessandro, holding him to my chest. He fit so perfectly against me—I could hold him forever.

  “Nothing bad. We just had a chat.” I kissed Dante’s forehead. “He seems pleased you took out Raul.”

  “That makes two of us.”

  I glanced around the living room. “Has your brother shown his face?”

  “He wouldn’t dare.”

  Indeed.

  I wasn’t complaining. Salvatore Jr’s lack of interest in family events only benefited Alessandro and me. There was more to being king than ruling—something my brother-in-law hadn’t figured out yet.

  “I’m going to check on Nicoletta,” I said. “It’s getting late.”

  “Does he need to go down yet?”

  I checked Dante’s face. “Soon. I’ll show him off a little bit more first.”

  Alessandro shook his head, but he was grinning.

  When I approached Nicoletta, Ophelia looked up. She wore a knee-length green dress, the color making her eyes look brighter. I could see why Nero hadn’t turned his stare away from her.

  “Nicoletta, Sophia’s here,” Ophelia said.

  Nicoletta looked up, eyes going straight to Dante. She cooed in delight, “Ah, little baby Rocchetti. Can I hold him?”

  I passed Dante to her, keeping my hands close in case she forgot to grip. Nicoletta rocked him in her arms, crooning to him.

  “Are you having a good time?” I asked Ophelia.

  She nodded. “The food is very good and everyone is super friendly.”

  Though she worked for us, she was still considered an outsider, so most of my guests would be on their best behavior around her. Especially since she spoke Italian.

  “The only problem is him.” She jerked her chin in Nero’s direction. “What is his problem? I’m not going to hurt Nicoletta.”

  That’s not why he is staring, I wanted to say, but didn’t. “Family is very important,” I responded. “I will speak to him again.”

  Not that it would do any good. Nero had found something that caught his interest, and for once, I didn’t think he planned to assassinate it.

  “How is living in that big house with Nicoletta?”

  “Fine. She actually remembers the layout of the house, so I don’t worry as much about her getting lost,” Ophelia said. “I get lost more than her.”

  I smiled. “And the dogs?”

  “Florence is cool.” Don Piero’s Maremma sheepdog, a lovely animal who was allowed to live in the house. “The others do not stop barking.”

  “Most of them are guard dogs,” I told her gently.

  Ophelia shrugged. “It does not make it any less annoying.”

  I laughed, agreeing with her.

  Nicoletta sung a little tune for Dante. “Your mama will be home soon,” she told him in Italian. “Not long now.” She looked up at me. “When will Danta be back?”

  “Soon,” I said kindly.

  “She’s been gone a long time.” Nicoletta’s face pinched. “I was meant to call someone when she didn’t return...”

  Distress began to form over her features.

  Ophelia spoke to her softly, assuring her there was nothing to worry about.

  But Nicoletta’s mind had latched onto something. “No, no,” she said. “I told her not to go. Stupid, stupid girl.”

  “Told her not to go where, Nicoletta?” I asked.

  Her expression tightened. “I...I can’t...”

  “It’s okay, Nicoletta,” Ophelia soothed. “Danta will be back soon. How about I get you something to eat?”

  Nicoletta’s eyes widened. “Pelletier,” she realized. “She’s giving herself to Pelletier. Oh, we have to stop her!”

  I didn’t understand what Nicoletta was talking about. “Why is she giving herself to Pelletier?”

  People had begun to take notice now, alarmed by Nicoletta’s rising voice.

  Nicoletta grabbed my wrist, holding tight. I instantly put my hand beneath my son, ready to grab him if she let go.

  “It wasn’t them,” she told me. “It’s always been us.”

  “Nicoletta...”

  “It has always been the Rocchetti women, Sophia.” It was the first time she had said my name. “It has never been the men; they have never brought peace. It has always been us.”

  I grabbed Dante as soon as Nicoletta pressed her hands to her face, sobbing.

  “Danta, oh, Danta! She traded her life for ours—I told her not to!”

  I looked over my shoulder at my father-in-law.

  “Father,” Alessandro said coldly, now beside me. “What happened the night Mama disappeared?”

  Toto the Terrible didn’t looked happy as he said, “We fought. She said she was going, that she didn’t love me. She was in love with Pelletier’s son. I...I let her go. I never saw her again.”

  Letting women go seemed to be a nasty habit of Salvatore Sr’s.

  I turned back to Nicoletta, who was still sobbing.

  Pelletier’s son has just got out.

  Get out before my brother kills you—just like he did your no-good sister!

  My brother took your daughter...

  I heard from the maid in Toto the Terrible’s house that she was involved with a French man! When the Outfit was at war with the Corsican Union.

  Danta’s body had been found on Pelletier land.

  The Corsican Union vs Outfit war had ended in the 80s, after nearly destroying Chicago. It was only spoken about with fear. No one wanted that war to happen again.

  Danta, my mother-in-law, had given herself to Pelletier in hopes that the Union would leave the Outfit alone. In exchange, he had killed her...but the war had ended soon after, with the Outfit coming out on top.

  Danta had sacrificed her reputation, her life. She had been buried in a non-Catholic cemetery, had endured whispers and names. But really, she had done all that she could to make sure that her boys were safe.

  I pressed a gentle hand to Nicoletta’s head. She looked up at me.

  “It has always been the Rocchetti women,” I confirmed, the truth as clear as daylight.

  Later that night, after everyone had left, I found my phone. I had stashed it in the bedroom before the party. The screen was bright with a missed voicemail.

  Alessandro came behind me, carrying a sleeping Dante in his arms. “Everything okay, my love?”

  “Mmhmm.” I unlocked my phone, eyeing the unknown number. When I clicked on it, a familiar voice filled the room.

  “If you want the baby, go to the church where you were married. Come alone or we will not hand him over.”

  It ended with a click.
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br />   I looked to Alessandro. He was already staring at me.

  We knew what we had to do.

  T he only light in the church came from the streetlamps.

  Darkness cast over the statues and arches, shadows of falling snowflakes moving over the pews. Inside was nearly as cold as outside, my fingers numb as soon as they pressed down on the heavy doors and pushed inside.

  At the end of the church, half-hidden behind the statue of the Virgin Mary, was my sister. Catherine stood tall, holding a bundle of blankets to her chest.

  The door slammed behind me, echoing.

  She turned to me, golden hair gleaming as it caught the light.

  My footsteps echoed through the church as I made my way to her, steady and slow. This was not the time to show desperation, not to rush. Catherine would pounce on the first sign of weakness.

  “What is in your hands?” she asked, voice startlingly loud.

  “I brought you a gift.”

  Catherine jerked her chin. “Put it down on the ground.”

  I didn’t.

  Instead, I held it up, showing the photograph. Months ago, I had found out she had secretly gone to college. At the time, it had been huge—but now it felt minuscule. Still, I had kept the photographs I ordered, unable to find it in myself to give them up.

  Her lips parted. “My graduation photos.”

  I laid them down on the ground, moving them closer to her with my foot. “My nephew?”

  She nodded, passing me the bundle.

  I pushed the blanket away from his face, trying not to let my cold fingers upset him. Adelasia’s son was gorgeous and healthy. He looked like his father—meaning he looked like a Rocchetti.

  I rocked him in my arms, “It’s okay, my darling,” I murmured. “You’re safe now. You’re with your family.”

  “I didn’t know,” my sister said suddenly.

  I looked up at her.

  She rocked back and forth on her heels. “I didn’t know that the FBI was going to take him.”

  “You seem surprised.” I scanned her face. “Did you know they also killed Adelasia?”

  Catherine blinked. “No, we didn’t kill her. We got a tip from the hospital that she was there and went to see if you guys showed up.”