Rocco

by Sarah Castille

  “Touch yourself. Use your fingers. Show me how you make yourself come.”

  Her mouth opened in protest and closed again. In the games they used to play, she followed where he led and talked when he allowed. Clearly, she remembered the rules, which meant she also remembered the punishment for breaking them.

  She tentatively stroked her clit, her hand gliding over the soft down between her legs. He was glad of the darkness because if he had to look into her eyes, he would be lost.

  Or maybe he was lost already.

  TEN

  Something was wrong.

  Grace slicked her wetness up and around her clit, trying to balance on the bed with one arm. She’d felt something change in Rocco, like a wall slamming into place between them. One minute he was holding her, soothing her, his tongue warm between her legs, and she’d felt like they were back in New York, hiding away in Rocco’s small apartment, making the most of the few hours they had together. The next minute, he was gone, and in his place was the cold, efficient Mafia enforcer she had seen at the restaurant.

  “Give me a show that will make my dick hard.”

  They’d played this game before, but always she could feel the connection between them, hear the warmth behind the sternness of his voice. Now, there was nothing and she felt a curious emptiness deep inside.

  Pushing away her uncertainty, she pushed her finger inside and then rubbed her clit. God, that felt good, and it turned her on knowing it aroused him.

  “Keep going, sexy girl.” His rough, husky voice pushed her past her misgivings, and she rubbed short strokes until she felt the burn of climax. A small rush of pleasure took her breath, making her toes curl.

  “That was hot, babe.” He shoved his pajama pants down and grabbed a condom from the dresser drawer. “Over on all fours.”

  Babe. He never called her babe. In all the time she’d known him, he’d only ever used Italian terms of endearment.

  Nausea tugged at her belly. It was stress combined with the orgasm making her light-headed, she decided, as she got in position. She hadn’t slept well last night alone in his bed. Once he was inside her, their connection would snap back into place. She would feel him in every part of her body and down in her soul.

  “Down.” One heavy hand pushed her head to the bed, as the other lifted her ass in the air.

  “Legs apart.” He shoved her legs apart with a thick thigh and she heard the harsh rip of the foil packet as he removed the condom.

  Thwack. Pain sheeted across her ass, yanking her back to the moment. She tried to look back but his heavy hand held her down.

  “This is for not paying attention.” His hand cracked over her ass again and something broke inside her.

  “Rocco…”

  The blunt head of his cock nudged her entrance. “You want that, babe?”

  Babe again. Not bella or dolzezza or cara mia. Not Gracie. It was like he was purposely trying to push her away.

  He smacked her ass again and her mind and body had a disconnect. She had wanted this, wanted to feel him inside her. Pinned to the bed by the weight of his hand, legs held apart by his wide hips, her body open to him, she tried to surrender to the pleasure building up inside her, and although part of her was on board, the other part stood at the edge of a cliff and saw only darkness.

  “Rocco…” She couldn’t find any other words to express her feelings, because she’d never had to. He had always been a careful and attentive lover. And yet tonight, it was like being with someone else. Someone she didn’t know. Someone she didn’t completely trust.

  “Stop.” It felt good to say it. Empowering. She could impose her control over chaos. She didn’t have to be a victim. Especially not here.

  He froze. “Did I hurt you?”

  Grace fisted her hands in the covers and tried to breathe through the knot that had formed in her chest, the sickness in her soul.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  She drew in a shuddering breath through lungs that had to fight for air. She felt empty inside and consumed by a wave of utter desolation. How could she feel lonely when Rocco was right here, the way she had imagined all the years they had been apart?

  Trauma? She was tired. Stressed. She’d been involved in a shooting. Papa was in the hospital. Tom was missing. She wasn’t thinking straight. But the psychologist in her knew that wasn’t the answer. She had been seeking emotional release through physical pleasure, but the connection wasn’t there, because this was Rocco from the night at the river, and not the Rocco who had been part of her heart.

  “No.” She sat on the edge of the bed and pulled down her T-shirt. “This isn’t working for me.”

  “What’s wrong?” He followed her across the room, wrapping a towel around his hips, as she made her way to the couch.

  “I want you,” she said, bluntly. “That wasn’t you. I couldn’t feel you. I didn’t trust you. It felt wrong.”

  His face tightened. “That was me. That’s who I am.”

  “That’s not who was in the elevator. That’s not who came for me at Carvello’s or brought me to the hospital or kissed me in the parking lot.” She couldn’t believe the words coming out of her mouth. As much as the man in the bed hadn’t been him, this strong, bold, confident woman wasn’t her. Or at least, it wasn’t the her she used to be. The old Grace would have kept quiet and run away, but she didn’t want to run. Rocco was broken and she wanted to fix him, and to do that she was going to have to take some emotional bruises, but they would come on her own terms.

  “I want the real you, Rocco.” She tapped her chest. “The Rocco I can feel in here. The Rocco I can see beneath your mask. You’ve hidden him away and I understand why, but I’m not the same girl I was in New York. I’m not a victim. I’m not helpless. I’m not dependent on anyone. I know what I want and I’m prepared to fight for it.”

  His shoulders slumped the tiniest bit. “I can’t give you what you want.”

  “Then I’m going to bed.” She curled up on the couch that he had been sleeping on and pulled the blanket around her.

  “Why aren’t you running away?” he said coldly.

  “Because you’re doing enough running for both of us.”

  * * *

  Rocco startled awake, his heart pounding from yet another nightmare about the ten years he’d spent training to be an enforcer. Deprivation had been the first lesson, followed by discipline. His toys, games, and books had been taken away, his bedroom stripped down to just a bed and dresser, the housekeeper who had acted as a surrogate mother dismissed without a chance to say good-bye. He went to school, did his homework, then spent his free time doing martial arts and fight training. Weekends were spent with Cesare and a few members of the De Lucchi crew in the soundproofed training room in the basement, and that’s always where the nightmares took place.

  He pushed himself to sit, frowned when he saw the empty couch. When he heard no movement in the apartment, he got up to investigate, his heart slamming into his ribs until he heard the shower.

  Breathe.

  What a fuck up. She’d spent the night alone on the couch. Had he really thought Grace wouldn’t notice when he emotionally disengaged?

  “Fuck.” He swept his hand over the counter, knocking a water glass to the floor. This was what he had wanted. Enforcers needed emotional and physical strength; they needed to be free of attachments and the burdens of law and morality. They needed to be able to take a life and walk away and never give it a second thought.

  In that regard, Rocco had failed. He needed the sting of Clay’s whip and the sanctuary of the confessional to help him bear the burden of the life that had been forced upon him. And before that, he’d had Grace.

  Grace who he’d just treated like every other nameless, faceless woman he paid for a moment of pleasure.

  His phone buzzed just moments after he’d pulled on his clothes. Nico wanted him at the clubhouse for an early morning meeting. Christ. Although Rocco was a De Lucchi, Nico treated him like one of
his capos, but in return he expected Rocco’s loyalty and that meant coming when called. Rocco didn’t want to jeopardize his relationship with Nico or the benefits that came with his association with the powerful Toscani family faction. Not only that, Nico would need to be briefed on the situation, and he might have information that would help Rocco find out who was after Grace. But right now, she was in danger and he wanted to be by her side.

  He sent Nico a text to let him know he was on his way. Then he called Mike and told him to come with four more associates to guard Grace on pain of death. Despite the threat, Rocco had no intention of offing five Toscani soldiers. He had a code that he followed when it came to his work that made his job easier to bear. First, gratuitous violence was never in the cards, nor was harming civilians or innocents. If a dude was stupid enough to get involved with the mob, then that was another story. Beatings and broken legs had to be expected if you borrowed from the mob, and if you were a rat (wiseguys who sold out to the cops), cheater (wiseguys who slept with the woman of a made man), or anyone stupid enough to hurt, kill, or steal from a made man.

  Not that he thought the code would convince the “big man” to cut him some slack when he showed up at the Pearly Gates. But it helped him deal with the ugliness in his soul, and maybe his eternity in Hell might be a few years shorter because he was helping the Devil do his job.

  “I’ve got an early morning gig at the studio,” Grace said, walking toward him. “And then I need to get back to the hospital and see my dad.” Her hair was wet, the ends dripping on her shoulders. Rocco had a sudden painful memory of the last night they’d spent together in New York. After hours of sex, they had showered together before collapsing on his bed. Grace sang along to the bad covers of Rat Pack songs that he’d made into a playlist, her voice vibrating against his chest, her body soft and warm against his, the scent of sex and her perfume filling his head. Her hair had dripped over his chest, each small drop trickling over his skin, and he’d tried to memorize all the sensations he wasn’t supposed to have in case he never saw her again. Somehow, some part of him had known it was the last time.

  “I have to go to a meeting, but I’ve got some guys coming who will stay with you until I’m done,” he said, like they’d had an ordinary night together and not one in which he destroyed the tentative bond between them. But what else could he say? How did he make it right? He didn’t have the words.

  And apparently neither did she because the ensuing silence was almost deafening.

  Finally, she sighed. “Okay. Although I can’t imagine why anyone would want to kidnap me. Papa’s in no condition to pay any ransom, and I don’t know what happened to Tom. Maybe they took him instead…” Her voice caught, broke. Rocco gritted his teeth against the urge to go to her. The last thing she probably wanted was more of his fucked-up shit.

  “I’m going to talk to Nico. We’ll figure it out.”

  “Sure.” She wiped away a tear, and he felt something crack inside.

  After Grace was safely away with Mike and the soldiers, he rode his motorcycle to the clubhouse located at the back of an abandoned garage just off the 95 on the outskirts of North Las Vegas. Luca was getting the chairs ready for the meeting when he walked in the door. From the front, the clubhouse looked like every other small warehouse in the semi-industrial area, but inside, the place had been gutted and rebuilt to accommodate an office for Nico, a games area with a pool table, a small kitchen, and a lounge with a big-ass TV. Despite the reno, the place still smelled of diesel and oil, and with bars and black-out blinds on all the windows, there was no way to air it out.

  “How long is this gonna take?” he asked throwing himself down on the worn, leather couch.

  Luca gave him a puzzled look. “Why? You got somewhere you need to be?”

  “Yeah. At the funeral home, getting a tombstone engraved, Here Lies Luca. Nosy as Fuck.”

  “Ah.” A smile tugged at Luca’s lips. “It’s about a girl. I hear you’ve been seen with the lovely Grace Mantini.”

  “Fuck off.” He pulled out his cigarettes and lit one while Luca pulled up a chair. Mike must have told him about Grace. Fucking bastard.

  “Still trying to kill yourself?” Luca asked.

  “Maybe I’ll save myself some money and just carve the words into your chest instead.” Rocco blew a ring of smoke, and Luca laughed.

  “I’ve been there, my friend.” Luca settled on a chair across from him, a smirk on his lips. “Trust me when I say, it’s not easy. Women will make you do things you never thought you’d do, and you’ll do them with a smile.”

  Rocco’s hand tightened by his side. The only reason his fist wasn’t already in Luca’s face was because he was Nico’s underboss and part of the Toscani family administration—boss, underboss and consigliere. Charlie Nails, an attorney who had no issues working for the mob, was Nico’s consigliere, a senior family advisor who had worked for Nico’s father before he died. He knew the dirty secrets of everyone who was anyone in Vegas—judges, district attorneys, politicians, police chiefs, bankers, and investors—and, as a result, he had collected many favors.

  “Since when did my life become any of your concern?”

  Luca grinned. “Since you finally decided to have a life.”

  Charlie Nails joined them in the make-shift lounge, and Luca turned to chat with the consigliere leaving Rocco to stew. The noise level rose as the capos filed in, and Rocco gritted his teeth. They were always joking around, giving each other shit, but Rocco had never joined in the banter. He wasn’t an associate, soldier, or capo. He was an outside. Other. Not part of the family. And he’d made sure everyone knew to stay away.

  “So, Luca says you’re with Nunzio Mantini’s daughter,” Charlie Nails said quietly when Luca left him to greet one of the capos. Charlie Nails was a good guy, although getting on in years, and no one knew more about the Cosa Nostra than him.

  “What the fuck? Not seeing how my personal life is any of your business.” Rocco glared at Luca’s departing back, planning a long, slow, tortuous death for the man who professed to be his friend.

  “Girls are business,” Charlie Nails said. “And political alliances are good for business. Unfortunately, in terms of politics, the De Lucchi crew doesn’t bring anything to the table.”

  Rocco’s top lip curled in disgust. There was a stigma attached to the crew that would never go away. They were a necessary evil that the rest of the mob pretended didn’t exist. Only Grace’s father and Nico’s crew had ever treated him like an equal. “She’s a grown woman. She does what she wants to do.”

  “Mantini needs allies to hold his power.” Charlie Nails lowered his voice so only Rocco could hear. “If he had them, he wouldn’t be lying in a hospital bed. If he lives, he’s going to have to face the fact that only a political marriage can save his family. If he dies, his son—if he’s still alive—will need allies if he wants to take Mantini’s place—allies who can be bought with the pretty face of Mantini’s daughter.”

  “I thought this was Cosa Nostra and not Game of fucking Thrones.”

  Charlie Nails laughed. “Same game, different players. You need to figure out where you fit in—if you want to fit in at all.”

  Rocco didn’t fit in. The political machinations of the Gamboli family were nothing to do with him, and he should have no feelings whatsoever about what was going on. And yet, the thought of Grace being forced into a political marriage flooded him with a wave of uncomfortable emotion. Another visit to Clay would sort him out, but for the first time since he’d found the underground club, the idea of being beaten into a state of emotional numbness didn’t hold the same appeal.

  Nico finally arrived, and Rocco briefed the crew on the shooting. Everyone had questions, and he answered them carefully, hyperaware that he was sitting in the circle, instead of lurking outside like he usually did. People asked his opinion, considered his ideas like he was one of them. In the end, they all agreed that despite the leadership dispute with Tony, this was Nico�
��s town, and the attempt on Mantini’s life was an insult to the Toscanis and a disrespect to the Gamboli family that had to be addressed.

  “I haven’t been able to get in touch with Don Gamboli or his consigliere,” Nico said. “But Frankie suspects, and I agree, that Tony is involved. This visit from Nunzio was to give the appearance of fairness so Tony wouldn’t complain, but the decision was all but made. Nunzio was going to confirm me as boss of the entire Vegas faction. I wouldn’t put it past Tony to try and whack Nunzio and his son if he found out ahead of time.”

  “But he gains nothing from it,” Charlie Nails pointed out. “Except to invite the don to send a De Lucchi to his house in the middle of the night for attempting to whack the underboss without permission.”

  Everyone looked at Rocco, and the illusion shattered. In the end, he was a De Lucchi, and they all knew what that meant.

  Charlie Nails offered some information about the politics in New York and a debate ensued about whether the Toscanis should even get involved in what appeared to be a New York matter. Nico quickly put the debate to rest. He arranged for more guards at the hospital, organized a search for Tom, and agreed that Rocco should continue to protect Grace with as much back up from the crew as he needed.

  He excused himself to take a call and returned a few minutes later, pulling up a seat beside Rocco and Luca. “Mia just texted to let me know Grace and Gabrielle are at her office,” he said quietly. “Grace had the idea of trying to find her brother by tracking his phone and Mia and Gabrielle are helping her.”

  “Fuck.” Rocco stood abruptly, and Nico gestured for him to wait.

  “She’s fine. You know Mia’s got the best security system in the business and she said you have Grace well-guarded. If anything, this is a lesson in how to deal with headstrong women. It’s about respect. Mia texted me because she knows who Grace is and she knows I would want to know what was going on. If they find something, she will, of course, text me right away. Mia is not the type of woman to go running headlong into danger. We have an understanding. She focuses on her cyber security and hacking work and leaves the dangerous jobs to me.”