Rocco

by Sarah Castille

“How is it non-violent if you point a gun at his sorry ass?”

  She sniffed and tossed her hair like he’d irritated her by pointing out that simple fact. “I wasn’t going to use it unless I had to. Anyway, I hope you took notes.”

  Rocco pulled another weapon from the holster behind his back and looked over his shoulder to check that Mike and Paolo were in position. “You want me to fucking come on to guys to get things done? Not gonna happen.”

  “Why?” Her lips quivered at the corners. “It might loosen you up.”

  Cazzo. “I don’t like dudes. You know that.”

  “You didn’t seem to like me much last night.”

  Whoa. He felt those words like a slap across the face. How did women so effortlessly turn any conversation back to the thing that had irritated them in the first place? He scrambled to keep up, his brain struggling to segue from him sleeping with dudes, to the bastard he’d been in bed last night.

  A light breeze swept dust devils across his path as he made his way through the park. He heard the creak of an awning and the rattle of a can. Curious eyes studied him from behind torn curtains, but no one ventured outside. The kind of people who holed up here knew a wiseguy or three when they saw them.

  If he wanted out, this was the perfect chance. He could tell her it was just sex. She would be hurt, but she’d get over it because she was strong and brave and beautiful, and he was damn sure there were dozens of men willing to take his place. He could nip this illicit relationship in the bud and send her back to her normal life, the way he’d done that night at the river, except this time he could do it without staining his soul.

  “It was…” He looked at her beautiful face, the lines of worry in her forehead, the faint scar following the line of her jaw, the lips that had never been kissed until she had broken down his walls and pulled him through. Fuck the dozens of men. She was his. And he was hers, with all his ugly, tortured soul.

  “Wrong,” he said, releasing a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

  “You pushed me away.” She threaded her fingers through his. “This isn’t easy for me, either. I don’t know if I want this or where I see it going. You know how I feel about the Cosa Nostra. It took me years before I was ready to reconcile with my father, and look what happened. I’ve been dragged back into a world I’ve run from twice already.”

  Yes, she had, but this time she wasn’t running from it; she was owning it. She wasn’t hiding; she was walking by his side.

  They reached the far east corner of the trailer park and he studied the two trailers in front of him. One had flowers planted around it, a broken statute of a gnome and a tiny sprinkler watering a small patch of grass. The other one was covered in dust and had nothing but a broken lawn chair outside. He sent Mike and Paolo to investigate and tightened his grip on Grace’s hand, forcing her to wait beside him.

  “You got a minute, boss?” Mike gestured him away from Grace and lowered his voice so only Rocco could hear. “Two voices in the trailer with the chair,” Mike said. “Maybe three. They aren’t speaking English. If I had to guess, I’d say they’re Albanian.”

  “Gracie.” Rocco looked over his shoulder to where he’d left Grace waiting a safe distance away. “Mike thinks he might have found your brother. I’ll go in first and make sure it’s safe. Wait sixty seconds then send Tom a text.”

  “Okay.” She pulled out her phone and damned if his heart didn’t seize up at the hopeful expression on her face.

  “Stay with her,” he said to Mike. “Remember what I said.”

  Without waiting for a response, he walked up to the trailer and kicked open the door.

  Within seconds, he had assessed the situation. Three men. Weapons. Drugs. No Tom. He heaved a sigh of relief and turned his attention to the shit-for-hire Albanians who, like him, did the jobs no one wanted to do. They worked for Cosa Nostra families who didn’t have their own enforcers, as well as the Russian Mafia, drug lords, street gangs, and any other pussies who didn’t want to get their hands dirty.

  If Grace hadn’t been outside, he would have just shot two of the bastards, and then used some creative interrogation techniques to get the information he needed from the third before sending him to join his friends. The Albanian Mafia were the worst of the worst—career criminals who specialized in death and torture—and the world would be a better place for their absence.

  But he’d already almost lost Grace when she’d witnessed his violence before. Now he had a second chance, and he wasn’t going to blow it.

  He grabbed the first dude he saw and smashed his head into the wall. He threw a spinning sidekick, slamming his boot into the mouth of another dude sitting at the table. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement to his left, but by the time he turned, the third Albanian had drawn his gun.

  Stalemate.

  “Who the fuck are you?” the Albanian asked.

  “I’m looking for a fucking missing person.” He glanced around the trailer, taking in the gym bag full of cash, blood smears on the floor, a few needles and packages of powder, and three phones.

  “No one here by that name.” The dude with the gun laughed at his own joke, clearly thinking he had the upper hand because he had a gun.

  Idiot.

  Rocco had a gun, too, and he could get off three shots before the bastard even pulled his trigger, but today was the Albanian’s lucky day because he was going to find a non-violent solution to the problem.

  Right on cue, one of the phones vibrated on the table. He glanced over and saw Grace’s name.

  “Where did you get the fucking phone?”

  “Who wants to know?”

  “Rocco De Lucchi wants to know.” He grabbed the nearest guy off the floor, and put his gun to his head. “Three seconds and he’s gone.”

  Crack. The Albanian shot his friend, and the dude became deadweight in Rocco’s arms. Rocco dropped to the ground as a second bullet shattered the silence, pulling his own trigger as he fell.

  Outside, Grace screamed his name.

  “Fuck.” He rolled out from under the dead body and stared at the two men on the ground. “I didn’t want to fucking kill anyone today.”

  The third guy was unconscious on the bed, his mouth a mess of blood and teeth. Unfortunate. But he would still be able to talk. He grabbed the bag and money as well as Tom’s phone as he headed out the door.

  “Oh my God.” Grace ran over to him. “What happened? Are you okay? You’re covered in blood. Was Tom there?”

  His body still thrumming with adrenaline, he had an unexpected reaction to Grace’s soft warm body pressed up against him as she drew him into a hug. He shifted his hips, gritting his teeth as his erection ground against her. How fucking inappropriate. He’d just killed two Albanians. This wasn’t the time to get hard. But then he’d never had a hug after a hit, and it felt damn good.

  “Tom wasn’t there. Found his phone.”

  “Oh no.” She sagged against him and he wrapped his free arm around her, pulling her just a little tighter against his hips.

  “There’s a guy inside…” He gave Mike a pointed look. “… who might be willing to talk.”

  “I heard shots…” She looked up him, her brow creased in consternation.

  “He … didn’t like being … surprised.” Rocco’s heart thudded harder than it had when he’d been in the trailer. He didn’t want to lie to her, but he also didn’t want her to know two men were dead because of him. She wouldn’t believe he’d tried not to kill them, and he couldn’t even imagine losing her again.

  “Oh.” Her shoulders slumped the tiniest bit. “Well … let’s go talk to the guy who is interested in talking.”

  “Mike will take care of it. He’s good with that kind of conversation.” He felt no small amount of satisfaction when her eyes widened with the realization that fucking “nice guy” Mike wasn’t so nice after all.

  She looked over at Mike, and then back to him. “Can Mike … get … the information we need? Or is it somet
hing you should … maybe … handle yourself?”

  For a few seconds, he forgot to breathe. Was she serious? She wanted him to do the interrogation? “I thought you wanted non-violent solutions.”

  “I mean … I’m sure Mike is very competent,” she said quickly. “And, of course, you know the best man for the job. But it’s just … it’s Tom … and he’s been missing for two days, and you’re…”

  He was the best and she knew it. Not only did she accept what he could do, she wanted it, wanted him.

  His chest swelled with pride, and his voice dropped to a satisfied growl. “You want me to handle it, dolcezza?”

  “Yes.”

  He felt that word in his heart and in his fucking cock.

  Damn.

  Just.

  Damn.

  “You gonna promise me you’ll be okay with me doing what needs to be done?”

  “Yes.

  And fucking damn again.

  “Consider it done.” He nodded to Mike. “Call the cleaners for the trailer. Take him to the warehouse. Wait for me there.”

  “Sure thing, boss.”

  Rocco froze mid-step, his mouth opening to correct Mike. It was the second time Mike had slipped up. Rocco wasn’t a boss. He was nothing. Outside. Other. But he liked how it sounded, liked the idea of having men of his own to help him with his work, and, when he caught Mike’s smirk, to throw out the occasional joke.

  “Thanks.”

  He almost laughed at Mike’s sharp intake of breath. The De Lucchis never said thank you. They never said please. They never said sorry.

  His hand went to the cross around his neck. He was a De Lucchi, but before that, he had been someone else—maybe it was time to find out who that was.

  TWELVE

  By the time Rocco pulled his motorcycle up in front of her house, Grace was so aroused she was afraid to dismount in case that small amount of pressure made her come right there.

  It didn’t make any sense. Rocco had just beaten or possibly killed someone. His clothes were stained with blood. After he dropped her off, he was going to interrogate a man in a warehouse, and she knew exactly what that would entail.

  Six years ago, just the thought of violence would have sickened her. But she knew Rocco. Trusted him. He wasn’t a man who enjoyed gratuitous violence like his father, Cesare. He wouldn’t have done what he had done without reason. If she wanted to find Tom and discover who had tried to kill her father and was after her, she would need to learn how to navigate this life instead of running away, and part of that was understanding that their world was not black and white; it was infinite shades of gray.

  Watching Rocco kick in the trailer door had been all kinds of hot. The sheer raw, animal power that exuded from him, the intensity of his features, the confidence with which he moved, captivated her in a way nothing else ever had. She had never met a man with such a forceful and commanding presence. Even Nico, who was every inch a Mafia boss, had seemed positively civilized in the face of Rocco’s raw, wild masculinity. On a primal level, he was simply irresistible, and the aura of danger he carried with him only seemed to heighten her desire.

  Not to mention the hour-long ride pressed up tight against his back, her hips grinding against his perfect ass, the relentless vibration of the motorcycle rumbling between her thighs.

  Gingerly, she slid off his bike, shaking out her hair as she removed her helmet.

  Her skin prickled with awareness and when she looked up, she caught his hungry gaze.

  Without a word, he cupped the side of her neck and yanked her toward him, kissing her so hard and fierce she almost lost her balance. His arm slid around her waist, holding her firm, and a moan vibrated low in her throat.

  “Do you want to come inside?” she asked, when he let her up for air. “Ethan, Olivia, and Miguel are at work. Trevor’s with the dog sitter.”

  “Got a job to do for you, cara mia. Gonna get it done. Just waiting for some guards to get here to keep you safe.”

  “Couldn’t it wait?” Reaching down, she clasped his hand and placed it on her breast, hoping he could feel the tight bud of her nipple, the swell of arousal. His hand closed over the soft swell, and he kissed her again, plundering her mouth.

  “You want me to wait?”

  “God, yes.” She arched her back, offered herself to him. His was strung tight, every muscle like corded steel, and the heat coming off him … Lord she wanted to melt against him.

  Rocco massaged her breast, rubbing his thumb over her taut nipple. She didn’t care that they were standing on the street making out like a couple of teenagers or that there might be someone nearby wanting to snatch her away. She could feel his need, the energy humming in his body, his shaft thick and hard beneath his fly.

  With a groan, he pulled away, his nostrils flaring, his eyes so dark with arousal they were almost black. “I tried for you, Gracie.” He cupped her jaw, stroked his thumb over her cheek. “Today. In the trailer. I tried.”

  Her throat tightened and she swallowed hard. Part of accepting him was accepting that violence was part of the Mafia world. And yes, it had taken the person she loved, but it had also given her him.

  “I know.”

  “I have a code.” His voice caught, and she brought her fingers to his lips.

  “Don’t tell me. I know you well enough that I can guess. You’re not Cesare.”

  “But I’m not a nice guy either.” His lips quirked at the corners, and he pinched her nipple as if to emphasize the point, and dragged his thumb over the tip. She shuddered, a whimper slipping from her throat. And when his lips grazed her earlobe, sucked the sensitive skin at the base of her neck, she rocked her hips against him, seeking the pressure of his thigh between her legs.

  “I can live with that. I’m beginning to wonder if I’m entirely a nice girl.”

  “Jesus Christ.” He dismounted the motorcycle, releasing her long enough to set it on its kickstand, before wrapping his arms around her again. “Don’t say things like that. I’m wound up pretty tight.”

  She knew exactly what he meant because they had often played rough, but as long as she could feel their connection, she had no hesitation giving him what he needed because he always made sure she enjoyed it, too. Not once had she ever felt unsafe with Rocco, even when they’d taken their encounters past her comfort level.

  “Then let me unwind you.” She clasped his hand and led him up the walk. When she reached for the key, he snatched it from her hand and unlocked the door, pushing her into the house.

  Before she felt the first rush of cool air, he had kicked the door shut and propelled her backward. Her ass hit the door first, followed by the thick, hard bulge of his erection pressed up against her. And still he kissed her, now fucking her mouth with his tongue, hips grinding, teasing her with a taste of what was still hidden beneath a layer of denim.

  “You don’t waste any time, do you?” she murmured.

  “Not when it comes to you.” His hands smoothed down her body and under her shirt. Without hesitation, he shoved her bra up and captured her naked breast in his broad, warm palm. She moaned when he pinched her nipple, gasped when he unclipped her bra and tugged it, along with her shirt, over her head, tossing them both on the floor.

  “Beautiful.” He leaned down and his mouth, warm and wet, captured her nipple, and he sucked hard while his other hand made short work of the fly on her jeans.

  Grace wound her arms around his neck, pulled him closer. She could feel his heat, the bunch of his muscles, the power thrumming beneath his skin, barely restrained. She ached to have him use his full strength on her, to unleash his passion, indulge his darkest desires, the way she wanted to indulge hers.

  She had fantasized about him countless times as she drifted off to sleep. She had dreamed of him taking control, surrendering to his most basic instincts to conquer and claim. Although she had tried to deny it, he was a predator, and she wanted to be his prey.

  He released her nipple with a pop and drew the ot
her one into his mouth. Without warning, his hand dove into her panties, fingers exploring the curve of her bare ass, the lacy material, the hidden puckered hole of her rear end. She shuddered at the unexpected contact, a mixture of fear and arousal sending a shot of pleasure straight to her core.

  Rocco groaned against her breast and dropped to his knees, sliding her jeans and panties over her hips gently at first, and then, as if he couldn’t wait, he yanked them over her feet one at a time until she stood naked before him.

  She couldn’t help but drink in the sight of him kneeling at her feet, fully clothed, his eyes intense, face taut with arousal. Her hands slid through his hair, as gentle as he had been violent only moments before, and then over his powerful shoulders, feeling his muscles shift beneath her fingers. She wanted to touch him like this when he was inside her, driving her wild.

  “Lift your leg for me, dolcezza. Show me that beautiful cunt.” He hooked her leg over his shoulder, giving her only a second to gain her balance before he plunged his tongue between her thighs, one long warm wet lick that went from her most intimate place through her labia and ended with a flick over her clit.

  From out of nowhere, the stirrings of an orgasm caught her in a tide of white-hot heat. Her fingers tightened in his hair and she angled her hips—

  “No.” He pulled away, disengaging her fingers.

  Grace looked down at him, confused. “No?”

  “You don’t come until I say.”

  Her cheeks flushed at his candid remark and the fact he had known she was so close to climax.

  “I can’t control it. When you do that … with your tongue…”

  “Learn.”

  That word, his sharp tone of voice, the intensity of his gaze all had her quivering inside, hot and achy. This was better than her fantasies because she had never imagined he would deny her or that she would be able to deny herself. “Learn,” she repeated taking deep breaths as the orgasm receded.

  “Now, tell me what you want.” He licked his lips, blew a hot breath on her aching pussy. “I want to hear dirty words coming from that sweet mouth. I want to get hard just listening to your voice.”