Rocco Read online

  “Someone else got there before me. Mantini must have a lot of enemies. Five guys in masks. Busy restaurant. Whoever it was had balls. The son escaped. Mantini’s in the hospital and Nico’s put a guard on him. Nothing I can do until he’s out.”

  “What about the girl?”

  Rocco’s heart skidded to a stop. “The contract didn’t include her.”

  “You’ve been seen with her. What the fuck?” Cesare’s voice turned to ice. “I thought I made it clear that relationship was over. If this is about you not keeping your dick in your fucking pants—”

  “Don’t go there,” he warned, a growl rising in his throat as he dared to disrespect the man who owned his soul.

  “If I have to come out there and teach that lesson again,” Cesare continued, as if Rocco hadn’t spoken, “it won’t be just that bitch’s face I cut up. And it won’t just be me getting a taste of the pussy that’s so sweet it’s worth your fucking life. I’m going to give her to the crew if there’s anything left of her when I’m done. And this time I won’t let her run away.”

  Rocco’s protective instincts surged to the fore and his hand tightened around the phone as he tried to breathe through the tidal wave of anger that had turned his vision red. “Save the fucking threats for your trainees. I’m done with all this shit.”

  “This ‘shit’ is your family,” Cesare snarled. “And you are never done with this family until you’re dead. You fuck up again, and you’ll pay the fucking price. And if you thought I made you scream when you were a boy, that’s nothing compared to what I will do to you now. I know you, Rocco, like no one else does. I broke you down until I saw inside your soul. I know what truly scares you. I can make you suffer in ways you never imagined. I can make you beg me for a death that will never come. I won’t just destroy your body, I will destroy the essence of who you fucking are.”

  Until Grace had walked back into his life, Rocco hadn’t cared if he lived or died. But now that he’d had a taste of the life he could have led if Cesare hadn’t plucked him from the orphanage, he wanted more—more Grace in his arms and in his bed, more feeling like part of Nico’s crew, more being part of the world instead of other.

  He wanted out. Not just to ensure Grace’s safety, but for himself. Fuck Cesare. Fuck the De Lucchi crew. Fuck the Mafia. Fuck the rules. After they were done here, he could call Nico and tell him to put more guards on Mantini. If he found Tom, he would hide him. And then he would go to New York and realize the fantasy he’d had since he was ten years old. For the first time, he had not only the skills and power to make Cesare pay for what he’s done, but the will. He would have his freedom, and he would have his revenge. And then he would take back his life, just as tonight, his beautiful, brave Grace had taken back her voice.

  It was on the tip of his tongue to tell Cesare to fuck the hell off, hang up the phone, and deal with the consequence. But he’d been too long in the life to make a rash decision that would end in certain death. He wanted to live. And to do that, he would have to play a careful game.

  “You’re getting melodramatic in your old age,” he snapped. “I need some time. Nico Toscani is all over this shit. Mantini is untouchable in the hospital.”

  “You aren’t my only soldier out there,” Cesare said. “Even if you fail me, the job will get done, and if not by you, then expect to pay the price of failure.”

  Rocco ended the call, his blood pounding in his ears. Who the hell was Cesare talking about? He knew everyone in the De Lucchi crew, even the soldiers who had been sent out to other factions. There was no else in Vegas or in Nevada for that matter. Could Cesare be bluffing? Truth meant nothing to him. And his son, apparently, meant even less.

  Adoptive son. One day he would trace his family and find out who he really was.

  “Rocco!” Grace came running down the hallway. “I did it. I sang on stage!”

  “Yeah, you did, cara mia.” He caught her on the run, swung her up into his arms. “You were magnificent. You have the voice of an angel.”

  “Can you believe it? A few weeks ago, I would never have imagined I’d be singing on stage.” She wrapped her arms and hugged him tight. “Or that I’d have pulled a gun on someone or asked you to do what you do to help me find Tom. Or that I’d be with you again. There’s no going back, Rocco. I’m a whole new me.”

  His heart felt like it was going to bust right out of his chest. It wasn’t just her. A few weeks ago, he would never have imagined disobeying an order, lying to Cesare, owning a fucking business, or sitting in a meeting with Nico’s crew as if he were one of the guys. And he couldn’t have imagined being part of Grace’s life again, holding her in his arms, letting her into his heart. She was right. There was no going back. But nothing had ever scared him as much as the road ahead and the impossible dream that might not be impossible after all.

  THIRTEEN

  “Put him on his knees.”

  Cesare folded his arms as Rocco shoved the Falzone crime family soldier down on the rocky shore of Newtown Creek. The soldier had shot up a Gamboli family restaurant, killing the don’s aunt and nephew as well as two civilians. The don had called in the De Lucchi crew, and in a matter of hours they’d found the soldier hiding out in the basement of his brother’s home.

  “Are you sure you caught the right man?” Cesare demanded. “Let me see his face.”

  Rocco worked loose the knot on the hood he’d placed over the soldier’s head when he dragged him out of the house. Rocco had felt nothing when he pleaded for his life, nothing when his sister had begged Rocco to spare him, nothing when his son screamed not to hurt his dad. After years of torture and beatings, he’d learned to retreat into a cold, dark place when there was work to be done, a void without emotion or feeling, where all that mattered was obeying Cesare’s commands.

  “Hurry up.”

  Rocco released the hood and ripped it over the soldier’s head, locking his hand on the man’s shoulder in case he tried to get away. They always tried to get away, just like he had always tried to get away when Cesare took him to the basement for training. And just like Rocco, the victims quickly learned there was nowhere to go and no one to save them.

  “Yes, that’s him. Well done.”

  Rocco breathed a silent sigh of relief. It had been his first solo mission, and Cesare did not take failure lightly. Had he failed to capture the solider, or worse, brought the wrong man, he would have been expected to offer himself up for a beating by the five most senior members of the De Lucchi crew. The last time he’d messed up, he thought he would die from his injuries. If Grace hadn’t gone looking for him because he didn’t show up to pick her up at school, he wouldn’t be here today. She had called an ambulance and saved his life, but as he stood on the bank of the creek knowing what Cesare expected him to do, he wished she had let him die in her arms.

  “I trained you well,” Cesare said into the silence. “But not well enough. You have a weakness, Rocco. A chink in your armor. Tonight, we repair it.” He gestured behind him and Cesare’s right-hand man, Benito, the most senior member of the De Lucchi crew, stepped out of the shadows holding Grace in front of him, one hand over her mouth, the other holding a knife against her throat.

  “Grace.” Her name was a strangled gasp on Rocco’s lips as adrenaline surged through his body, the cold, dark void crumbling beneath a tidal wave of rage. He had been so careful. So very, very careful. He knew the risk, but he couldn’t resist. Now he would pay for his selfishness with her life.

  “You think I wouldn’t find out?” Cesare sneered. “You think there is anything I don’t know about you? I made you. I broke you. I know your most secret fears and desires. I know when you’re hiding something. And this…” He waved vaguely at Grace. “This is what is holding you back from becoming the enforcer you are meant to be. This is the price we pay to hold the power of life and death in our hands. We don’t have friends. We don’t have lovers. We don’t have relationships. Women are for fucking. They are cunts and nothing more.” />
  Rocco could barely hear for the rush of blood in his ears. If Cesare knew him as well as he claimed, he had to realize that if Benito killed her, Rocco wouldn’t stop until they both were dead.

  He heard footsteps behind him. Turning, he saw another member of the De Lucchi crew with a weapon pointed at his back. Cesare had thought of everything, except the possibility that Rocco would welcome his death if Grace was no longer part of his world.

  “You can’t kill the daughter of the underboss,” he gritted out, trying to put an emotional distance between himself and the woman with the knife against her throat. Senior members of the family, including blood relatives, could not be whacked without the permission of the don, and he knew Don Gamboli would never give his permission to whack Grace. First, women were protected by the Mafia code, and second, Grace was his goddaughter.

  Cesare laughed. “I don’t plan to kill her. This is about pain. This is about revenge. And this is about you, Rocco, and helping you overcome a weakness that is holding you back. I think the best way to do that would be show her who you really are.” He gestured to the soldier kneeling at Rocco’s feet. “Finish the job.”

  Bile rose in Rocco’s throat. Cesare was going to make Grace watch him take a life. He couldn’t have thought of a better way to end the relationship or a worse way to hurt him. Grace had never gotten over watching her mother die in her arms or the revelation that her father was part of the same organization responsible for taking her mother’s life. Forcing her to watch the soldier pay for his crimes tonight wouldn’t just end things between them, it would scar her forever. For sweet, gentle Grace, his actions would be unforgivable.

  “Let her go. She’s not part of this.”

  “You made her part of this.” Cesare gestured to Benito. “Bring her to me.”

  Rocco reached for his weapon, remembering too late that Cesare had instructed him to capture the soldier unarmed. He had only his knife with him, and there was little he could do from a distance when Benito’s knife was at Grace’s throat, and Cesare’s man had a gun at his back.

  Cesare changed places with Benito, replaced Benito’s knife with his own.

  “Get on with it,” Cesare barked.

  Rocco’s stomach twisted in a knot. This wasn’t the first execution he’d assisted with, but it was the first in which he was expected to deliver the death blow. It was his initiation into the Cosa Nostra. The night he became a made man. The thought of Grace witnessing his descent into darkness, the very moment he lost the soul she’d been trying to save, was a worse pain than any he had suffered at Cesare’s hands.

  He dragged his gaze to Grace, recoiling when he saw her face wet with tears. His fault. All his fault. He should have left her alone, resisted his longing, pushed her away. He tried to tell her with his eyes what was in his heart. He would always be the same man caught in a nightmare that he could never escape.

  “Please let her go.” He knew better than to beg. Weak men begged and there was nothing Cesare detested more than weakness. But it was all he had left to give her.

  “Please?” Cesare sneered. “You want me to spare her? Why? So she can keep pretending you’re something you are not? So she can make you forget who you are and why I saved you?”

  If he hadn’t been so distraught, he would have laughed. Until he was ten, he had believed the lie. Cesare had found him in an orphanage and saved him from a life of poverty and shame. He had given him a home, clothing, toys, food, and even a dog. He had sent him to school. He had given him female care in the form of a housekeeper who had pretended to be Cesare’s wife to ensure the adoption went through. He had given him the De Lucchi name. But when the training started, he realized he hadn’t been saved at all. He had been cast into Hell. His punishment for being a coward when he was six years old.

  Over the years, Cesare had systematically destroyed every single thing he loved. Everything he owned had been given to him so it could be taken away. Enforcers didn’t have attachments. They didn’t love and were not loved. They existed solely to enforce the will of the boss to whom they were bound.

  “You dishonor and disrespect me with your weakness.” Cesare grabbed Grace’s hair and yanked her head to the side. “I can’t take the temptation out of beauty, but I can take the beauty out of temptation.” Before Rocco could process what Cesare intended to do, Ceasre drew the blade down Grace’s cheek from ear to chin, slicing open her perfect, creamy skin. Grace’s scream pierced the night air, embedding itself like an arrow deep in his heart.

  “No!”

  Too late. Too fucking late. Blood dripped down her face, staining her white blouse and her scream went on and on, the sound reverberating in his heart.

  “Do it,” Cesare shouted over her screams, spittle flying from his lips. “Or I’ll cut up her pretty face until not even her father will recognize her. She’s the one thing holding you back from becoming what you truly are. We are De Lucchis. There is no room for emotion, no room for feeling, no place for love.”

  Rocco’s vision sheeted red, every cell in his body screaming in rage and agony. He grabbed the soldier’s hair and slid the knife across this throat—quick and painless, the only mercy he could give.

  When the soldier dropped to the stones, he lunged forward, praying for death from the gun at his back, before Grace suffered more pain.

  “Release her.”

  Cesare let her go and she crumpled to the ground. It was over. Cesare had won. Rocco didn’t need to look at Grace’s face to see her horror and devastation. He was everything she despised—the worst part of the organization that had killed her mother. He would find no more sanctuary in her arms, no forgiveness in her heart or soothing beneath her fingers. He would never lie with her and hear her beautiful voice, feel the softness of her body or the sound of her laugh. She was everything that was good and pure in the world, and he was everything that was evil. In some perverse way, Cesare had done him a favor. He had saved Grace from the monster he had created—a monster who was too weak to let her go, and so had destroyed her.

  “If you were my blood, I would be ashamed to call you my son,” Cesare said coldly. “Of my three adoptees, you are my biggest disappointment. You’ll resume your training. Now that you have no distraction, I expect you to excel.”

  And didn’t that just drive the knife home. He had no memories of his life before Cesare. No memories of his parents or the orphanage in Vegas where Cesare had found him. Cesare was the only father he had ever known. His housekeeper, the only mother. Even when Cesare had started training him as a Mafia enforcer, he had endured the emotional and physical pain because he believed Cesare’s teachings were motivated by love.

  He had been wrong. Just as he had been wrong to think that he could have a normal life with a normal girl. It was time to cut the ties. He had already done things that had put him beyond redemption, things that tormented his soul and kept him awake at night. Time to stop fighting what he really was. Time to let her go.

  * * *

  “Rocco.”

  Rocco startled awake, instantly aware of the tremor in Grace’s voice. His hand slid under his pillow and he drew out his weapon as he jumped off the bed, ready to take down the intruder. “Where is he?”

  “No.” She shrank back against the wall, her arms in front of her face, distracting him with the beauty of her naked body. “No one’s here.”

  He cursed himself inwardly for letting instinct override rational thought. After years of being woken, only to be beaten, the slightest sound made his body react as if it were under threat.

  “What’s wrong?” Adrenaline pounded through his body, and he made a quick visual search of the apartment, disbelieving she could be so fearful when no one was there.

  “Your back.” She stared at him aghast. “What happened to you? Who did that?”

  Rocco let out a relieved breath and lowered the gun. Until tonight, he had been careful not to let her see his back, either by keeping his shirt on or positioning her in front of him, but
last night, after he’d loved her properly—slowly and sweetly like he used to do—he’d stripped off his shirt to feel her against him and made the mistake of falling asleep with her in his arms.

  “It’s nothing.”

  “Nothing?” Her hand flew to her mouth. “Rocco. That’s not nothing. And you didn’t get those marks in a fight. It’s torture. Someone tortured you. Was it Cesare?”

  Words failed him. How could he explain the need to punish himself for every deed he did that tormented his soul? A lifetime of Our Fathers and Hail Marys would not be enough to atone for his sins. It was something too deeply personal to explain. Not even Clay knew why he visited the dungeon or what solace he sought under the lash of the whip.

  “Come to bed.” He slid his gun under the pillow and pulled on his shirt.

  “I want to know what happened.” She folded her arms over her chest, and it took him a moment to remember that this wasn’t the same girl who had scrambled up the river bank, her face wet with blood and tears, screaming at him to leave her alone, the girl who had run away, left him without saying good-bye. This Grace had fight and courage, and she wasn’t going to back down.

  “I said leave it,” he snapped.

  “No.”

  “Jesus fucking Christ, Grace.” His voice rose to a shout, and he slammed his hand down on the bed. He knew he was overreacting, but the nightmare was still with him, twisting its way through his heart. “It’s nothing to do with you. Some things you just can’t heal.”

  “Your pain is everything to do with me.” She pressed her lips together and glared. “Pain and trauma are what I heal. And don’t you dare speak to me that way again, or I will walk out that door.”

  His mouth opened and closed again. When he used that tone of voice with the Toscani soldiers and associates they almost pissed themselves in fear. When he scowled at the men he hunted down, they quivered in their boots. But Grace, less than half his size, one quarter of his strength, gloriously naked beside his bed, was not taking his shit, and he’d never been so turned on in his life.