Rocco Page 22

  Rocco’s lips quivered at the corners. “Says the woman who is sitting here with me in the police station because she attacked a man in a dark alley. I gotta say, nothing is hotter than watching your anti-violence girl beat the shit of someone two days after threatening a guy at a trailer park with a gun and two weeks after almost shooting some bastard in the chest.”

  “I didn’t ‘beat the shit’ out of him,” she said indignantly. “It was self-defense. He was going to join his friends who were hurting you.”

  “Would have been fun.”

  Grace didn’t like thinking of Rocco in a fight with six guys. Even now his eye was swollen and dried blood was crusted on his forehead from a long gash that she was sure would leave a scar. But she also didn’t like how easy it had been for her to get involved in the fight. She hadn’t hesitated to use her Krav Maga moves on one of his attackers, and if Mike hadn’t arrived she would have kept fighting until everyone was safe.

  “My favorite part was when you kicked the dude who called you ugly,” he continued. “And told him it was what was inside that counts.”

  “This is a nightmare of epic proportions.” She scrubbed her hands over her face. “Dino was supposed to meet me and act as a bodyguard, not attack you with five of his friends and try to kill you. At least now he won’t want to marry me.”

  “Whoa. Whoa. Whoa.” Rocco jerked up on the bench. “Marry you? What the fuck?”

  “Papa’s idea.” She sighed. “Apparently he needs an alliance or the family will be destroyed. I always thought he was kidding when he had me meet the sons of his friends. Or it was just wishful thinking on his part. But no. He told me yesterday in the hospital that he had intended for be to marry Benito before Benito got himself whacked, and now I’m supposed to marry his brother, Dino.”

  Rocco’s hands curled into fists. “He’s gonna force you into a marriage?”

  “Not physically. He pretty much suggested the family would be ruined if we don’t get the alliance, and people will die. He says, of course, I want to protect my family and that’s how to do it.”

  Silence.

  “Aren’t you going to ask me what I’m going to do?”

  “No.” He leaned back, slightly away from her. “You do what you have to do.”

  “You won’t fight for me?” She knew it was silly to ask, but after talking with her father, she needed to know where she stood with him and whether Cesare truly had the hold on him her father thought he did.

  “If you feel you gotta marry that testa di cazzo, then I won’t get in your way.” He shifted on the bench, dropping his handcuffed hands between his legs.

  “Really?” She huffed out a breath. “You’ll just stand by and watch me marry Dino fucking Forzani? You’ll be good with that? After everything we’ve shared?”

  Rocco gave her a wary look. “You don’t swear.”

  “I’ll fucking swear all I want if you’re going to act like a dick.” She didn’t know why she was suddenly so angry, but the thought he would give up on her so easily, that maybe he didn’t feel the same way she felt about him lit a fire inside her. Maybe she should just ask the question that was on the tip of her tongue. If he didn’t care, what was she trying to save?

  “Grace.” A pained expression crossed his face. “There’s stuff you don’t know, stuff I’ve done since we’ve been apart. You couldn’t accept it last time…”

  “I just kicked a man in the balls and made him scream, Rocco,” she snapped. “I almost shot someone. I made a life for myself out here when I was only eighteen. Do I strike you as the same woman I was in New York?”

  “Yes. Inside you’re the same,” he said softly. “Beautiful and brave. You just never saw what I saw.”

  “This is what I get for reconciling with my dad,” she muttered, turning so he didn’t see her eyes water. “I opened the door to the Mafia world and now I’m handcuffed to a bench in the middle of a police station, about to go to jail, or if I get out I’ll be guilted into a marriage with a man I don’t love, and the man I do care about is going to just let me go.”

  “You have choices, Gracie. You always did.”

  She snorted. “You mean run away? I’m not that person any more. I think I realized that tonight in the alley. I’m a fighter. And it’s not the violence that really bothers me. It’s violence for the sake of violence. Violence where innocent people suffer. But if you’re protecting someone you love or care about, or you’re defending yourself, then it’s excusable. There’s a grey area that I couldn’t see after my mother died.” After her mother died, she wanted nothing to do with violence—no play fights, no violent video games, no toy gun fights with Tom. She couldn’t watch shows with guns or bloodshed, and finding out her father was part of a violent criminal organization—the same organization that had been responsible for the death of her mother—had devastated her. And then she’d found out Rocco was the epitome of everything she’d rejected in her life.

  But after running away one last time, her face scarred and her heart broken, she hadn’t given up. She’d learned to defend herself. She’d put herself through college, put her singing gift to use, and she’d reconciled with her father. Maybe she hadn’t taken the final steps of getting a job or becoming professional singer, and she had made it clear to her father she was never going to be part of the mob, but she had made something of herself. She wasn’t drifting, like she’d thought. She was at a crossroads in her life. A gray area. She just had to decide which path to take.

  “I’m supposed to be a psychologist,” she said, still mulling over her thoughts. “Obviously not a good one if it’s taken me this long to figure out what my problem is. I’m beginning to realize it isn’t my true calling.”

  He laughed, a deep, rich, beautiful sound that made her body tingle. She’d never heard him really laugh before. In all their years together, he had never fully let down his guard.

  “I’m glad you can laugh when we’re about to go to jail.” She squeezed his hand, remembering where they were. The station was a never-ending stream of activity—uniformed officers coming and going, the benches filled with people of all ages cuffed or chained, some angry, some drunk, some terrified like her, people shouting, doors slamming, keys rattling … and was that the sound of a metal door?

  “You won’t be going to jail.” He kissed her scarred cheek, and she felt the sensation as a burst of warmth inside her. Usually she felt nothing when anything touched her scar, just an awareness of pressure on her skin. “We’ll be leaving here soon.”

  “You sound so sure.”

  “I promised to protect you and I will.” He pressed his lips to her ear and murmured. “Nico’s consigliere is an attorney. He’s got everyone in his pocket from the DA to the police chief to the judges and a good handful of cops. He specializes in digging up dirt on people in power and trades it for favors.”

  Her heart skipped a beat. “You’re sure? I mean, you’re not a Toscani. Will Nico help you?”

  “Yeah. He will. If I didn’t think so, I would never have allowed them to put those handcuffs on you.” His voice dropped husky and low. “Although they give me some ideas…”

  Grace’s cheeks flushed and Rocco gave a low growl of approval.

  “You like that.”

  “Not when I’m sitting in a police station.”

  “When we get home.”

  She edged closer to him, bridged the gap he had placed between them, leaned her head against his shoulder. “Too bad we weren’t arrested that night in New York. Maybe if we’d been handcuffed to a police bench we would have talked things through, and I wouldn’t have run away.”

  “It wouldn’t have changed anything. Not then. Not the people we were. We weren’t ready.”

  “I felt like I’d failed you,” she said quietly. “From the day we met, I could feel your pain. I knew Cesare was doing something to you. Each week you were a little bit different, a little more distant, sadder, like you were being torn apart. I knew you were hurting inside and I
wanted to fix you. It made me happy that I could make you smile. I thought I could save you in a way I couldn’t save my mother.”

  “You did save me, bella. In every way a man can be saved.”

  “De Lucchi and Mantini.” A police officer stopped in front of them and jangled a set of keys. “You’re free to go.”

  “That’s it?” Grace lifted her hands so he could undo her cuffs.

  “That’s it. Apologies for the inconvenience.” He looked back over his shoulder at an elderly gentleman wearing a smart, navy suit. “Your attorney says you agreed not to go public. Much appreciated.”

  Rocco nodded as his cuffs were removed. With one hand pressed against Grace’s lower back, he led her down the hallway to the man in the suit.

  “Charlie.”

  “Frankie.”

  “You want a smoke?” Charlie held out a packet of cigarettes. Rocco stared at them for a long second and then shook his head.

  “Trying to quit.”

  Nothing else was said until they were out of the police station and half a block down the street.

  “This is Charlie Nails,” Rocco said stopping beside a shiny black Mercedes parked at the side of the road. “He’s an attorney and a friend of ours.”

  A friend of ours told Grace that Charlie was a made man and connected to the mob. She figured him for Nico’s consigliere given his age and their earlier conversation. “Thank you for your help.” She held out her hand. “I wasn’t looking forward to spending the night in jail.”

  Charlie gave Grace’s hand a firm shake. “Grace Mantini. You’re as beautiful as your mother was at that age.”

  “You knew my mother?” Her pulse kicked up a notch. Other than the aunt she’d lived with after leaving the family home, she hadn’t met many people who knew her mother, and none from the mob.

  “Everyone knew your mother,” he said. “I used to live in New York until I was sent to Vegas to watch over the Toscani family rebels, and I knew her well.” He sucked in an appreciative breath. “So beautiful. Every man wanted her. And it wasn’t just because she was the daughter of the underboss. She was an amazing singer and the life of every party.”

  Grace had never heard any recordings of her mother singing. She had only her memories and a few photos of her mother on stage. “You heard her sing?”

  Charlie nodded. “There was a club where our friends would go for a good time on Friday and Saturday nights. She sang there often. Your grandfather wasn’t happy about it. He didn’t like the idea of her up on stage, but she loved the spotlight and she always put on a good show. A lot of fights were started over her. But once she met your father, it was clear no one else had a chance.”

  “He never got over her death,” she said.

  Charlie’s face softened. “It was tragic what happened to her. I never believed the story. It’s a shame no one ever discovered the truth.”

  Grace frowned. “The story about Jimmy Valentino shooting up Ricardo’s restaurant because Ricardo was having an affair with his wife? I was there. I saw a man come in and shoot.”

  “Jimmy’s wife would never have cheated on him,” Charlie said. “Some couples you just know are going to last. Your mom and dad were like that. Jimmy and Violet were, too.”

  “But he went to jail,” she protested. “He has another eleven years to serve.”

  Charlie shrugged. “Maybe for a crime he didn’t commit. But if that’s true, he’ll never say.”

  Omertà meant you went to jail rather than rat out another made man or reveal your affiliation with the mob, even if you didn’t do the crime.

  “Why would anyone want to kill her?”

  “That’s the wrong question.” Charlie opened the door to his car.

  “What’s the right question?”

  Charlie’s gaze flicked to Rocco and then back to Grace. “That’s something you need to ask you father.”

  * * *

  “Grace! Your watchdog is on the front step,” Olivia called out from the front door. “I gotta run or I’d bring him in to be fed. I’ll see you at lunch.”

  Grace ran a comb through her wet hair and threw on a pair of cut-off jean shorts and a shabby cottage chic lilac tunic top with a see-through lace poncho overlay. She loved floral, romantic clothes although, with Rocco having disappeared for a day and a night, they didn’t uplift her like they usually did.

  Ethan and Miguel waved to her from the kitchen as she headed for the front door, keeping her head averted. No amount of make-up could hide the dark circles under her eyes. She loved her father. Trusted him. But what she’d seen of Rocco since they’d met again didn’t jibe with what Papa had suggested. He had done nothing except try to protect her and she couldn’t believe he was doing it simply to get close to Tom and her dad so he could pull the trigger and end their lives.

  She pulled open the door and studied Rocco on the front step, leaning against the porch. He was wearing the same clothes he’d been in yesterday when he’d left her to go for a ride after she’d finished at the recording studio.”

  “How long have you been out here?”

  Rocco shrugged. “Most of the night.”

  Guilt speared through her chest. “You sat out here all night? Why didn’t you come in?”

  “You have some new security. Didn’t want to disturb your neighbors by causing a fight.” He gestured to the Forzani soldiers who had replaced Mike and Paolo and Rocco’s men outside her house. “We agreed I’d stay outside.”

  “I don’t want them. I want you.”

  “Not willing to cause a political incident to have you in my bed, bella.”

  “What political incident?” Anger flared inside her. “I’m not marrying Dino Forzani. I won’t be guilted into a marriage to a man I don’t love, especially one so cowardly that he’d lure you into a back alley and attack you with five of his men.”

  “Aren’t you cold?” Unable to stop herself, she knelt down beside him. “Did you eat anything? I can’t believe you would sit here all night. You must be exhausted. Come inside.”

  “It’s okay, Gracie.” He pushed the damp tendrils of her hair off her cheek. “I’m good. I’ll be here when you’re ready to go.”

  Damn. She’d been up all night trying to reconcile her father’s words with what her heart was telling her: Rocco wouldn’t hurt her, and he knew nothing would hurt her more than losing the only family she had left.

  “Inside.” She clasped his hand, pulling on him as she stood. “Now. You can take a shower while I fix you some breakfast. I’ve got a studio gig this morning, and then I’m going to meet Olivia for lunch and visit the kids at the orphanage where I did my internship. If you want to come along, that’s the plan.”

  “You worked at an orphanage?” He stood, still holding her hand.

  “Yeah. I didn’t feel that I could help adults if I couldn’t heal myself, but I could help the kids, many of whom suffered abuse at home before they either lost their parents or were taken into care. I especially liked that I got a say in the adoption process, so I could help make sure the kids were going to a good home.”

  Rocco scrubbed his hand over his face. “Fuck. Grace.”

  She wasn’t sure if Fuck Grace was meant to be a compliment or an insult or if he was expressing exasperation or pleasure, but he looked exhausted and hungry, and the part of her that just couldn’t believe he would take a contract to whack her father and brother couldn’t leave him sitting on the step.

  After breakfast, he took her to the studio and then to Sunnyvale to meet Olivia for lunch. Matthew was in the courtyard shooting hoops and she joined him while Rocco parked his bike.

  “You’re really bad,” Matthew said after she missed yet another basket. He dashed across the courtyard, neatly intercepting the ball before she could get near it.

  “Maybe you’re just really good. I have a feeling you practice every day.” Grace ran to block him, but he was too fast and skirted under her arm.

  “I do.” Matthew jumped and made what seeme
d like an impossible shot. Father Seamus had installed an adjustable hoop, and even with it down on the lowest setting, Grace was losing by a wide margin. “I’m going to be a basketball star. I need something special about me so I get adopted, and if I tell people I’m going to be in the NBA they’ll want me.”

  “Oh, Matthew.” She left the ball and walked over to kneel in front of him. “The kind of special you need is in here.” She tapped his chest. “And you already have it. The things we do don’t define us; it’s who we are inside.”

  “I’m an NBA star inside,” he said, missing the point entirely.

  She heard a chuckle and looked up to see Rocco with Olivia, watching them from the far side of the court.

  “I found this hunk of manliness in the lobby,” Olivia said, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “I was wondering what you’d do with the package on the doorstep.”

  Grace introduced Rocco to Matthew, smiling as Rocco shook Matthew’s hand. How would he feel about being in an orphanage again? He’d once told her he didn’t remember anything about the facility where Cesare found him, but sometimes situational experiences could trigger subconscious memories.

  “Now we have a team,” Matthew said.

  Grace raised a querying eyebrow when Matthew offered the ball to Rocco. She had never seen Rocco play team sports, but then theirs hadn’t been a normal relationship. After she turned sixteen, and their friendship became something more, their encounters all had to be kept secret. She had always thought he was concerned about her father’s reaction to their age difference. But after she found out who Rocco was, she realized his concern stemmed from what could be considered a class difference as well. Outwardly, he was entirely wrong for her, and yet his sensitivity and need were a powerful draw, their shared love of Rat Pack music and art bringing them together despite their age difference, and they had a connection in a way she still didn’t understand.

  In response to her silent question, he removed his leather jacket and placed it on a nearby bench. “Me and Matthew against Grace and Olivia. Girls versus boys. How does that sound?”