“You aren’t going alone,” Rocco said. “That’s final.”
It took Grace a few moments to identify the cause of the heat surging through her body.
Anger.
She was angry. Not just angry. Furious. She allowed the feeling to fill her, reveled in the sensation.
When her mother died, she’d been lonely and lost, but never angry. When the kids at school had given her a hard time—which didn’t happen after she met Rocco—she turned the other cheek. And when Cesare had hurt her, harmed her, showed her who and what Rocco was, she’d felt nothing, until nothing gave way to a grief that wouldn’t end. Her life had been dominated by loss and sadness. But anger was something new.
Powerful.
And Rocco had awakened it.
Her heart pounded in her chest, sending blood rushing through her veins. Muscles twitched and tightened. Her breaths came in pants. And hot. She was so hot. Burning bright like the sun. When she had counseled patients during her internship, she talked about anger. She taught people to control it, suppress it. But she’d never felt it. Never understood it’s power. Never felt the need to embrace it and make it her own.
“Fuck off.”
She felt almost giddy letting the words fall off her tongue—words she’d never said to anyone before. Harsh words. Swear words. Angry words. She felt almost drugged with the emotion, reckless. Rocco was a dangerous man, and yet when she looked at him, she remembered how he used to be. She remembered laughter and singing, whispered kisses and gentle touches. She remembered her first time and how hard he’d tried to make it good for her. Even after all these years, she knew in her heart that Rocco would never hurt her, and that gave her the courage to push back against a man who had a reputation for making even the most hardened wiseguys weep.
If she’d expected him to respond the same way, she was mistaken. Instead, he studied her for a long moment and then dropped his hand. “I’ll take you to the hospital.”
It was more than she’d hoped for, and yet she was reluctant to let go of the new emotion and the confidence it gave her. “No more violence.”
His lips twitched at the corners. “Don’t push it.”
This time when he held out his hand, she threaded her fingers through his, and heat of a different kind sizzled through her body.
“You don’t pull shit like that on me again.” He yanked her forward toward the broken door. “You stay where I tell you to stay. You don’t leave so I don’t know where you are.” He went on and on as they left the house. It was probably the most he’d said at once since she’d seen him again, maybe ever. Rocco had never been a talkative man and sometimes having a conversation with him was like squeezing blood from a stone. But she didn’t need a psychology degree to read between the lines. He’d been worried about her.
He cared.
His hand tightened around hers. So warm. So strong.
They walked past a young man leaning against a vehicle parked at the side of the road holding a balled-up sweatshirt against his nose. She opened her mouth to ask if he was okay, but Rocco pulled her along.
He stopped in front of his bike and unclipped a helmet from the back of the seat. Their hands touched when he handed it to her, and he drew in a ragged breath.
“I’m okay,” she said softly, straddling his bike.
His hand curled around the side of her neck, and he yanked her forward, his mouth crashing down on hers, his tongue skimming her trembling lips. Heat, desire, fear, and anger all coalesced in the fire of his kiss. His lips were firm and insistent, his tongue gentle. Responding to his need, she surrendered to him, letting him know with her body that she was okay. His groan vibrated through her as his tongue swept inside her mouth, possessing her. His hand fisted her hair, holding her still.
When he finally broke away they were both breathing hard.
“You were gone,” he said.
Then he climbed on the bike, pulled her arms tight around his waist, and the engine roared to life.
* * *
St. John’s Hospital was a maze of white corridors, speeding gurneys, the cloying scent of antiseptic, and people in scrubs and white coats rushing in all directions.
“Papa’s in the ICU, but no sign of Tom.” She pulled out her phone after filling in the paperwork at the front desk and checked it for the hundredth time, hoping to see a message from Tom. “Last night I tried all the police stations, hospitals, the morgue … I’ve texted and called. I don’t know where he could be. Unless…”
“Unless he’s lying low,” Rocco said quickly. He hadn’t told her where he’d been all night or what he had done, only that he had also found her father at St. John’s. “Worry about him later and go see your dad. He needs you right now.”
They found the intensive-care unit, but were stopped by a formidable looking nurse at the entrance.
“Are you family?”
“I am,” Grace said. “And he’s with me.”
The nurse pointed to a chair in the hallway. “Your friend will have to wait outside. Family only.”
Rocco lifted an eyebrow in censure and Grace quickly patted his arm. “I’ll be okay. I’m pretty sure the ICU isn’t a dangerous place.”
He gave an irritated grunt and folded his arms. “I’ll be right here.”
After talking to the doctor about the operation to remove the bullet in her father’s chest, Grace sat beside her father’s bed and held his hand, careful not to touch the tubes or wires. Not for the first time did she wish she could have spent more time with him over the last eight years, but he was part of something she couldn’t accept. From the death of her mother to the brutal night on the bank of Newton Creek when she’d lost Rocco, the mob had destroyed everything she loved.
Grace adjusted her father’s bedclothes and smoothed his hair off his forehead, her finger tracing the furrows in his brow that hadn’t been there when he’d been with her mom. Unlike many mobsters who married for political reasons, or wanted Mafia princesses as trophy wives, he had loved her mother deeply, and he had never been the same after she died.
After sitting with him for half an hour, she left to find a nurse to discuss her father’s care. When she returned to her father’s room, Rocco was standing beside her father’s bed, hands in his pockets, staring at him with a thoughtful expression. At first, she was taken aback by his presence, but then she remembered that her father had hired Rocco as a driver in the beginning and continued to call on him over the next few years when Grace or Tom needed a ride.
“How did you get past the mean nurse?” she whispered.
“Tied her up and put her in the closet.”
She glanced over at him, slightly disconcerted when she didn’t even see his lips twitch. “Don’t forget to let her out before we leave.”
Still no response. When a quick visual search of the room didn’t reveal a closet, she relaxed. “Do you think he needs a guard? The people who are after him might come back to finish the job.”
“I called Nico and asked him to send two men to keep watch in the hallway, and another two outside.”
Her tension eased the tiniest bit. “Thank you.”
“Pleasure.”
“Did Nico know why someone wanted to kill my dad? It’s not like anyone in Vegas can take over as underboss in New York.”
He stared at her and it took her a moment to remember that Mafia business was never discussed with women. But this was her father and she couldn’t help him if she didn’t know what was going on. She felt the flame of anger flicker bright inside her again and welcomed it in.
“I have a right to know if he’s still in danger. He’s my father.”
His jaw twitched almost imperceptibly. “I don’t have an answer for you.”
“Who benefits if he’s gone?” She mused out loud as they walked down the hall. “Most likely one of the New York capos. Some of them are very powerful. Maybe one of them sent someone out here. Or hired someone.” She stopped mid-step. “That would make sense. Get someone to do the dirty work, and with Papa out of the way, whoever it is can take over as underboss.”
She glanced around as they left the ICU. No sign of the mean nurse. Her heart kicked up a notch, but before she could voice her concern, Rocco’s warm hand clasped hers, pulling her out of her thoughts. “I’ll handle it, but I think it is better if you don’t go home just yet. You can stay with me.”
“You don’t need to protect me, Rocco. Papa has friends here—the Forzanis. And once the don finds out…” One of the benefits of becoming a made man was that your family was cared for by the mob if something happened to you. So much for not getting involved. If Papa died, she would be swarmed by mobsters.
They walked in silence to the vehicle through the hazy afternoon. “I didn’t protect you before,” he blurted out. “I need to protect you now.”
“There wasn’t much you could have done,” she said softly, bile rising in her throat at the reminder of the night at Newton Creek. “Cesare would have killed me and felt nothing. I looked into his eyes, and I saw evil. When he was holding the knife at my throat, he whispered in my ear that he hoped you would refuse him because he wanted to feel my life trickle through his fingers.” She didn’t tell him what else Cesare had said, that he didn’t love his adoptive son, that Rocco was nothing but a tool, and that he could have as easily pulled the trigger and taken Rocco’s life as he had slashed and disfigured her face. She suspected Rocco knew it, but if he didn’t, who was she to take that illusion away?
“Fuck.” Without warning, Rocco turned and slammed his fist against the brick wall.
“Rocco. Stop.” She grabbed his wrist, her heart aching at the sight of the blood and torn skin.
“I should never have been with you. I should have pushed you away. I was old enough to know better.”
She opened his hand, pressed a kiss to his palm. “And I was old enough to know what I wanted. I wanted you. I wanted to fix you, heal you…” And love. She wanted to give him love.
“There is no fixing me,” he said bitterly. “Cesare made me exactly as he wanted me to be.”
“An enforcer.”
When his jaw went slack, she shrugged. “Yes, I knew. I went to see my father after I got back from being stitched up at the hospital that night and he told me about the De Lucchi crew and who you were.”
“So you left.”
“Yes.” She swallowed hard. “I’m not proud of that. Running away seems to be how I always deal with things that are too difficult to handle. But I didn’t see any other option. I wasn’t going to stick around and let Cesare use me against you again. And I was done with the Mafia, done watching everything I ever loved be destroyed.”
His face tightened. “It was the right thing to do. It had to end. Who you are and who I am … light and dark … it would never have worked.”
Not then. She had been too innocent, too naive, too sheltered. Rocco had protected her so well she’d never really had a chance to live, to understand that the world wasn’t black and white. Good people did bad things, and bad people did good things, and not everyone in organized crime acted like a stereotypical criminal. Living away from home, making a new life for herself, and doing her degree had helped her to understand people on a different level, to look beyond their actions to their motivations and deeper into their hearts.
“Because of me,” she said. “Not because of you.” She cupped his face in her hands, felt the bristle of his beard against her palms. “I know you, Rocco. I see you underneath all the scowls and black leather and the fiercesome reputation that makes a man as big as Mike quake in his boots. I know your heart, and it’s a good one. I don’t know how you’ve done what you do, but I do know it is killing you inside.”
He wrenched away so violently her hands dropped. “You don’t know anything about me. The man you knew is gone. What you think you see is a fantasy. I didn’t choose to become part of Cesare’s crew, but the night at the river I chose this life.”
“To set me free. Your motives were good ones.”
He shuddered and his hand came up so suddenly she thought he might strike her, but instead he gripped her jaw and jerked her head to the side.
“You’re still so naive,” he said coldly. “So trusting. So fucking good it breaks my fucking heart.”
If he’d said that to her six years ago, she would have curled up inside and run away. But she understood trauma now. She understood the lasting effects abuse had on children. She knew when the walls of self-protection rose up and how to get them down. For the first time, she wondered if this was the real reason she’d gone into psychology. Not just to help others, but to help the one person she had cared for the most.
Although understanding made his words hurt less, they still hurt. Pulling away, she took a step back. “I’m going to catch a cab and stay at a hotel.”
“You’re not going to a hotel.”
“Yes, I am.” She walked away, slowing down only when he called out.
“Gracie.”
Hope fluttered in her chest. She looked back over her shoulder, raised a questioning eyebrow.
“You’re not getting into some fucking stranger’s car.”
Well, didn’t that just ruin what could have been a perfect movie moment. “For your information,” she bit out. “It’s a cab. I take them all the time. They are perfectly safe.”
He closed the distance between them with easy strides of his long legs. “Whoever is after you could be looking for you right now. What if one of them is behind the wheel?”
“Driving the random cab I call to get me the hell away from you?” Her hands found her hips and she turned to face him. “Don’t you think that stretches the realm of coincidence?”
“Not when I think about the first time we met and discovering we both lost our moms, listened to the same music, followed the same sports team, and had the same interests. Not when I think about how you needed to save people and I needed saving and there we were for each other at the perfect time.”
Her anger fizzled faster than the dick of the last guy she’d gone out with who had taken off her mask after a costume party and discovered something he hadn’t expected to see.
“Don’t pull the nostalgia card with me.” She mocked a frown. “You said I was naive.”
“You are.” He cupped her face in his hands.
“You said I was too trusting.”
“It’s true.” He tipped her head back until she could see nothing but the caramel depths of his beautiful eyes.
“You said I break your fucking heart.”
“You do. You destroyed me then and you destroy me now.” His lips found hers and he kissed her.
Softly.
Gently. Oh, so gently.
His teeth grazed her bottom lip. His tongue whispered along the seam. She opened for him, and he took her mouth like they had fallen into the middle of a kiss that had been going on since they had last been together. It was raw and honest, and so filled with desire that her blood turned molten in her veins. Sensation crashed over her and she moaned into his mouth.
Rocco growled. A real, honest-to-goodness growl that vibrated through her body right down to her toes. One hand fisted her hair, holding her in place while the other ran along her temple, her cheek, her jaw, and down her throat to the pulse that pounded the evidence of her desire against her skin. He ravished her, devoured her, until she didn’t know night or day, up or down. She only knew him. Rocco’s hard body against her. Rocco’s mouth. His taste. His fire. Her fantasy made real.
“Beautiful.” His fingers threaded into her hair, pulling her back to him, grounding her in his heat before she could feel the chill of fear that he would reject her. “Just wait until I get you home.”
She splayed her hands against his chest, remembering every time she’d touched him after that night in Prospect Park. How he’d leave her a message about where to meet and her heart would pound when she went to him. He would let her strip off his clothes, touch and kiss and lick and suck his beautiful body to her heart’s desire. And then he would remove her clothing piece by piece until she was bared to him. He would whisper, beautiful, and she believed him because he was her everything and he had made her dark world bright again.
“Is this how you get girls to your place?” she murmured against his mouth. “Flattery and seduction?”
She felt desperate need to know about the other women in his life: how many girlfriends he’d had, what he did with them, whether he crooned Rat Pack hits when they held each other in the dark or made love to them under a tree in the rain. She wanted to know six years of things about him, even though part of her screamed NOT A GOOD IDEA.
Because where was this going to go?
He took lives, and she saved them.
* * *
“You can sleep in the bed. I’ll take the couch.” Rocco offered Grace the T-shirt he had given her the night before, while giving himself a mental pat on the back for his fortitude. He didn’t want to sleep on the couch and he didn’t want her to wear any clothes. If he’d had his way, they would have been naked in the bed shortly after he took her for lunch, or, at the very least, following her afternoon visit to the hospital when her father had awakened and asked to see her.
Naked and in bed right now would be ideal, but with Tom still missing and her father in hospital, he didn’t want to push.
“I brought my own PJs.”
Rocco bit back his disappointment. The image of her wearing his shirt last night was burned into his brain, and if he couldn’t have her naked, the next best thing would be to see her wearing it again. There was something about a woman in a man’s shirt with nothing else underneath that appealed to his most primitive possessive instinct, as if the shirt, his scent, marked her as his and would keep other men away. “Keep it anyway.”
“And I don’t want to take your bed again,” she said, her fingers curling into the shirt. “You must not have gotten any sleep last night. I’ll take the couch.”
“Don’t even think about it.”
“I have to get up early and go to the studio. I’m recording a radio jingle tomorrow morning. I don’t want to wake you so, really, the couch would be better—”
“Gracie.” He cut her off with an irritated bark. “Take the bed.”
He stared at the TV while she unpacked her bag and flicked through the channels trying to focus on the screen. He was tempted, so tempted to climb into bed with her, but she had a new life now, and the last thing he wanted was to taint her goodness with his shit.
But, God, he wanted her like nothing he had ever wanted in his life. When he was with her, it was like all the pain and torture Cesare had put him through to learn to lock away his emotions had never happened. She opened him up, revealed him, leaving him emotionally raw and vulnerable inside. But it was a good kind of pain.
While she changed in the washroom, he threw a few blankets on the black leather couch, grabbed a pillow from the closet and lay down, facing away from the bed. He wasn’t going to turn around. He wasn’t going to talk. He wasn’t going to think about the fact she wouldn’t be wearing a bra or wonder whether or not she was wearing panties. He wouldn’t think about her beautiful long legs or her long, thick silky hair and how it would feel wrapped around his hand when he pushed her onto the bed, tugged her head back and—
“Rocco?”
He didn’t realize he’d squeezed his eyes shut until he heard her voice right beside him. So he opened them and there was his fantasy come to life. “Sinatra” spread right across her breasts, his shirt—HIS SHIRT—barely skimming the tops of her bare thighs, her hair loose around her shoulders, his dick so fucking hard he thought he would die from blood loss to the brain.
“Yeah?”
“Would you like a glass of water?”
There was only one thing he wanted right now and water wasn’t it. “I’m good.”
Then he forgot everything he’d told himself and watched her walk toward the kitchen, the cheeks of her ass just peeking out from under the hem.
Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. He fisted the blanket in his hands, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away.
Gracie.
Gracie was in his apartment. Naked, beneath his shirt.
“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” She walked toward him, and he tried not to notice that the shirt rode higher on the side where she held the water glass, so high he swore he could see the shadow of her pussy.
“Yeah.” He threw an extra blanket over his midsection, and gave a satisfied grunt. There. He’d done it. He was still in full control. He wouldn’t inflict his ugliness on beautiful Grace. After he’d dealt with who was after her, and her dad recovered, they would go their separate ways, and she would be free to find a man to make her happy. A nice civilian who didn’t beat and torture people for a living and could give her a house and kids and the normal life she’d craved after finding out the life she’d lived hadn’t been normal at all.
He folded his arms behind his head, closed his eyes, and tried not to think of Grace asleep in the bed behind him.
Naked.
Beneath his shirt.
Fuck.
* * *
Rocco didn’t know how long he’d been sleeping when he was awakened by a scream.
He rolled off the couch, grabbing the gun he’d placed under his pillow, and rose to a crouch, quickly assessing the room. Door locked. Windows closed. No intruders. Heart pounding, he looked over at the bed where Grace was writhing and twisting in the sheets.
“Grace.” He put the weapon down and sat on the bed beside her. “Gracie. Wake up.”
When she didn’t respond, he stretched out on the bed and curled his body around her, holding her tight. “Wake up, cara mia. I’ve got you.”
“So much blood,” she whispered. “Blood in the water.”
Rocco didn’t know if she was asleep or awake, but he felt her words like a knife in his gut. The night he lost her was all about blood.
Forgive me father for I have sinned.
“Rocco.”
She turned in his arms, and he stroked his hand down her back until he felt her body soften against him. How could something that felt so right be so wrong? His hell on earth was finding the other half of his soul and not being able to keep her.
He felt her lips on his throat, her breath warm on his skin. Was she…? No. She was still half asleep. But he suddenly became acutely aware that the T-shirt she was wearing had ridden up, her bare legs were twined with his, and only a thin piece of cotton separated him from her naked body. All his blood rushed to his groin, but as he tensed, preparing to move away, she rocked her hips slowly against him.
“Rocco,” she whispered. “Make the nightmares go away.”
“Turn around and I’ll hold you.”
“I don’t want to be held.” Her voice was clearer now without the soft murmur of sleep. Her arms slid around him, and her breasts pressed against his chest. “I want to be together.”
He wanted to be together, too. He wanted his cock inside her pussy, his mouth on her breasts, his hands on her ass, her hair, her curves. He wanted to go back to the secret nights when the world didn’t matter and it was just Grace and him and all the fucking pleasure in the world.
One hand curved around the side of her neck, and he pulled her in for a kiss. Soft lips. Sweet lips. He rolled until he was on top of her, taking his weight on his elbows. She fit perfectly beneath him, her breasts pressed up against his chest; her thighs parted to accommodate his hips. He’d been with many women since he’d been with her, but he had never felt this kind of connection, a bond that went deep into his soul.
He was weak. Cesare had cursed his weakness every day of his training until he turned fifteen and finally realized that physical pain could not compare to emotional pain, and that nothing Cesare could do to his body would ever compare to the pain of knowing he hadn’t been adopted to be loved, but to be turned into a monster.
The night that message hit home, he grieved the family he lost and the family he might have had if Cesare hadn’t adopted him. The next day, he skipped school and went to church to be secretly confirmed by a priest, making him personally responsible for his faith—an unbreakable covenant with God that would connect him to his parents forever, no matter what Cesare did to him.
He had almost died for that show of defiance. Cesare had stopped short of beating him to death, only because his right-hand man reminded him that every member of the De Lucchi crew was required, on pain of death, to train a son or an orphan to take his place so the crew would exist in perpetuity. Cesare had already spent four years grooming Rocco and five years training him. Did he really want to start all over again? Cesare agreed. But he was in killing mood so he dropped the whip and shot his right-hand man instead. That was the first death on Rocco’s conscience. After that, he locked the emotional pain away and bore every torture in silence, until the day Cesare ripped out his heart.
He had been drifting since he’d lost Grace. He’d lost faith and accepted his fate. But now he’d found her again, and she had awakened something in him he had buried long ago.
Hope.
Grace had made a new life out of the ashes. He could make a new life, too. A future without pain. Only Cesare stood in his way. Once he was gone, Rocco would be released.
Grace moaned softly and Rocco turned his attention to the beautiful woman in the bed and his desire for release of another kind.
He slid his hand up her bare leg, teased the bottom of her nightie, searching for panties and coming up bare.
“Do you usually wear nothing to bed?
“Only when I’m hoping not to sleep alone.” She nuzzled his neck, and his cock hardened.
“You won’t be sleeping alone tonight.” He wouldn’t make that mistake again. She needed him to keep the nightmares away. And he needed her to fill the emptiness in his soul.
Pushing himself down, he kissed her belly, breathed in her scent, sweet and floral. “I want to taste you, dolcezza. You know where to put your feet.”
She placed her feet on his shoulders, lifting her hips, opening herself to him.
He had always been a dominant lover, and Grace had been more than willing to follow his lead. Although he was certain that she had been with other men since him, he felt no small amount of satisfaction that he had been her first, that he had introduced her to this kind of pleasure, and even now, after all these years, she remembered how he could pleasure her best.
Her gasp melted into a sigh when he took his first lick, and her legs fell open. Rocco shuddered when he tasted the salty sweetness of her arousal on his tongue. He loved how wet she was for him, how she responded to his touch. For a moment, he dared think of what it would be like to have her in his bed every night, to indulge himself in her beautiful body, to hold her softness in his arms, to finally know peace.
Redemption.
Pain sliced his body as her heel dug into his shoulder, still raw and sore after his visit to Hellfire, yanking him back to harsh reality. There was no redemption for him. A future with Grace, bought with Cesare’s blood, was a fantasy he couldn’t have. That future was tainted by darkness, and he didn’t want it to touch her.
She rolled her hips, arching up to get more from him. He wanted to take his time, tease her until she was begging him to come, but with the realization that this had to be a one-time intimacy came a need to put up the walls that protected his heart.
Pushing himself back, he knelt between her spread legs. “Up on your elbows.” His voice coming out even sharper than he had intended. “Legs open. Show me your pussy.”
Confusion flickered over her face, making his gut clench. But this was for the best. They could indulge their burning chemistry without the risk of emotional involvement. He had hurt her once, almost destroyed her. It couldn’t happen again.
Of course, she did as he asked. She trusted him. And in a way, he was about to betray her by making this solely about sex, when he knew Grace was all about emotion.
“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.