Blood and Redemption (Ruthless Obsession #4)

1. Rocco

1

Rocco

All around me, flashing lights flicker, surrounded by the most annoying sounds.

Fucking slot machines.

All the way across the room, I can hear people betting away their earnings, throwing away their lives in hopes of winning something in return.

Every time I come here, I can’t help but think how pathetic it is.

There’s a reason a guy like me is drawn to this place.

I fit right in.

Despite leaning against the bar like this, I’ve already had a few women approach.

Those who recognize me probably think they’ll win a point by getting in my pants.

Usually, I’d cave for a little release, a distraction at best. Today, I’m not in the mood.

Jerking my finger toward the bartender to get another refill, I growl when they continue to refuse to leave the bottle.

It’s not like I’ll drink away everything they have.

If Renato says I can drink to my heart’s desire whenever I want to stop by, then I should be able to do so without waiting for another pour.

Speaking of the devil, I catch a glimpse of his sandy blond hair in the corner of my eye before his cologne hits me.

I’d recognize that smell from anywhere.

Rich and thick with each inhale.

He’s always loved buying the most expensive things, and that includes the products he uses.

He doesn’t think it stinks like I do.

My nose wrinkles as his hand clamps down on my shoulder.

“I heard you were down here.” He gives me a sly smile as he takes me in.

I can feel every lick of judgment as he scans my appearance.

I’ll admit, I don’t look my best. Haven’t lately, but today sure takes the cake.

Trying not to care, I sniff and knock back the rest of the contents in the glass.

I’ve lost count of how much I’ve drunk already.

Before I came here, I was already out of my mind.

Now the world is turning, and I’m feeling things I thought I could no longer feel, and everything I consume isn’t numbing my senses.

I need something stronger.

Something to numb my nerves and all the pain they’re feeling.

I snap my fingers, demanding another pour.

Eventually, these feelings that are overcoming me have to go away.

Pesky feelings can be drowned away with everything else.

Ren swats the back of his hand at the bartender, officially cutting me off.

God damn it.

Can’t drink in my own territory without worrying about someone trying to take me out.

I’ve already had those Bertelli assholes following me with their noses up my ass as they wait for my next move.

They’re blind if they can’t see the obvious answer.

I’m not doing shit. I don’t care anymore.

“What is it this time?” Ren leans against the empty stool at my side, gazing at me with his good eye.

The other has been lost, covered by an eyepatch adorned with silver trim.

“ Please tell me you aren’t still sulking over your sisters.”

Growling lowly, the closest thing I have to a best friend doesn’t even flinch.

In fact, the bastard’s smile grows.

For being partially blind, he’s good at reading me like a book.

Reaching behind me, I dig a hand into my back pocket and pull out a card I’ve already torn in half and crumpled.

Couldn’t even find the strength to toss it in the trash.

As he flattens the pieces and puts them together like a puzzle, I lean over the bar and grab the first bottle I can reach to pour myself something strong.

By the burning smell, I’m willing to bet it’s tequila.

The first gulp confirms it.

“Not many people would want to invite you to a wedding. Damn, what’s it been, a few weeks? A couple of months at most.”

“That bastard is using her,” I hiss between my teeth.

“He thinks a ring will be enough? Even if he ties her down, I’ll get Camellia back. Eliza, too.”

Santino fucking Bertelli.

Kidnapped my youngest sister after I made a small misjudgment in an attempt to get the upper hand, and now one of his dogs dropped the invitation off.

He’s rubbing his success in my face.

I tried to take something that was his, so he took something in return.

This is nothing but a power play here.

He doesn’t love my sister.

He’s just using her for revenge.

I’m sure of it.

Ren doesn’t stop me from downing my next glass, but he does steal the bottle, pushing it far within my reach.

“Listen, if you want to get all pissy and drunk, there are plenty of bars in this city to pass out at. However, if you want to come here and drink, then you have to have even a sliver of class, man.”

Moving to push him away because I don’t want to hear it, the stool beneath me rocks.

“Woah there.” I feel Ren’s hands on me before I can fall off the chair.

“ This is why you came to drink all of my booze? You can’t even think about passing out here, man. I’m running a successful business.”

Trying to swat him away so he can leave me to suffer, his sigh does nothing but prove he isn’t going anywhere.

He’s always been a pain in the ass when he wants to be.

My best friend, somehow.

One of the only people who hasn’t given up on me.

“Come on, I’ll take you home.” Clicking his tongue when my hand meets his jaw, he jerks me to my feet in return.

My head spins with the flashing lights, and I close my eyes tightly to block it all out before I toss the mix of liquid weighing heavily in my gut.

With everything I’ve consumed, I’ve got plenty to give.

“He’s got people planted there, waiting for me to return. Not even to kill me, just to mock me,” I slur as we take our first few steps.

“I don’t want to go home.”

After he thanks the poor worker who had to deal with me, he leads me toward the back.

Probably doesn’t want people seeing me get carried out through the front entrance.

Cares too much about what people think.

Always has.

I’m far past that point.

Eliza hates me enough that she’d rather see me dead.

I’ve treated Camellia like an outcast for years, it’s no wonder she’d choose an enemy over her family.

How much longer do I have before Renato gives up on me?

The one last person who has my back.

The one who was willing to marry Eliza to help take out those Bertelli assholes.

If I lose everyone, I won’t have anyone left.

I should let someone take me out.

At this rate, it won’t take long before someone starts sniffing around and sees signs of weakness everywhere.

They’ll jump at the opportunity first thing to take everything I own right from underneath my nose.

“Well, unless you want to play at one of the tables, you can’t stay here.” Letting me lean against him, he curses when I groan.

“If you think about ruining my suit, I’ll kill you.”

“Better hurry up, then.” Groaning again, I can feel my stomach turning.

Ren takes my threat as a promise, dragging me now.

He’s shoving a door open before I’m stumbling out toward what looks like the back of the casino.

As cool air hits my flushed skin, the lack of light doesn’t help my dizziness.

Getting jerked about leads to my downfall, and it’s no surprise that I toss up everything I’ve consumed tonight.

“Fuck, man. You’ve got to get your shit together.” Ren turns away from me to avoid the awful sight before him.

“Haven’t seen you like this in years. You just need to get over this hump. Can’t get them back if you’re in this state.”

It’s almost ironic that he’s the one at my side now.

All those years ago, when I lost my parents, he was the one to help me get through that hump, too.

Wiping the corner of my mouth, I groan as my head keeps swimming.

If I stop drinking, then I’ll start to feel things again.

Emotions that make a man in my position come off as weak.

Do I tell him that I’m not sure I can keep going?

Even if I’ve learned how to be strong and cold-hearted to keep things afloat, will he understand my inability to do so while alone?

Even if my relationship with my siblings is shaky, they kept me strong.

With them gone, I have…

nothing.

“Need a detox, or something.” His hand finds my arm, and I feel him tugging me across the pavement.

As he pulls out his phone to send an order for someone to clean this up, he keeps my feet moving.

“I don’t want to go home,” I tell him again, tugging on his hold.

“Chill. I’m taking you somewhere else. Somewhere you can’t drink yourself to death.” Face pinching, he digs out something, his keys by the looks of it.

He’s always the type who enjoys having attention on him.

Owning a handful of casinos is only a part of his flashy persona.

He’s also a fan of owning sports cars.

Ones that hit record-breaking speeds.

Not a good combination for my current state.

“If you throw up in my car, I will kill you,” he threatens all too seriously.

“I’ll hold you to it,” I groan, hoping the twisting in my gut stops.

If I keep thinking about that wedding invitation, I can’t promise an easy drive.