Chapter 12
Our bodies were exhausted after rolling around on the bed for ten minutes.
Rocco, a.k.a. Daddy, was stretching me and moving my body around into all different shapes as he found the best pulse point for his cock to penetrate me from.
And afterwards, I lay in his arms like he was a big novelty Valentine’s teddy, except with a set of heavy balls that kept his soft cock pushed out.
“We might’ve gone over,” he whispered as his hand stroked soft skin-to-skin electricity down my back. “Hope that woke you up.”
“I’m gonna still need that coffee,” I said, kissing him.
My entire body had never wanted someone as much as it wanted Rocco.
It had never craved another person quite like it did him.
I didn’t know when it had started. The first shift at Palazzo, the time he found me in the market with my mom, or maybe it was when he cuffed me to a wall in his apartment.
There was something feral about him, but also trained.
It was impossible for me not to analyze everything, my brain didn’t know how to stop—except when I was regressed and little, and that wasn’t happening often.
We showered, got dressed, and had our coffee in mugs that he needed to unpack from their Ikea set. Apparently, he’d only been using one this entire time, and now I was here he needed the second.
“Roland is going to be outside in five,” Rocco said.
On the sofa with my cartoons on and my mug of coffee balanced on my knee, I was too preoccupied to even hear him over my internal screams of joy. “Yeah,” I said.
“Did you make sure to put deodorant on?” he asked.
“Yeah.” My body swayed a little now as the show’s theme tune played. I grabbed my mug and sipped at the strong pupil-dilating coffee juice.
“What about some cologne?”
“Yep.”
Daddy’s warm body came up behind me, and he pressed his nose to my neck and inhaled. “Did you lie?”
“No, no,” I said, snapping out of the show trance. “I never lie.”
“Were you listening, then?”
I giggled.
He wrapped his arms around my chest from behind like he was the wires of a polygraph. “Drink up,” he said, kissing my neck. “And put some deodorant on.”
“Do I get a reward?” I asked, turning my head toward his and taking his lips in a kiss. “Because I’d like a reward.”
“Yes,” he said. “The reward of being in Daddy’s bed.”
“Oh.” I giggled. “Any other rewards?”
Daddy’s deep and rough voice from just a grumble nearly sent my hand with the mug jolting. “How about the reward of being on my good side, and anything bad get you on my bad side, and that’s when I get to have a little fun.”
I looked at him, trying to figure him out—it was impossible, but in the sort of way that was impossible when you were too close to something. “You mean, when I’m good, I get to choose everything, and when I’m bad, you get to choose everything?”
“Something like that,” he said, kissing me again. I immediately licked my lips clean of it, but all I could taste was coffee.
“And what about when you’re bad?” I asked.
“I’m never bad.” He wiggled his brows. “Not unless you want me to be.”
I knew he was part of a crime family, and the whole notion of that meant he was a criminal, and I was turned on by it.
In all the time I’d been going to agency mandated therapy, I don’t think either the therapist or I had caught on to my want, or at least my need, for men in charge—men who were a risk, and perhaps men who could leave a little lasting damage on my skin.
I was into that. Rocco encompassed it nicely . . . or horribly?
Rocco wore his incredibly smart clothes while I was here doing my best not to look like a federal agent.
He said we had a look to us, and since I’d been with them for six years, all of that had really gone into me, at my core.
To the point that even just wearing a plain T-shirt under my jacket still sent a message that I was undercover, even if technically I wasn’t and never had been.
We got into the back of the car and drove to my mom’s place. She’d texted me back, not immediately, but she said she was busy with her yarn and didn’t need me yapping in her ear. My stomach was filled with nervous bubbles as I clung to Rocco’s hand in the back of the car.
“You’re not going to say anything, are you?” I asked him.
“Like what?” he asked in that deep soul-stirring way.
“I don’t know, like, you’re not going to mention anything people say about your family.”
“Rumors,” he said. “I love talking about them.”
“Yeah, well, my mom will probably mention it,” I said, trying to give him something to anticipate. “I’m not saying we spoke about you before, but she knows who you are.”
Rocco had the sort of laugh that was all nonchalance, like nothing stuck to him, not a feeling, a thought, and maybe not even me.
Luckily the drive to my mom’s place wasn’t long or I might’ve driven myself insane.
Roland had been here with me the night before, and he took his spot outside the car, hands over his lap as he waited for us just inside the building.
“Surprised this place hasn’t fallen down,” he said as we stood waiting for the elevator.
“I know,” I said. “Please don’t mention it.”
“I’m sure she’s aware this is a pretty fucked-up building,” he said. “You know we own a construction company.”
I rolled my eyes. “You mean it actually works?” I assumed all the businesses were shells, especially the ones that didn’t really need to show people they were functioning.
Like a construction office. It must’ve been incredibly easy just to say you were working, throw up a couple of signs, and cash in the large cheques.
I knew how fraud worked. But they did have the restaurant, which functioned, and surely that place would be pulling in more cash than it should through whatever it was Rocco was hiding, and whatever his brother had been talking about last night. Poker, gambling, illegal betting.
Rocco tilted his head. “I thought I might’ve fucked all that out of you,” he said. “You know, the part of you that’s trying to figure out all the stuff my family does.”
I giggled, those nervous bubbles popping. “I wondered why you were thrusting so hard.”
The elevator dinged and an older woman with a cane walked out, complaining about how slow it was, almost hitting us with the cane as she trundled by.
“I can have someone come and fix this,” Rocco whispered to me. “You know that. Right?”
In the elevator, I pressed the number to my mom’s floor. “I—I didn’t, but now I do, and I think that might be a good thing. It would probably help her get to her appointments. I know she hates leaving the house because of this thing.”
Rocco cuddled me into his side with a gentle squeeze. “And I guess the only way you’ll know everything is if you marry me.”
It came out of nowhere. My face was red in the panels reflecting back at me. “Marry you?”
“I’m not proposing,” he said. “We’ve only spent one night together. We’ll give it a week.” He squeezed me into his side a little more, watching us both in the reflection. I was becoming too warm now.
“Oh my god.” I knew he was playing, but the idea someone would even float spending their life with me made me want to vomit—in a good way.
My mom was sitting where I’d left her in the apartment, on the sofa surrounded by a lot of yarn, although most of it was now crocheted into a blanket.
She smiled, but it twitched, almost like she was ready to snap out of it any second.
She looked Rocco up and down—he was tall, muscular, and wore an expensive suit. Everyone looked.
“This is Rocco,” I said.
“Rocco Bianchi,” she said, dusting the shreds of yarn off her lap. As she moved, she cooed, trying her best to stretch out of whatever position she’d somewhat galvanized herself in.
Rocco went right to her, dipping to a knee. “I can help you, Mrs. O’Ryan.”
She laughed, taking his hand. “I’m no longer with Mr. O’Ryan, but you can call me Jane,” she said.
“Jane,” he said. “Well, it’s nice to meet you.”
“Have you had breakfast?” I asked her. “You know you need to eat.”
“I’ve been busy,” she said. “I told Rachel I’d make her a blanket for the baby she’s got coming.”
“Who’s Rachel?”
She scoffed. “You don’t listen,” she said, her tone sharp and her gaze even sharper. “She’s my friend.”
It was the first time I’d heard of her friend, and I wasn’t sure if she was going to be someone I’d ever hear about again.
In fact, didn’t know if there was a Rachel, or if she was just someone she’d made up.
There was an entire laundry basket filled with blankets and plush toys she’d made—all of which were off limits, because she’d made them for people—and I think part of me knew she’d made them up, but confronting her about it wasn’t going to do anything.
She needed a doctor, and I needed answers.
In the kitchen, I stressed in thought, making my mom some eggs and toast. Rocco talked to her in the living room, and they both laughed. I think she was hitting on him, and if he could get her to eat, I’d let her keep doing it. But I suppose that meant she approved.
They were sitting together on the sofa when I walked in with a dish of scrambled egg and some slices of buttered toast. Rocco had a pile of blankets on his lap that she’d placed there, talking about each of them.
“My friend Rocco likes my blankets,” she said, tilting her head and smiling.
“Your friend,” I said, placing the bowl on the coffee table.
“Yes,” she said. “I’m going to make him one. He wants something that will match his rather fancy suit.”
Rocco seemed pleased, almost smug that she was saying all of this, approving of him, though I wanted to let him know she could switch on a dime—and she would. But for now, it was a nice moment. I could see just how caring and comforting Rocco could be without the big scary bad guy persona put on.
“I made your favorite,” I told her.
She shook her head. “Laced with poison,” she said.
Rocco, unprompted, chimed in. “Trust me, it’s delicious.” He took the bowl. “Are you gonna eat it?”
She grabbed it from him, laughing in the way I remembered from my childhood. “Well, I’m not letting you have it. You clearly don’t need it.”
I didn’t know if I could do this every day.
I knew coming home would highlight the side of her I hadn’t seen in a long time, the side of her that had gotten worse.
And she needed someone to remind her to eat, make sure she took her meds, and help when she snapped.
I knew there was something going on, but I didn’t have the heart to speculate.
It was eating at me from just seeing the signs.
Rocco helped me take care of her for a little while, claiming all he had on that afternoon was work at the restaurant, and then in a moment together, where he pulled me to the side, he told me I should go with him.
We were alone in the kitchen, my mom in the living room, shouting answers out at the reruns of TV quiz shows.
“To your very not illegal thing?” I asked in a whisper.
“Or go to my place,” he said. “But my brother might be right. You could be useful to have there. And it’s not like you’re going to say anything.”
“Is that a threat?” My hand lay against his chest, a finger pressing between the space of his buttons, ready to tear open his shirt—I was forgetting where I was.
“No, no, that’s just the truth,” he said. “In some honesty, I don’t want to take my eyes off you. And some extra honesty, since my brother mentioned changing up the rules since my dad died, I’m willing to blow up all pretense of what people think about me.”
I gulped hard, my heartbeat throbbing in my ears. “You sound like you’re about to ask me to go steady.”
“No, I’m asking you to come do what you do, and analyze shit,” he said. “Plus, you’ll get paid.”
I slapped his chest. “I told you, I’m not taking your money.”
“I know you’re not taking it, which is why I’d pay you,” he said. “I read your file. I know your mom doesn’t have comprehensive health insurance.”
“So?”
“Let me help.”
“I—” I looked up at him, and his eyes softened. He was totally different to the person I’d met the first time. “You’re not allowed to, not unless I do something for it.”
He leaned in and kissed me. “You’re a good boy, I’m sure you’ll do many good things for me.”
“I’m still not taking your money,” I said. “I have plans in place to pay for my mom, if and when she needs it,” I whispered, looking around to make sure she wasn’t sneaking up behind us.
“I just wanna help,” he said softly.
“You could’ve helped by letting me catch you doing something illegal, and then I could build a case, and—” I started before he cut me off with a finger to my mouth.
It was funny now, because I knew there was never going to be any traction to it.
I didn’t know why or how, but he was comfortable now, knowing there would be no investigation.
“I already helped by giving you another name, another two names, actually. Two families. They’d go down easy. I’m sure of it,” he said. “But now we’re fucking, I don’t think I’d let you.”
I giggled at the word fucking. “You wouldn’t let me?”
“No, I wouldn’t.”
My mom coughed, appearing in the doorway. “You two are still here,” she said. “I told you. I don’t need anything else. You two can go off on your—date or whatever it is you do.”
Rocco wiggled his brows. “A date. Did you bring anything you could wear for a date?”
I’d brought some smart clothes, not quite a full suit, but enough so it was smart. And it would definitely be something we could use if he really was sure he wanted me to come work for him tonight—which I was suddenly very nervous about.