14. Cassandra
14
CASSANDRA
I almost don’t believe my eyes when I find Rocco sitting on the couch in the brownstone lounge.
After a week of nothing but closed doors, I was beginning to think the Mafia don was a figment of my imagination.
Surely I had only dreamed of our night together. I’ve never encountered a man who knew how to eat me out so masterfully. Every touch a tease, every movement of his tongue, a calculated step toward the greatest climax of my life.
Disappearing afterward had been one thing, but being ignored in the days that followed had been torture. I felt like an idiot, looking up from my book at the smallest sound, pestering Donatella about his dinner plans.
It took an embarrassing amount of time for the truth to sink in: my obsession was entirely one-sided.
Now, he sits there with his whiskey, staring out of the window and looking more miserable than anyone I’ve ever seen. A vicious part of me tells me I should leave him alone to let him stew in his own displeasure.
But my feet have a mind of their own.
He looks up at my approach, dazed as if I’d jerked him away from whatever he was thinking about.
It’s unfair how breathtaking he is. His dark hair falls over his gray eyes with such effortless style that my heart already begins to throb in my chest.
I’m remembering the way he looked up at me through those bangs as his tongue plunged inside of me.
“Cassandra. I didn’t realize you were still awake.”
I glance at the clock. It is well past midnight, but my body is still struggling to adjust to a normal schedule.
He looks at me expectantly, so I just shrug. “I was thinking about taking you up on your offer.”
“Which one?”
“Donatella tells me your home in South Africa is gorgeous. If you’re going to avoid me for the entirety of my stay here, I think I’d prefer to be somewhere warmer.”
“You want to leave.” He gives me a blank, unreadable look.
“I want to uphold my end of the bargain without boring myself to death in the process.”
That part was, at the very least, true. Beyond reading and working out in the albeit very well-equipped gym, there had been very little to occupy my time.
“Is the house not to your liking?”
“It’s more an issue with the host, actually,” I bite back.
He starts at that, then smiles into his drink. “Ah.”
“I thought we might have come to an understanding the other day.”
“While I lay between your legs, you mean?”
I flush at the memory. “When I asked to be involved in your scheme against Claudio.”
“If memory serves, I agreed to involve you at my discretion.”
I narrow my eyes. “I see, so is hiding in your bedroom part of this scheme that I’m not allowed to know about?”
He says nothing to this, seemingly intent on ignoring me despite the fact I’m now looming over him.
Fine. If he’s going to act like a child, so will I. I reach over and snatch the glass from his hand. He watches me intently as I take a sip, then another, to settle my nerves. I don’t stop until it’s empty, and I slam it back down on the table before him.
He doesn’t flinch. He just stares at my mouth.
How can this man be so hot and cold with me? I thought he wanted to ignore me, to pretend what happened never did. But it's so hard to tell what he's thinking when he looks at me like that.
“Look.” I try to hold myself with as much dignity as I can. “I don’t care if you’re not…you know…”
“What?”
Fuck, he was really going to make me say it. “If you’re not looking for a relationship, that’s fine. I’d just rather know, either way.”
He blinks back at me. “You think this is casual for me?”
His words send a cold shiver across my skin. For a moment, I can almost pretend that he cares.
“You are the one who left. You are the one who avoided me all week. What else am I supposed to think?”
“Is that what you want? To be in a relationship with me?”
Under his icy gray eyes, I suddenly become aware of every insignificant movement I make—the rise and fall of my chest, my shuddering breaths.
I can’t discern a single thing he is thinking, and yet my body reacts almost instinctively to the intensity of that gaze.
“I…” I find speech escapes me when he looks at me like this. “I don’t know.”
“I recommend you don’t think on it.” He finally releases me with a small, flippant smile. “My line of work does not allow me the time required to fulfill such…duties.”
Right. Murderous billionaire Mafia don.
There is absolutely no reason for me to feel so disappointed. Hadn’t I just gotten myself out of a very toxic relationship? Why on earth would I feel like anything beyond sex with this man would lead anywhere good?
“However, should you request me to your room again, I wouldn’t deny you.” His eyes seem to darken with his words. “Kissing is off the table, but I’m sure I’d be able to make time for whatever else you might desire.”
It shouldn’t matter what he thinks. But his words strike an irksome chord. “Is that how you proposition all your women? I might be able to squeeze in a quick fuck between selling drugs and murdering traitors?”
“Is that what you think I do?” He gives me a humorous look.
“You’ve not given me any reason to think otherwise.”
“You know I own the Candelabra, though.”
I cross my arms. “Likely as a front for all your illicit activities.”
He merely shrugs. “Sometimes I take clients there. The ambiance and spectacle of the performances help me win them over. But in terms of illicit activities, I predominantly deal in luxury goods.”
My shock must be clear on my face as he laughs loudly. “It’s not what you were expecting?”
“So what, you illegally trade Italian leather shoes?”
“Artwork, mostly,” he corrects me.“And not always illegally. In fact, the Museum of Modern Art wouldn’t be the institution it is today without us.”
I fold my arms. “You expect me to believe that you’re like the good guy mafia, then?”
“No, you are also right.” He looks away from me as he stands to approach the drink cabinet beside us. “Murder is a useful tool to create fear.”
I watch in nervous silence as he reaches for the whiskey decanter and pours. He then picks up his glass and takes a long drink. “Plus, we do also sell drugs on the side. But that’s mainly to annoy the Cartel.”
I take a heavy seat on the now unoccupied couch. A cool sense of dread falls on my shoulders. “Oh my God.”
“What?”
“You’re going to kill me, aren’t you?”
He lets out an inelegant snort as he turns back to me. “For what?”
“You just told me all your trade secrets.” My palms begin to sweat. “I could go to the police. I could tell them everything.”
Rocco, however, doesn’t seem concerned. “Cas, you’ve been here a week already. If you were going to do such a thing, I’m fairly certain you would have done so by now.”
“You really trust me that much?”
He considers me a moment. “I don’t know. But my gut is telling me I can enjoy a drink with you without the fear of you revealing my darkest deeds to the authorities.”
With that, he pushes a second glass of whiskey into my hand and sits down beside me.
For a moment, we sit in companionable silence as we drink. It feels so surreal, and yet bizarrely like the most normal thing in the world.
“What is your father like?” he asks suddenly.
I cringe at the question, but there’s no way he could know how his words would affect me. So, instead, I just shrug. “I didn’t know him well.”
He immediately clocks my shift in tense. “When did he pass?”
“A few weeks ago, actually.” I try to speak as casually as I can.
But Rocco becomes very serious. “I’ve been insensitive. I’m so sorry for your loss. Has the funeral passed already? I can organize for you to leave if you need to.”
“It’s fine, really.” I offer him a small smile at his kindness. “I didn’t know him. It was more of a shock than anything else.”
“I can imagine.”
I have to look away from the pity in his eyes. “I lived with my mother for almost two decades. She’s the only parent I’ve ever needed and the only one I really recognize. Sure, it might have been nice to reconnect with him, but…”
“But it’s hard to grieve someone you don’t know,” Rocco finishes for me.
We sit in silence for a moment as the truth of his words wash over me.
“Besides, I don’t think his friends even knew to invite us to the funeral.” I sigh. “So, to answer your original question, disappointing. I think.”
Rocco smirks at that. “Perhaps we do have something in common, then.”
I suddenly recall the look on his face when I entered the lounge. How miserable he’d seemed drinking alone in here.
I hesitate before daring my next question. “Was…was your father also…a mafia don?”
“Oh yes. I only took the position from him a year ago.”
I blink at that. A year? From his money and demeanor, I had assumed he’d been doing this his whole life.
“Is he…still alive?” The question escapes me before I have a chance to consider it fully.
Thankfully, Rocco seems to find the humor in it. “Yes. He decided to take an early retirement.”
“Is that normal?”
“No.”
“What’s he like?”
A thousand answers seem to stir behind those gray eyes. “He’s taken to gardening. He’s excited at the prospect of grandchildren. He’s still determined to prove he knows better than me.”
“And that’s disappointing?”
He smirks. “Because it’s so very unfairly normal of him.”
“Is that a bad thing?” As I ask, I bring my legs up under me, curious about the sadness behind his smirk.
“You have very few opportunities to be normal as a mafioso.”
“So surely you should allow him such pleasures in his retirement?”
He finishes his drink quickly. “Can we talk about something else?” he snaps.
I cringe a little at his sharpness.“I’ve upset you.”
“You’ve…it’s not your fault. I think I’m just in a foul mood after seeing him.”
“Parents can’t always be as we hope them to be.” I sigh, thinking of the picture of my parents my mother had kept in the back of the drawer.
I let the silence stretch, content with just sitting in his company. It’s a strange feeling, especially considering that I entered this room wanting nothing better than to chew him out and threaten to leave.
“He was an asshole, my father. Ever since I was young,” Rocco finally admits. “Too absorbed in drinking and gambling away my inheritance to pay me much mind. But when he did…”
He trails off as if realizing himself. “Sorry, you didn’t ask to hear this.”
“I’m happy to,” I reply quickly. “You seem different today.” I flush at the way his eyebrow raises. “What I mean is, maybe it will help to talk about it.”
“In truth? It may explain some of my actions regarding you. My father…I preferred it when he didn’t notice me. His attention often came with more violent tendencies, and I quickly learned how to endure his wrath.”
“Rocco…”
“I swore I would never hurt an innocent the way he hurt me.” he looks away. “When I saw you that first night at the Candelabra… those bruises…I couldn’t comprehend why anyone would lay a hand on you.”
I breathe in and out slowly. “You said in Electrix that you would help me because it was the right thing to do.”
It hadn’t made any sense. How could a mafia Don be so willing to do something without anything in return?
But now…
“I’m not a good man, Cas. But any innocent on the receiving end of such abuse will always find shelter here.”
I feel my heart swelling in my chest. So much of my opinion of the man before me was based on assumption.
“Rocco…”
“I don’t want your pity,” he states firmly, staring down at his hands. “I just wanted you to know why. I hope it gives you some reassurance about my intentions.”
But I’m already shaking my head. Because there’s nothing I want more than to kiss him right now.
So I do.