24. Rork
24
RORK
O ver the next few days, I find myself seeking Bianca out and engaging her in conversation. I learn about her thoughts and dreams. We discuss literature and have intense arguments over our favorite characters.
“Oh, please,” Bianca scoffs one afternoon as we walk through the gardens, “you can’t seriously prefer Mr. Darcy to Mr. Knightley. Darcy is an arrogant, pompous jackass.”
“At least Darcy has some depth to him,” I retort, needling her intentionally. “Knightley is about as interesting as watching paint dry.”
Bianca stops in her tracks, whirling to face me with flashing eyes. “How dare you! Knightley is the epitome of a true gentleman. He’s kind, considerate, and always puts others first. Unlike some people I could mention.”
The barb finds its mark, but I refuse to let her see it. Instead, I smirk down at her, enjoying the flush of anger coloring her cheeks. “Ah, but that’s what makes Darcy so much more compelling. He actually has flaws and grows as a character. Knightley is just a bland paragon of virtue.”
Bianca throws up her hands in exasperation, practically vibrating with indignation. “Fuck off . Knightley’s quiet strength and unwavering morality are what make him admirable. He doesn’t need some grand transformation to be a good man.”
She gesticulates wildly as she rants, and I find myself distracted by the passion in her voice, the fire in her eyes. She’s never more attractive than when she’s in the throes of a spirited debate, and I enjoy purposefully taking the opposite opinion as her just to see her get all worked up.
“Your teacher must have been very proud of that analysis,” I quip.
Bianca rolls her eyes. “I got an A in English for a reason, thank you.” She walks ahead before turning her head to smirk at me over her shoulder. “I would ask if you got an A in English, but I don’t think they had school in the Stone Age.”
I laugh aloud at that, hurrying to catch up to her. God, she’s so beautiful, so intelligent, so witty .
How did Nico Marino produce such a daughter?
Nico . The thought of him is like a bucket of cold water being thrown over my head and reminding me of my true purpose. I can’t afford to get caught up in the moment and lose sight of my ultimate goal.
“Anyway, I have some business to attend to in town tomorrow,” I say brusquely, changing the subject. “I suppose you can accompany me, if you’d like. It would do you good to get off the estate for a bit.”
Bianca blinks again, clearly thrown by the abrupt shift in tone. But then a slow, genuine smile spreads across her face, lighting up her features. “Yes, please . Thank you, Rork.”
Her sincere gratitude washes over me, at once warming and unsettling. I’m not used to being on the receiving end of such open appreciation, especially not from her.
“Yeah, well, don’t read too much into it,” I say, uncomfortably aware of the way my heart is suddenly racing. “I need to keep an eye on you so you don’t do something stupid like trying to escape.”
But even as the words leave my mouth, I know they ring hollow. I’m coming to enjoy Bianca’s company far more than I should.
God help me, but I’m in trouble. Deep, dangerous trouble. But I can’t make myself care.
Because right now, all I can think about is the light in Bianca’s eyes and the way my name sounds on her lips. And God help me, but I think I’d do just about anything to keep that smile on her face.
Even if it means putting my own plans on hold. Just for a little while.
* * *
The next day, I, Bianca, and one of my bodyguards, Franco, head into town. I leave Bianca in Franco’s capable hands, instructing him to escort her around town while I attend to some business at the cigar bar. Bianca nods, her expression guarded as she watches me go.
I try not to dwell on the pang of disappointment I feel at her lack of a reaction.
Inside the dimly lit cigar bar, I nod to the man stationed at the door who bows his head respectfully. This cigar bar—the whole town, actually—is owned by me, and every person inside this bar is loyal to the O’Malleys.
Joseph, my other bodyguard, waits for me, his posture alert and watchful. He nods in greeting as I approach, his gaze flicking to the shadowed corners of the room where another man sits. Joseph follows me as I sink into a leather armchair, accepting the glass of scotch he hands me.
“Boss,” one of my captains, Cillian, says from the other leather armchair. “I trust you’re doing well?”
I incline my head. “What seems to be the problem, Cillian?”
“The shipment’s been delayed. Caruso’s getting antsy.”
I roll my eyes. “Caruso’s always antsy. Tell him he’ll get his cut when the goods arrive, not before.”
Cillian nods. “And the territory dispute with the Lombardi family? Enzo’s pushing for a sit-down.”
I take a sip of my scotch, savoring the burn. “Set it up. But make it clear that we’re not giving up the waterfront. That’s non-negotiable.”
“Understood, Boss.” Cillian hesitates, his eyes flickering to mine. “And the girl? How’s that situation progressing?”
I tense, my grip tightening on the glass. “It’s under control. She’s starting to trust me. It’s only a matter of time before I have her eating out of my hand.”
Cillian’s expression remains carefully neutral, but I can see the skepticism in his eyes. “Am I allowed to speak freely?”
“By all means, be my guest.”
“Don’t let your guard down, Boss. Remember what’s at stake. The Marinos are a crafty bunch.”
I drain my scotch, setting the glass aside with a clunk. “I know what I’m doing, Cillian. Just focus on your job and let me handle mine.”
An hour later, I find Bianca waiting at a table inside the cafe, a small shopping bag at her feet while Joseph and Franco station themselves at a nearby table, their watchful eyes missing nothing.
She looks up as I approach. “How was your meeting?” she asks, her tone carefully polite.
“Productive,” I reply, taking a seat across from her. “And your shopping excursion?”
Bianca shrugs, her fingers toying with the handle of her teacup. “It was fine. I found a few things.”
I nod, unsure how to bridge the sudden awkwardness between us. “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.”
God, this sucks.
“What did you get?” I ask, suddenly desperate to make some conversation.
Bianca quirks a brow at me before she reaches into her bag and pulls out a slim volume. “I found this lovely edition of Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier at a used bookstore. It has the most beautiful illustrations.”
The iciness in her demeanor thaws as she flips through the pages, pointing out her favorite images. Even though I’ve never read the book, I find myself captivated by her enthusiasm. The way her face lights up, the musical cadence of her voice… I could listen to her talk about books for hours.
“Very nice,” I say, my gaze lingering on her face. “I’m glad you found something you love.”
Bianca looks up, catching me staring. A faint blush stains her cheeks, but she doesn’t look away. “Thanks for bringing me here, Rork. It… it means a lot to me.”
I clear my throat, trying to ignore the warmth blooming in my chest at her sincere gratitude. “It’s nothing. Everyone needs a change of scenery now and then.”
We lapse into silence as a waiter takes our order, the air between us charged with unspoken tension. I find myself studying Bianca over the rim of my coffee cup, admiring the way the sunlight gilds her hair, the delicate curve of her wrist as she stirs her tea.
“You’re staring,” she murmurs.
“Am I?” I ask, feigning innocence. “I hadn’t noticed.”
Bianca laughs, the sound sending a shiver down my spine. “Liar. What are you thinking about?”
You , I want to say. How beautiful you are. How much I want to taste your smile.
But I bite back the words, knowing they’re dangerous. I can’t afford to lose myself in this growing attraction, no matter how strong the temptation.
“Just enjoying the view,” I say instead, keeping my tone light.
Bianca quirks another brow but seems to accept my deflection. “Well, thanks for bringing me along.”
“The pleasure is all mine,” I say, and I’m surprised to find I mean it.
As we finish our drinks and gather our things, I find myself wishing the afternoon could stretch on forever. That I could stay in this moment, basking in Bianca’s company, the rest of the world falling away.
But reality intrudes as Franco appears at my elbow, reminding me of my responsibilities and the role I have to play.
“Time to go,” I say, offering Bianca my arm. “Shall we?”
She takes it, her hand warm through the fabric of my suit jacket. “Lead the way.”
As we head back to the car, I feel a sense of unease settle in my gut. When Bianca smiles at me, everything else fades away. And for a few precious moments, I’m not a ruthless Mob Boss or a man bent on revenge.
I’m just Rork, a man captivated by a woman’s laugh and the way her hand fits in mine.
And that scares me.
* * *
That night, I pace my bedroom, my mind whirling with conflicting thoughts and emotions. The day spent with Bianca has thrown me off balance and has made me question things I thought I knew for certain.
I can’t deny the pull I feel toward her, the way her presence seems to light up something inside me that I thought long dead. Her smile, her laugh, the way her eyes sparkle when she’s passionate about something… it’s like a drug.
But I can’t afford to indulge this weakness or let myself get distracted from my ultimate goal. Revenge against her father is the only thing that matters, the only thing that’s kept me going all these years.
I need to get back to basics, need to remind myself why I married Bianca in the first place. And I know just how to do it.
Tomorrow, I’ll put her to work in the barn, hauling hay, mucking out stalls, getting her hands dirty in a way I’m sure she’s never had to do before. I can just picture it now—her pretty little face twisted in disgust, her perfectly manicured nails chipped and broken under the strain of honest labor.
A twinge of guilt niggles at the back of my mind, but I push it away viciously. Bianca has no idea what’s coming, and I can’t wait to see it happen. I can’t wait to watch her suffer and see her brought low and humbled.
It’s a cruel thought, I know, a petty bit of schadenfreude, but I can’t help it. I want to see how far I can bend her before she breaks.
Because when she breaks, her father will break, too.
And that’s all that matters in the end. That’s all that’s ever mattered.