Rocco

by Sarah Castille

“Frankie.” Tony released her and spun to face Rocco. “What the fuck? This isn’t your business.”

  Frankie? Why did Tony call him Frankie?

  Rocco gave Tony the briefest of glances, as if he were unworthy even of that gesture. “She’s not yours.”

  “Maybe she will be. Look at her. She’s disfigured. No one will want her. Nunzio would be grateful if someone took her off his hands. I’d be doing them both a fucking favor.”

  Wham. Rocco’s fist slammed into Tony’s face, sending Tony staggering back into a tree. He tried to rise and suddenly Tom was there, his fists flying, shouting something about the family honor. As the assembled mobsters rushed toward the fight, Grace turned and walked away.

  “Tesoro.” Her father hurried to catch up. “What happened?”

  “The mob happened,” she said bitterly, whirling around to face him, grateful for an outlet for her pain. “I hate this. I hate that you’re part of this. I only came out today to spend time with you, and to give you support because you knew Benito and I know you’ll feel his loss. I miss you and Tom, but I don’t want to be involved. I can’t deal with the violence and the politics and the games.” And she definitely couldn’t deal with seeing Rocco again and reliving all the pain from their past.

  “Grazia, don’t leave. We see so little of each other. I’ll make sure no one bothers you again.”

  Grace shook her head. “I’m sorry, Papa. I’ve spent too many years trying to create a life away from all of this. I don’t want to be involved.”

  “Always running away,” her father said softly. “What happens when there is nowhere left to run?”

  * * *

  Rocco wasn’t in the mood for breaking legs.

  And especially not the legs of Danny Bagno, owner of the Stardust jazz club. Danny had borrowed half a million dollars from Nico Toscani’s most senior caporegime, Luca Rizzoli, and failed to pay the vig. The interest had accrued and Luca had decided to call in the loan, which meant that Luca did the talking and Rocco did the breaking.

  Except tonight all he could think about was the girl he had lost for the very reason Luca had called him out tonight.

  “Hey, Danny. How’s it going?” Luca leaned against the bar in the empty club. The Stardust didn’t open until seven, which gave them all afternoon to get business sorted out. Luca’s young associate, Paolo, had taken up guard position at the bottom of the stairs. The club was underground, with no natural light except the few rogue beams that filtered down the stairwell.

  “Ah…” Danny froze half in and half out of the doorway leading to the kitchen, but there was nowhere to run. Rocco stood in the shadows beside the kitchen door, and Mike, one of Luca’s most trusted soldiers, blocked the back entrance after making his way in through the service door.

  “Good, Mr. Rizzoli. It’s going good.” Danny’s hand dropped to his ill-fitting suit jacket and Rocco grabbed his arm and yanked it behind his back, pushing him toward one of the polished wood tables in front of the stage.

  “Keep your hands where I can see them, Danny, at least until Frankie’s got that weapon you’re hiding under your jacket.” Luca chuckled. “We wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself before he has a chance to show you his special skills. You haven’t met Frankie before, but when we bring him with us, it means your loan is overdue.”

  Frankie. He’d answered to that nickname for so long, he’d almost forgotten his real name was Rocco.

  Until yesterday, when every painful memory came back in a tidal wave of longing for a past that had been ripped away, and a future he would never have with the only woman he had ever loved.

  Danny whined as Rocco patted him down. “I don’t want any trouble. You guys want to have a cup of coffee, and we can work things out? The wife just bought a new coffee maker for my office and some fancy beans from Brazil.”

  “I hope she didn’t spend any of the five hundred grand you owe us or we’ll have to take it with us.” Luca walked around the bar and poured himself a drink, directing Paolo to check the stairwell with a lazy wave of his hand. Tall and lean, seventeen-year-old Paolo had just been made an associate after years of running errands for the Toscani crew. He’d struggled with a drug problem, but his quick thinking and courage when Luca had been kidnapped earlier that year, together with his lock-picking skills, had been enough for Luca to give him another chance.

  Rocco relieved Danny of his .22 and a Swiss Army knife that had seen better days. He’d been doing collections and shakedowns as long as he could remember, and the only thing that made them bearable was the fact that the kind of guys who tried to cheat the mob were scumbags, just like him.

  No, not like him. Danny was hustler. Rocco was a monster. No wonder Grace had run away.

  Grace.

  Her name twisted through his mind, opening doors that had been closed for the last six years, flooding his veins with the poison of desire. He hated her now as much as he had loved her. His adoptive father, Cesare, had tortured his body; but Grace had flayed his soul until there was nothing left for him but to embrace the darkness he had been fighting for years.

  He had lived for her. Breathed for her. He would have died for her. He supposed, in a way, he had. There was no salvation for a Mafia enforcer. No redemption. Rocco went to church and confessed his sins, said his Hail Marys and offered his body for punishment, not because he expected God to forgive him, but because the emotional numbness that came with the pain of penance enabled him to make it through the work he had to do each day.

  Work that had not included pulling a weapon on the acting boss of the Toscani crime family in a public place.

  But fuck.

  Grace.

  Her hair had darkened since he’d seen her last. Once light brown, it was now a rich auburn, falling in thick waves to the middle of her back. Long, dark lashes framed her brown eyes, a startling contrast to her soft pink lips. He had savored that mouth, kissed the length of her slender neck, the bloom of each cheek, every inch of her oval face …

  Scarred.

  His gut twisted and he pushed away the image of that long silvery scar. He had never seen the outcome of the injuries she suffered the last night they were together. The last time he had seen her, she was covered in blood.

  My fault.

  Rocco’s hand tightened into a fist and he forced himself back to the moment he’d recognized her at the cemetery. The total and utter shock of seeing her again. Her body had filled out in the years they’d been apart, her slim frame giving way to the rounded, sensual curves of a woman—a beautiful woman.

  Even at ten years old, she had been confident and self-assured. At fourteen, the combination of looks and poise had drawn the boys like flies, and it was all he could do to keep them away. And by the time she turned sixteen, his possessive instincts had taken over. Even though he was ten years older than her, when she offered herself to him, he’d claimed what his heart desired.

  Gracie. My Gracie.

  She had been his savior, pulling him out of the darkness and into the light. Grace with her beautiful voice and musical laughter. Grace with her warm hugs and soothing hands. Grace with her compassion and her tears. Grace who had tried to save his tortured soul as his adoptive father, Cesare, dragged him further and further into the abyss.

  Grace who had run away when he showed her the real monster behind the mask.

  He touched the cross around his neck, given to him by his mother when he had received Holy Eucharist two weeks before his parents were brutally murdered. He still prayed for forgiveness for his sin that day—the cowardice he had shown as a six-year-old boy who had hidden under the stairs instead of trying to defend his parents. He had almost no memories of his mother and father. Trauma had erased their faces from his mind, along with most of the childhood memories that could have kept them close to his heart. All he had left of his family were the symbol of their faith and his Christian name. Two powerful gifts.

  Faith had sustained him when he discovered four years later that Cesare De
Lucchi, the man who had adopted him from the orphanage six months after his parents died, didn’t want a son to love, but a tool to mould into the perfect enforcer.

  Christ. He needed a cigarette. Luca’s wife, Gabrielle, had convinced him to try and quit, but he didn’t give a fuck if one of his few pleasures shortened his already wretched life. He’d sealed the deal on his fate in the afterlife long ago, and every life he’d taken since then was just another drop in the fucking well of flames.

  “Yeah. About that…” Danny’s voice pulled Rocco out of his reverie and he gave himself a mental slap for losing focus. One glimpse of Grace and he was already losing his touch. Cesare had been right. Women were a distraction an enforcer couldn’t afford to have.

  Danny swallowed so hard Rocco could hear him gulp. “I just need a few more weeks. Things haven’t been so good, you know. There’s a lot of competition in the city. It’s hard to get a new club off the ground.”

  “You had a few weeks. And a few weeks before that,” Luca said, sipping what looked to be bourbon. “Where’s all the money gone?”

  They knew exactly where the money had gone and why the club wasn’t doing well. Danny had a gambling problem. He’d drained the business dry and then he’d come begging to the mob. Luca was always happy to lend out a few bucks to help guys in need, but he was firm about deadlines. When it was time to pay it back, he expected to see his cash. Plus interest. And a little something for his trouble.

  “You maybe got the vig this time?” Mike dropped his sports bag on the table and made a show of unzipping it and removing the baseball bat and gear Rocco had asked him to bring for the lesson today. “Maybe if you pay up, Mr. Rizzoli might be forgiving. I’m telling you, the last thing you want is to spend any time with Frankie.”

  Damn Mike was getting soft. It was too late for Danny to pay the interest he owed on the money, but clearly if it had been up to Mike, he would have had another chance. A former boxer who now ran a chain of boxing gyms that served as a front for the Toscani family’s underground betting operation, Mike was a big guy who used his size and muscle to intimidate the low-lifes who were stupid enough to borrow from the mob. He shaved his head and wore skin-tight T-shirts for effect, but inside he was all marshmallow. You’d think after he lost his two best friends—Big Joe, who turned out to be an undercover cop and Little Ricky who had been gutted by a drug lord obsessed with Luca’s wife—he’d have hardened up some. But no, it was like he’d taken all the good out of his friends and sucked it up until he’d almost lost the edge he needed to do his job.

  “I don’t feel very forgiving today,” Luca said coldly. “How ’bout you, Frankie? You feel forgiving?”

  “I don’t feel anything.” It wasn’t a lie. Cesare had trained him not to feel—no emotion, no pain, no longing, desire, loss, or regret. No love because love made you weak, and above all things an enforcer had to be strong—physically, emotionally, and mentally.

  “How ’bout I comp you an evening instead?” Danny suggested, staring at the equipment on the table—hammers, saws, pliers, gags, vices, knives, ropes, bats, whips, and the other tools of an enforcer’s trade. “You and your friends, your family. I can give you all a meal, free drinks, a good show. Call it even.”

  Christ. The last thing Rocco wanted was to spend an evening listening to the kind of music that had drawn him and Grace together when they’d first met. At first, he hadn’t believed a ten-year-old would like Rat Pack songs, but when she sang for him, the lyrics word perfect, something had stirred in his soul. Years later, when they would lie in bed together, hidden from the world, and she sang the same songs in her liquid voice, he remembered that day as the first warmth he’d felt in his life.

  “I’ve got my own restaurant.” Luca idly knocked a bottle off the shelf behind him, standing aside when it smashed on the floor. “What I need is the money.”

  “I have five grand in the safe.” Danny was sweating bullets now, his collar stained dark blue. “You can take that and next time…”

  “There is no next time.” Rocco twisted Danny’s arm back, forcing him to his knees. “Paolo, gimme the bat.”

  When no bat was forthcoming, he looked up to see Paolo staring at a poster of a nude woman reclining on a piano. Stupid kid wasn’t paying attention to what was going on around him. Shit like that would get him killed, and he looked like he had a lot of living yet to do.

  “Paolo! What the fuck?”

  “I’m sorry.” Paolo’s face turned sheet white and he raced over to the sports bag. “I mean I’m sorry, boss … sir.” He cast a frantic glance over at the box of straws on the bar counter as he grabbed the bat.

  “Jesus. Fuck.” Rocco knew all the rumors. How he’d killed someone with a straw because the dude looked at him the wrong way. Or how he’d heard someone disrespect the boss, and gutted him like a fish. Or how he only drank blood, slept on a bed of nails, and specialized in obscure Mafia tortures with names like Sicilian Necktie, Cement Shoes, and Power Drill.

  Most of the rumors were true. Sometimes, even the toughest wiseguys couldn’t stomach what they needed to do. That’s when they called in the De Lucchi crew, a group of professional enforcers led by Rocco’s adoptive father, Cesare. Whether they were required to beat, torture, threaten, or kill, there was no limit to what the De Lucchi crew would do. Every member was inducted into the crew at the age of ten years old, stripped of the burden of emotion, attachment, and moral codes, deprived of love and human affection, trained to withstand pain, and unleashed on the world as a vicious, cold-blooded monster who felt nothing beyond the satisfaction of a job well done. And yet no one could match Cesare for sheer brutality. Cesare would go above and beyond simply because he liked to watch people suffer, and he had no issue with killing innocent civilians who got in his way.

  Rocco was nothing like Cesare, and his refusal to take the violence beyond the requirements of the contract meant he had been a constant disappointment to his adoptive father. Still, when stupid, young associates didn’t pay attention, he didn’t hold back on teaching them a lesson that could mean the difference between life or death on the streets.

  And, of course, he had a reputation to protect, and a jazz club owner who needed to learn a lesson. The second most feared enforcer in the Gamboli crime family couldn’t let the disrespect slide.

  When Paolo brought the bat, Rocco smashed his fist into the kid’s face with a precisely calculated blow that would inflict the most pain and bloodshed with the least amount of damage. Blood streamed from Paolo’s nose as he scrambled to his feet. Luca helped him up and sent him to the restroom to clean up before reporting back for duty.

  “Oh shit. Oh shit.” Danny shook so hard, Rocco thought he was going to piss his pants. He was the type. Some guys were fucking tough, didn’t make a sound. But others, like Danny, started to cry even before Rocco swung the bat.

  “I have a wife. She’s got no one to look after her. She’s in a wheelchair. She’s got a … disease. And … she’s … blind.”

  Luca chuckled. “Then who was that blonde bombshell at your house when we stopped by looking for you just an hour ago, walking around giving us a wiggle, winking at Mike like she wanted in his fucking pants? Said she was your wife and you two were on your way to Hawaii in the morning for a two-week vacation.”

  Danny moaned and Rocco yanked his arm up higher. “You got cancellation insurance, Danny? ’Cause I’m thinking you aren’t going to make that flight.”

  “How ’bout the club?” Danny trembled in Rocco’s grip. “I could sign part of it over to you. We could be business partners.”

  “You are gonna sign it all over to us,” Luca said. “I’ve got the paperwork right here. All nice and legal. I had it prepared by our very own attorney, name is Charlie Nails.”

  Rocco pushed Danny over to the table while Luca spread the papers out. Luca handed Danny a pen and Rocco squeezed his elbow until the club owner shuddered in pain. “Sign.”

  “I don’t understand legal stuff.”
Danny shook so hard, Rocco released him just to see if he would crumple to the ground. He took no pleasure in his work, but small amusements made it bearable.

  Danny disappointed him by remaining upright. “I need a lawyer.”

  Luca grabbed his hand and held it flat on the table. Before Danny could process what was happening, Rocco bent Danny’s little finger back until it cracked. Danny screamed. Luca grimaced. Rocco didn’t even flinch. He had fully embraced Cesare’s teachings only after losing Grace to the violence that was destined to be his life.

  “That’s the best fucking legal advice you’re ever going to get,” Rocco said. “Now sign the damn papers.”

  Cradling his injured hand, Danny signed the papers. “Is that all?”

  “No.” Luca folded the papers and put them into his pocket. “We’re in business together now. You’re gonna run the place for us to pay off the rest of your debt.”

  “But what will I live on?”

  “Not our problem.” Luca turned away, motioning for Mike and Paolo to follow. “But you’ll have lots of time to think about it while you’re getting better.”

  “Getting better from what?”

  Rocco grabbed the bat and put everything out of his mind—the despair of a ten-year-old boy forced to do things that would make even the toughest mobster weep, the brutality of the man he’d thought of as a father, the pain of his heart breaking when he severed his connection with Grace to save her from the life he would never escape, his inexplicable anger at her for actually doing what he wanted and running away, and the powerful wave of emotion that had unsettled him since he’d seen her again.

  He lifted the bat and took aim. “From me.”

  TWO

  She was being watched.

  Grace looked back over her shoulder yet again but couldn’t determine who or what was causing the hair on the back of her neck to stand on end, only that it was the same feeling she’d had in the cemetery when she thought she saw someone in the shadows.

  She briefly considered asking one of her father’s bodyguards to make a quick tour of the restaurant where she, Tom, and her father were having dinner with Nico Toscani, his wife, and the top capos in his crew. Her father’s visit to Vegas was not without danger given that the two cousins who had split the Toscani family would do anything to seize control of the Vegas faction. Although an underboss like her father was considered untouchable—his murder could be approved only by the don himself—it was not uncommon for a powerful capo to challenge the status quo by launching a coup and whacking everyone who stood in his way. At its essence, the Mafia was about survival of the fittest, and if the challenger proved more worthy, the don would rarely intervene.