A chill runs down my spine.
Tommy is Jared and Mark’s one-and-a-half-year-old son. Rocco’s tone, so specific, so measured, makes it crystal clear what he really means. It works like this in the mafia: a few words, and the message is delivered. This is the ultimate threat. If Jared does anything for me, his own kid could be in danger.
Jared turns white as chalk. He takes a step back, then quickly walks off toward Mark, who’s chatting with some people by the wine fountain.
Rocco flashes a cold, shark-like smile, clearly pleased with himself.
"Feeling chatty now?" he asks, like it’s some kind of joke.
My heart is pounding. My fists clench. I don’t want to be anywhere near him, so I try to step away, but he grabs my elbow in a firm grip and holds me in place.
"You still having fun, Sun?"
"Hard to say," I mutter. "But one thing is for sure, I’d feel a whole lot better if you let me go."
In response, he squeezes my arm so hard I wince.
"We’ll see about that. I haven’t decided yet whether I should tell Anzo you’ve been whining to strangers about your life."
He’s not even trying to hide that he eavesdropped. My heart kicks up a gear.
"Jared won’t say anything. He’s in the same position I am."
He leans in, narrowing his eyes.
"Oh, I know Jared won’t talk. But your attitude is becoming a problem. And Anzo’s way too soft on you." He shakes his head in disapproval. "I’m watching you, whore! And what you pulled with Massimo, Vito, and Franco… that’s not something I’m gonna forgive easily."
"What did I even do?! I was just in the garden, and they—"
He leans in closer to my ear and growls.
"You think I don’t see what you’re doing? Trying to cozy up to this one and that one: Jared, Eliano, Summer, the kitchenstaff, the gardener. Whining to guests, sneaking around, playing innocent while stirring the pot… You think you’re so clever. You’re asking for it, Sun. And it’s coming."
His fingers dig into my elbow with such brutal force that I start to feel lightheaded. I suck in shallow breaths, trying to push through the pain.
"Let me go," I whisper. "Please. It hurts."
"It’ll hurt a hell of a lot more if Anzo hears you’ve been crying to his guests. After what you pulled with Vito, you’re hanging by a thread. One little thing and Anzo’ll snap. But…" He hesitates. "For now, it can stay between us, if you offer me something in return." He lowers his voice. "A sweet favor."
I swallow hard. Rocco’s sour odor turns my stomach. I know exactly what he wants, and there's no way in hell I’m giving it to him.
His grip tightens again, and this time he hits the nerve right at my elbow. Most people don’t know this, but if you press the wrong spot there hard enough, it sends a lightning bolt of pain straight through your body. My vision goes white for a second, and I jerk sideways.
"Then go ahead and tell Anzo! I’d rather get my face smashed in than owe you a single thing."
Rocco's brown eyes seem almost black now. His face, marked by an ugly scar, deforms into a strange grin.
"You like playing hard to get, huh? You forget who I am. I take what I want. I don’t ask."
"Maybe I’m the one who should tell Anzo you want what’s his."
He clamps down on me again. The pain shoots through me so fast and sharp that my knees nearly buckle. I try to step back and end up stumbling on something hard, buried under the grass. I lose my balance and would’ve fallen if Rocco hadn’t yanked me upright with a rough jerk. He leans in like he’s aboutto say something else, but then—suddenly—a jet of water shoots up from the ground right between us!
The sprinkler turns on.
And in that instant, a random thought flashes through my head: why didn’t it go off the second I stepped on it? Why did it wait… four seconds?
Rocco swears and finally lets me go. I don’t waste a second. I sprint across the lawn toward Summer, but that black-haired omega is still sitting next to him and there’s not much room left. Frantically, I glance around and spot Anzo at a distance, talking to two men. One of them is the scumbag Dante Moll, the other is Ennio. Doesn’t matter. I bolt toward them.
