Alessa nodded. “Basically.”
Rocco stood, pulled her to her feet, and cupped her cheeks in his warm, strong hands. “I can’t promise you a life free from danger,” he said, “but just from what you’ve told me, it sounds like your brother would want you to move forward. Not to forget him. To remember the good times, and to make new ones. Just like my mother would want for me.”
Alessa swallowed hard and stepped fully into him, tucking her face up against his shoulder and allowing him to fold his arms around her. “Part of me believes you’re right,” she whispered, “and part of me isn’t ready.” She stretched her arms around his torso. “I … I want to stay with you, at least for my two weeks. Is that still okay?”
He settled a hand at her nape. “Full disclosure, beautiful. I don’t plan on you ever leaving. But if agreeing to the short-term right now is easier, I can do that.” He kissed the top of her head. “Besides, your two weeks haven’t actually started yet.”
Alessa sucked in a breath. “What?” She eased back, blinking up at him, confusion swirling inside her.
Rocco chuckled as his hands settled on her hips. “You have loose ends to tie up first, remember?” The grin on his lips was utterly shameless.
Heat flashed through her. She had actually forgotten. She couldn’t believe she’d forgotten! Alessa let out a groan and dropped her forehead to his chest. “I should just have put a bullet in that bitch yesterday and called it done.”
The words were barely past her lips when Rocco’s phone vibrated.
Alessa straightened quietly as he removed one hand from her body in order to catch the call. She glimpsed enough of the ID to recognize it was his father who was calling, so she didn’t question his choice not to put it on speaker.
“Good morning, Father.”
A male voice drifted out from the phone, not speaking loudly enough for Alessa to hear clearly. She could discern that the voice sounded older and the tone was stern, perhaps terse, but it was impossible to know if that was normal. If she hadn’t ever met Don Cavallo, she wouldn’t have the first clue whose voice she was hearing.
Rocco sighed, met her stare, and kicked his lips up in a grin. “Yes, there’s a reason two of your people are in lockdown. They crossed me, but I had more important things to handle yesterday, so I’ve been letting them stew.”
Alessa bit her lips. Of all the things for him to be calling about.
“Yes, she’s with me now,” Rocco continued after a brief pause. His expression settled. “We’re planning to come by as soon as we wrap up breakfast. Give us about twenty—”
Distinct, muted popping carried over the phone line, interrupting Rocco’s words.
Alessa’s faint amusement vanished in synch with the color in Rocco’s face. All she could think to do was rest a hand on his chest as his eyes widened and two more sounds ofpop-popfollowed the first set.
“Father? Father!”
Chapter fifteen
Don Cavallo
Sunday passed in ablur of too-bright lights, the inescapable burning aroma of antiseptic, and remembered gunshots.
Rocco Cavallo Senior had taken three bullets from an assassin lying in wait in his office at Cavallo’s Casino & Hotel. His personal guard—who was always with him—took five. The security guards stationed in the hall had split their focus between attempting lifesaving aide and pursuing the shooter.
The shooter had forced the entire debacle to go public by blowing his own head off in the middle of the goddamncasino. After that, the chaos expanded, spilling onto the streets and all over social media.
Rocco Cavallo Senior had been shot, and nearly slain, on a Sunday morning in the middle of June. His dedicated guard had shielded him from the worst of it, at the cost of his life. It was hours before anyone knew whether or not Senior would survive. Two of the three shots had entered his torso. Only one went all the way through. The emergency surgery had done as much damage on his overall health as the bullets themselves.
And with the weight of that hanging over his head, Rocco Cavallo II found himself being grilled by police. One of his least favorite things. He might have found it amusing that for once he was being wholly honest about where he’d been, what he’d been doing, and who could vouch for him … under other circumstances. He’d even offered to help expedite his phone records so they could verify his story.
“Don’t do anything rash, Mr. Cavallo,”one of the detectives had said as they finally let him go.
Rocco had only grunted. Rash was exactly what he wanted to be. But, for his own reasons, he needed to keep a level head. As best he could.
It was still some time before he was able to speak to a doctor, and longer still before he was allowed to see his father. His father, who had always been a strong and proud figure. His father who had barely cracked—at least when anyone was looking—even when Rocco’s mother was cut down. His father, who had declared only months prior that he had decided to retire and that on Rocco’s next birthday he would formally hand over the reins of the business.
It was that man who rested, unconscious, in a hospital bed in a private and guarded room. Machines surrounded him, tubes and wires attached to his body. The rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor assured he was alive, even stable, but something about its mere necessity felt ominous. IV bags hung on a mobile stand positioned near the top of the bed, keeping his body hydrated and pumping pain medication into him at pre-determined intervals. Clear plastic tubes had been stuck up his nose to help him breathe and more electrodes attached to his skin in various places, quietly monitoring vitals. There was even a catheter inserted where he would not appreciate when he woke, collecting his urine.
For all of Sunday night, Rocco Cavallo Senior remained unresponsive, his body covered in bandages and wires.
It was one of the hardest nights of Rocco’s life as he sat in the chair beside his father’s bedside, wondering if he was about to watch the man pass away. Was his first duty as the new head of the family going to be to bury his own father?
