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“I . . .” My voice cracks and I clear my throat and try again. “I need to talk to you.”

His expression shifts into something bordering on belligerent. He turns away and brushes past me into the bedroom, and I follow him, my eyes helplessly drawn to the sprawling tattoo on his back. I was right, it takes up his entire back. Something about that black skull with flaming eyes both fascinates and terrifies me. And that emerald gem in the middle of its forehead seems symbolic of something.

I tear my gaze off him, looking around the bedroom. It’s back to its pristine condition, the mess I made earlier gone like it never happened.

There’s an open leather backpack sitting in the middle of the bed and a black trash bag gapes nearby, into which he seems to be emptying the contents of the closet. He’s leaving.

The methodical way he moves suggests this isn’t his first quick exit.

My gaze follows him around the room as he packs, trying not to fixate on the play of muscles under his skin. “I’m trying to find some answers, Rocky.”

His lips curl up in a scathing smile. “And naturally, you came to me.”

“Well, yes! I’m running low on who to trust right now—not that I trust you,” I amend quickly, “But, I figured you’re not one to pretend. And save running to Don Vitelli and throwing myself at his feet—”

He looks up sharply, something dangerous flashing in his eyes. “You’re a Romano. Nico Vitelli wouldn’t spit on you if you were on fire.”

“I know that! But thanks for the reminder, jackass.” I glare at him, fear sharpening my voice. “Why do you think I’ve been working so hard to get my business aligned to Outfit standards? To the point that the Don will be forced to give me an audience?”

I take a breath, wondering why I’m spilling my guts to a guy who doesn’t appear to give a shit, but I can’t stop the torrent of words. Maybe it’s because he’s the only one who’s shown me any truth, even if it was wrapped in indifference and danger.

“Rocky, I’ve taken every handout, every crumb from anyone remotely interested in Guilty Pleasures and some who aren’t. I’ve sent dozens of Bliss Xtra to every influencer and porn star who agreed to promote them.”

I sigh as the weight of my desperation becomes obvious. “I’m trying. I’m just not at the point where I can approach the Don for help without risking being shot on sight . . . which leaves only . . .”

You.

I leave that part hanging, the unspoken word heavy between us.

Rocky says nothing, continuing his packing as if I’m not even there. But the tension in his shoulders tells me he’s listening to every word.

“Where are you going anyway?”

“Out,” he snaps, continuing to shove clothes into the bag with more force than necessary.

I roll my eyes. “No shit! I hadn’t realized that.”

I draw in a calming breath, trying to steady myself. “Look, I wouldn’t ever dream of subjecting myself to your . . . company, if I had another choice. It’s just that, the last few hours have ripped the bottom out of everything I’ve known—”

“Did you tell your father?” he cuts in.

I start to pace. “Not yet. He’s not . . . Okay, look, I don’t have the highest credibility with my dad. First, being a woman—”

Rocky throws me an unreadable look.

“Well, yeah. It also doesn’t help that I’ve made . . . I keep making choices he thinks are shameful and reckless—which for me makes perfect sense—”

“I haven’t got all semester, princess,” he growls. “Get to the point.”

His tone ignites my temper. “If you’d kindly stop interrupting me, I’ll get—”

“Get to it faster,” he barks.

“You know, there’s such a thing called manners,” I retort, my fists curling at my sides. “You may want to look it up. It’s right under dickhead—”

And just when I think Rocky couldn’t possibly rile me up more, he does the unimaginable. He drops the towel.

Holy mother of fuck.I’m pretty sure that crash in my head was my jaw hitting the floor.