Page 38 of Sin City Obsession (De Salvo Empire #1)

Rocco gave her hip a squeeze, then let go and stepped forward, past Emanuele, to where three of his other security staffers had wrestled the lunatic woman to the asphalt.

He projected his voice, undoubtedly for the sake of the cameras once again trained on them.

“Clarisa, was it? Let’s just make this very clear.

I never want to see you on my property again.

And yes, I will be pressing charges. If you don’t like me, you’re going to hate my lawyers.

” He put his back to her. “Someone call the goddamn cops.”

It was still close to an hour before they made it back to Rocco’s penthouse.

The paint staining their clothes, her hair and skin, and both their shoes, had mostly dried.

Emanuele had been taken to the hospital, having gotten a solid face-full.

EMTs had been concerned about infection, so Rocco had insisted he cooperate.

It wasn’t the turn of events either of them had anticipated for the day.

“Do you think it would be too suspicious if Crazy Clarisa ends up dead soon? Maybe found in a bathtub of blood?” Alessa asked, the questions fully rhetorical, as she lathered more soap into her hair.

Rocco chuckled and slipped his fingers into her hair, scrubbing along her scalp and prompting her to lean into him.

“Unfortunately, yes.” He pulled his hands free and reached for the soap.

“Now, turn around and let me scrub those ankles. Because I’ll take the risk anyway if she’s permanently stained your flesh. ”

“Spoilsport.” Alessa craned her neck to press a quick, teasing kiss to his jaw, then twisted herself carefully around in the tub until they were facing each other and Rocco had access to her legs.

And then she moaned, her head falling back against the rim.

It wasn’t a true foot massage, but the attention felt nice all the same.

Maybe I ought to look into pedicures once in a while.

For once, Rocco made no attempt to turn their bathing time into a sexual event as he helped her rid herself of the symbolic blood. He’d gotten very little on his own skin, thankfully, but both of them had opted to simply trash the clothes they’d been wearing.

As she pulled on a fresh outfit for the day, her skin still a bit tingly from the scrubbing and her body overheated and achy from having Rocco’s hands on her, his voice drifted out from the closet. “You really are going to have to let me take you shopping soon. I owe you a whole outfit now.”

Alessa rolled her eyes. “You don’t owe me a whole outfit.” She was sad to lose the way he’d looked at her in that dress, though.

“Saturday,” he said, stepping out as he finished rolling up his sleeves. “We’ll go on Saturday.”

She opened her mouth to tell him how impossible he was, but her phone beeped with an incoming message.

So she made a show of rolling her eyes his way, crossed to the nightstand, and scooped up the device to inspect the text.

Her amusement fled when she saw it was from Berto, essentially Mikey De Salvo’s right-hand.

He would only be reaching out to get back to her about the favor she’d asked for.

She hurried to open the message.

Berto: Finished up that quick cross-reference you wanted. None of the names hit, but I did find something interesting. Could be nothing, but I’m forwarding the info in case you wanna give it a closer look.

Two more texts came in as she read. The first of those was a secure link file download, surely containing the information promised. She tapped that to get the download started, then read the next.

Berto: Hell of a way to spend your vacation, btw.

He didn’t add an emoji, but she was completely sure he was rolling his eyes and saying it with the usual sharp snark.

Rocco settled beside her. “Everything okay, beautiful?”

“Maybe.” She sent off a quick thank you, then opened the information Berto had supplied.

There were a couple of security camera photos she wasn’t going to ask how they’d acquired—she wouldn’t understand the jargon in the answer, anyway—and some written information below those.

In the photos were two men, neither of whom she recognized off-hand.

One was distinctly lighter in complexion than the other, shorter, and overall stockier.

Rocco leaned closer, reading over her shoulder. “Do I need to talk to those two? I don’t even recognize that one—Lobos? Doesn’t sound familiar. Must be someone’s street runner.”

One of the men in the photo was a name that had come up on the list Emanuele had provided for her.

Berto’s note said nothing had technically come back as suspicious on him, except for this connection.

A point of contact with another man, for all intents and purposes also family, named Lobos.

Lower ranked. Lobos had not been on Emanuele’s list, so he didn’t have the clearance to have pulled off the hit.

Alessa ran the name over in her head again. Something was there, just at the tip of her tongue.

She gasped as the answer slammed into her, so obvious it felt stupid.

“Alessa?”

“Yes,” she said, twisting to face Rocco. “You definitely need to talk to them. Both of them. Lobos is probably an alias.” She drew a breath and held his steady gaze. “It’s just ‘Sobol’ spelled backwards. He’s Russian.”