Page 9 of Sin City Obsession (De Salvo Empire #1)
Chapter five
What the Hell?
Rocco: Wait for me.
That was all his text said, and he hadn’t responded to Alessa’s confounded follow-up. She didn’t know how she felt about either detail. Or the whisper of her mother’s words still playing in her mind.
She hadn’t lied. She was content with her work.
It was just that ‘content’ was the keyword, and at some point, it was impossible not to think about other things.
Her mother hadn’t been wrong about her lack of lasting romantic relationships.
Alessa simply hadn’t given that a whole lot of conscious thought before.
She always brushed it off with an excuse—she was busy, he was weak, he wanted to change her, he didn’t stack up to the other men in her life and she couldn’t overlook that.
Alessa closed out of her laptop with a sigh.
Her lack of concentration wasn’t helping her get any research done on the apparently shady area of Las Vegas she planned to venture into.
All she’d gleaned were some statistics with obscene, but generic, crime rates.
Hardly the most off-putting thing for a woman in the mafia.
She’d certainly been through her share of shit with her choice of career path.
Women weren’t exactly known for being the ones who hunted down the rats, oversaw tradeoffs, or did absolutely any of the bloody work.
But she’d done all of it. She’d put in her time on the cleanup crew, she’d trained, sweat, and bled probably more than half the guys the Dragon had on the streets keeping his people in line.
And that was why they trusted her. That was why she’d been chosen for the Vegas job.
Well, it was one of the reasons.
But all of those reasons—every single one—was to blame for why she’d never had a lover or a boyfriend longer than two months.
Alessa picked up her phone as exasperation surged through her.
Her mother’s call had rattled something inside, but she was being dumb.
Over-emotional. She just needed to get moving, get back to work.
She’d feel better with another successful job behind her.
Rocco still hadn’t texted back, so he was just going to have to learn to communicate if he wanted things done a certain way.
She had her phone unlocked and thumb descending on the text app in order to tell Ignazio she would be heading down when someone knocked on the door.
Alessa went still for a second, unprepared for the intrusion, and her gaze alighted on Rocco’s name. No new message had come in from him, but he’d said to wait for her…. She crossed quietly to the door, keeping the phone low at her side, and leaned toward the peephole.
Of course, Rocco stood outside her door, one hand in his pants pocket as though he were in no hurry at all. From her limited vantage, Alessa saw no sign of Emanuele or any other guard.
She released the security lock and pulled the door open. “You couldn’t just text?”
His lips lifted in a grin that warmed his eyes. “May I come in?”
Alessa shrugged and stepped aside, sweeping her arm out in invitation.
“By all means.” She paused, shut the door behind him, and adjusted to face him on the cusp of the living room.
“But what’s the big deal? Why couldn’t you text or call about whatever you need to say?
” She was assuming he had some kind of message or important information to relay.
Because why the hell else would he have insisted she not go back out before they talked?
Rocco looked her over slowly, his expression unreadable. “Where is it?” he finally asked.
Alessa blinked. “What? ”
“The shirt that bastard spit on,” Rocco clarified. “Ignazio said he got your shirt.” Rocco’s gaze dropped toward her chest, just for an instant, and Alessa was pretty sure Ignazio had been more specific than ‘shirt.’ “So where is it?”
Alessa spread her arms for a moment, making sure the whole front of her new T-shirt showed, then folded her arms across her chest. “I changed, obviously. The other shirt’s in the garbage upstairs. No way in hell am I washing that nasty shit with my laundry.”
Rocco spun on his heel and strode for the stairs.
He isn’t… But he was, of course. As she gaped after him, Rocco climbed the steps and disappeared behind the half-wall that offered only visual privacy for the loft.
Alessa didn’t jolt into motion until she heard something like the rustling of plastic.
When the sound registered in her ears, she sprang forward.
“What the hell?” She took the steps two at a time, but she was still too slow.
By the time she raced into her temporary room, the unmistakable smell of smoke was drifting her way.
Her eyes widened more and she followed it to the attached bathroom. “What the hell ?”
Rocco was staring into the soaker tub, lips bent into a scowl and a lighter in one hand. “This is more effective.”
Alessa balked, her gaze following the trail of smoke in reverse until she lost sight of it over the rim of the once-alluring tub.
She stepped closer, close enough to see the burning, charring mess that was the shirt she’d worn barely an hour earlier.
She should have been mad about the shirt, about whatever it was that had driven him to dig it from her personal trash and set it on fire, but for the life of her all she could say was, “I was looking forward to soaking in that tub.”
Rocco tucked his lighter away and turned to face her. He took a single step forward and caught her chin between thumb and forefinger. “I guess you’ll have to use mine.” Then he dipped his head and sealed his lips over hers.
The kiss lasted for only a few seconds.
It may as well have lasted for hours.
Alessa was breathless when his touch fell away.
Unfamiliar heat burned her face and shot through her blood.
She was no innocent, not by any stretch, and that kiss had been one of the most chaste she’d ever experienced—technically—but there had been an energy behind it that was the absolute opposite.
Rocco was already moving, stepping around her and exiting the bathroom. “Come on, I’ve kept you waiting long enough.”
“You need a nice, strong, Italian man…”
Alessa gave herself a hard shake and twisted after him.
“Hold up. Seriously. What the hell was that?” She motioned a little too sharply back toward the ensuite.
“What was all of that?” Yes, in a literal sense, Rocco Cavallo II met her mother’s description.
To frightening perfection. But he was absolutely, completely, and utterly off the table.
He wasn’t even the kind of guy she could hope to scratch an itch with.
He stopped just shy of the opening that would normally have been a doorway, glanced toward the bathroom, then looked back at her. “What I said. Burning it was more effective than simply tossing it out with the trash.” He tucked his hands into his pockets. “Don’t worry. I’ll buy you a new one.”
Her mouth opened. “You’ll— No. Never mind.
That’s not even the point.” She dragged in a breath.
“I don’t need you to buy me a new shirt, Rocco.
Things happen. Clothes get ruined. It’s no big deal.
” How did she ask about the kiss and not jeopardize her position?
She was a weird, unnatural amalgamation of mafia soldier and ambassador at the moment, and while it was entirely possible for her to say the wrong thing and make an enemy she didn’t mean to, the potential consequences of her doing so were significantly higher than normal.
Rocco moved into her space again while her brain spun with too many thoughts. He cupped both of her cheeks in his large hands, holding her gaze steady, and spoke in a low, firm tone, “You were disrespected in my city. I’m making it right. I’ve already made the decision.”
She barely held back the snort. “Don’t get me wrong,” she said, reaching up with the intent to pull at least one of his hands from her face.
His touch was warm, nice, and far too confusing.
Her fingers curled over his wrist. “But I’m pretty sure women get disrespected in Las Vegas on an hourly basis.
Are you going to go out of your way for the rest of them, too? ”
He pulled her closer. She was pretty sure it was him, anyway. His fingers splayed as his hands slid back, threading into her hair and curving around her nape. “No,” he said, the word vibrating from his lips. “They’re not you.”
The second kiss was not chaste. It was not gentle. She did not freeze up and forget to kiss him back.
Alessa leaned into it, letting his tongue sweep through her mouth as her fingers found purchase in the shirt over his back. She moaned when he wedged a thigh between her legs and dropped one hand to her ass, lifting her up enough to grind her against him and assure her of his arousal.
Rocco trailed open-mouthed kisses over her jaw, tugging on her hair just enough to expose her throat to his lips. All the while she clung to him. All the while their bodies ground against each other.
She nearly came when his phone went off, buzzing incessantly in the pocket most between her legs.
“ Ah , fuck!” Alessa sucked in a startled, jarring gasp, realizing the state she’d half thrown herself into and how unavoidably frustrated she already felt at the interruption.
She tried to scramble off him, to back away, but Rocco adjusted his grip—and his stance—to keep her plastered to his front with an arm around her waist as he all but ripped the vibrating phone from his pocket.
He turned his head only enough to not be growling in her face when he answered. “What?”
Fresh heat flooded her cheeks and Alessa ducked her head. What the hell did I just let happen? More importantly, why did she feel so certain she wouldn’t put up a fight if it were to happen again?