Page 36 of The Taker

I shut those thoughts down before they sprout legs and run off into the sunset. Rocco is aCapoin the most notorious mafias on the east coast. I barely know him. And the little I do know is what got us into this situation in the first place. He plucked me from my life like it was nothing.

Then why do I like him so much?

My mind is a whirling mess the whole time I put Lulu to bed. Even when I’m reading her favorite bedtime stories, all I can think about is how armed men broke into our apartment and almost ended everything in the blink of an eye. The situation could have been a nightmare.

After she’s settled, I go to the foyer to get my bag, but it’s not there. Nor is it in the guest room I picked earlier, or the living room. I follow Rocco’s voice to his cracked office door, slipping in silently not to disturb his phone call. He pulls my hand toward him, and I land in his lap. One of his arms wraps around me to keep me firmly in place. I guess there are less comfortable places to wait.

“Yeah, liaise with the school about having guards inside, Giuseppe. I know the senator’s children go there, and I’m sure they’re allowed to bring their own in. Make it happen.”

There’s a few moments of silence, then Rocco smiles. “Oh, perfect. Yeah, he’s still awake. We’ll be down soon, keep them strung up for us.”

He ends the call, then wraps his other arm around me.

“I can tell Giuseppe likes you, toy. He has those fuckers from your apartment tied up and hanging from a meat hook, ready to meet you.”

“No, he just likes the danishes I bake for him and his daughter,” I joke. Rocco’s eyes harden slightly, but he manages a smile.

“I don’t like you doing favors for other men, but G I can make an exception for. You said you wanted them to pay…you up for a little fun?” A depraved smile blooms across his face as his hand dips the waistline of my sweatpants.

He caresses my lower stomach, his hand edging closer to my cock. I’m not sure if it’s the thought of slitting those asshole’s throats or being this close to Rocco that makes my blood boil and flow south. I’m desperate for Rocco to touch me, fill me. I want to feel something.

“I am,” I tell him after throwing my leg over his lap, straddling his thighs and staring into his smoldering eyes. “I’m going to make them wish they died already.”

And that’s a promise I can keep. No one fucks with my sisters.

He slips his hand beneath my waistband again, digging his fingers into my ass cheeks in a fierce grip as he elicits a deep, unbidden moan from deep inside me. His finger swirls over my hole, and I lean into the touch, wanting more.

“Don’t wear yourself out too much, lionheart. I have plans for you before we go to bed.”

The entire basementof Rocco’s building is a torture chamber, straight out of a serial killer’s wet dream. The walls are covered in implements ranging from various saws, knives, pliers, and guns to more innocuous things like zippo lighters and a curling iron. There’s even cages large enough to fit a couple of humans inside them. One of them holds a man curled in the fetal position, and I wonder what he did to deserve being stuck down here.

I don’t have a long time to think about it, though. In the middle of the room, I spot the two prisoners captured from my apartment. The one who Milo took out in the hallway, and the other man who attacked me in my bedroom. They’re hands are tied together and strung up on meat hooks hanging from the ceiling. I’m not sure who decided they should be shirtless, because their tattoos look nothing like the glimpses of artwork I’ve seen on Rocco’s hand and neck. Each tattoo is worse than the last, and one of them is so crudely done, it resembles the scribblings of an unimaginative toddler.

The scumbag who threatened my baby sister is awake, kicking his legs as if it’ll help him escape and screaming for us to let him go. The other is passed out. If I have my way, it won’t be for long. I want him to be conscious and feel every iota of pain coming his way.

Three men in varying degrees of dress clothes stand around the scumbags, keeping an intent eye on them as Rocco picks out an assortment of weapons for us. The shortest one, who still towers over me, is wearing a nice suit, complete with a tie. The largest one is wearing a dress shirt rolled up over his forearms and light gray dress pants that hug his enormous ass. Milostands with him, looking worse for wear, but still wearing a dress shirt and a matching vest and pants.

“Leo, these are theLe Mannaie del Vettore, also known as The Vettore’s Cleavers. You know Milo, but this one is Piero, the eldest,” he says, gesturing to the shortest man. “And the gigantic one is Elio. They’re my proteges and in charge of…procuring information through hands-on techniques.” He chuckles at his own genius way of saying these men are his torture squad. “Gentlemen, this is Leo Costa.” he tucks me into his side, a clear sign of ownership in front of the other men in the room.

“You’re Mr. Vettore’s lion cub?!” Elio coos in a soft-spoken voice that definitely doesn’t match his hard, tattooed exterior. His almost goofy smile is so out of place given what we’re about to do to the men dangling next to us.

“Yes, he is,” Rocco exasperatedly replies.

“Are you Riccardo Costa’s son?” Piero, asks in a brisk tone that cuts his brother’s reply off.

I nod, scratching behind my ear. Talking about my dad is still awkward sometimes. “Yeah. He passed a while ago though.”

“He was our Dad’s best friend. They worked together for the Vettores. Welcome to the crew.” He nods, then goes to the weapons wall to grab some rope.

As scary as these men may look on the surface level, they’ve been decent to me so far. All of Rocco’s men are polite and respectful. Definitely not what I expected mafia men to be like.

“Well, lionheart, what do you think?” he asks me, spinning around with his arms wide open.

“Of what?”

He wraps his arm around my waist and takes my hand, spinning me around in an almost-waltz. His manic laughter bounces off the walls, and the Cleavers are so excited they’re giggling. Elio and Milo are bouncing on their heels, and even Piero cracks a small smirk. Honestly, I’m surprised none of themare wearing clown makeup or sprouting horns, because they sound downright evil.

“Our first date. You said I never even took you on a date, so I’m rectifying that. We had dessert with Lucy, we’ll get some bonding time in torturing these fools.” He kicks one of the men hanging from the ceiling. Then his mouth nips at the shell of my ear, and little shivers spread through me. “And then we’ll go back to our room and do a different kinda bonding, if you get my drift.”

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