Page 62 of Heartless Mafia Prince 2: Rocco & Ryah

CHAPTER EIGHT

RYAH

AFTER WE CLEANED THEkitchen, he led me into the basement.

Rocco pushed a spot on the wooden wall next to an arcade game. A panel opened and a glowing screen came into view. He placed his hand on the screen, then the wall popped open.

“Ryah, place your hand here. I’ll program your hand print.”

I did as Rocco requested, then we stepped inside. He showed me all the cool features. There was a surveillance panel. We could see every room in the house.

“And for the grand finale.” He beamed, stepping backward toward the back of the room.

I waited with anticipation.

He placed his hand on the steel door. “This door leads to an escape tunnel that runs under the property. You will exit at the end of the backyard. It’s not finished yet. Genn and one of his Navy SEAL buddies are working on it.”

“Wow, you thought of everything. You created a safe house within a house. This is spacious. I can’t believe you had a full bathroom installed. We can live in here for days.”

“For weeks. Hopefully, we’ll never have to use it.”

“The feelings mutual.”

I smiled. “Hey, I’ll play you in air hockey.”

“Ryah, you’ll lose.”

We walked out of the room and he locked the door.

“You’ve won several times. But I win sometimes too. Do we have liquor?”

“Of course. I’ll be right back.”

My fingers slid over the cherry wood edges of the pool table. We had Hoops Basketball, Centipede, Mrs. Pac-Man arcade game, foosball, and air hockey. There was also a cherry wood bar along the far wall, and a wine cellar across from the panic room. I wondered why he didn’t just walk behind the bar and grab a bottle.

Rocco swatted my ass. “Let’s go.”

“Ouch.”

He placed a glass in my hand. I sipped the strong whiskey mixed with coke. “Jack Daniels!” I grinned.

“It’s my new favorite whiskey.”

Rocco nodded, stepping to the other end of the air hockey table.

“What are you drinking? Rémy.”

“Nope, I’m drinking Jack tonight, too.”

My mouth dropped open. “Wait, you gave me a hard time for wanting to drink this.” I swished the contents around in the low-ball glass.

“Are we playing or are you going to continue to bust my balls about the whiskey?”

I smiled wide. “Bust your balls.”

He chuckled, running a hand over his hair. “Why am I not surprised?”

“It doesn’t taste good. Why would you betray Jim Beam and Rémy for that? Those were your words. I had to force you to taste it.”

---