Page 32 of Straightened Out

Biting the inside of his jaw, he rises to his full height. When he doesn’t answer me, I press.

“What if those people who killed that girl aren’t finished with you? What if they come here—"

“Violet, no one is coming here. I promise you that.”

I shake my head.

Lies.

“You don’t know that,” I screech.

He could’ve been killed tonight—no, scratch that—all of us could’ve been killed and for what? His uncle? How is that fair?

Cupping the back of his neck, he clenches his jaw as a war rages in those dark eyes of his.

“I know for a fact no one is coming here,” he grinds out. “I don’t have time to fight with you, Violet, and I sure as fuck don’t have time to coddle you.”

Anger washes over me in angry violent waves.

“Coddle me?” I shriek as I stand. Giving into the anger, I push at his chest. “I don’t need you to coddle me, Rocco! I need you to explain what the fuck happened. I need you to tell me why we almost died tonight, because in case you didn’t realize it yet, any one of us could’ve wound up like that poor woman. So, yes, I’m freaked out. I have every right to be. At the rate you’re going you’ll be dead before you turn thirty and so will my brother.”

As the words leave my lips, I realize he expects me to ignore the fact that he and my brother are so deeply involved in the mob that they have people shooting at them. I’m supposed to turn my cheek. There is no reeling him anymore. He has dug his grave and now there is no turning back, not for him and not for my brother.

Suddenly, tears stream my cheeks, and my fists pummel his chest over and over. After a moment, he grips my wrists and stills my hands against his chest. His gaze lowers and his features harden as he mutters a curse. Then, before I can react, he drags me toward the bathroom. Kicking the door closed behind him, he releases my hands and heads straight for the glass shower.

I’m about to argue with him some more when I catch a glimpse of myself in the floor to ceiling mirror.

Mascara streaks my cheeks, but that’s not what makes me gasp in horror. It’s the blood spattered across the span of skin right above neckline of my dress that does that. My gaze lowers and I touch my fingers to the black lace. Drawing my hand away, I stare at the crimson coloring on my fingertips and the guttural cry that escapes my lips echoes off the tile walls of Rocco’s bathroom.

Panic surges through me and I start to tug at the neckline of the dress desperate to rid it from my body, tearing the lace as I pull it down my shoulders. Rocco’s arms wrap around me from behind and he quickly turns me to face him, lifting me over his shoulder as he marches for the shower.

My fists slam against his back.

I fight to catch my breath.

Desperation claws at me.

Wake up, Violet.

Wake up from the nightmare!

Rid yourself from the blood.

From the carnage.

The shower doors open and in one swift move, Rocco sets me on my feet under the spray of hot water. I open my mouth to yell at him, but the words die on my tongue as he steps in fully clothed. The water falls over him as he reaches behind me, finding the zipper of my dress. Blinking away the pellets of water that cling to his eyelashes, he pulls down the zipper with ease. Then his hands are on my shoulders, gently pushing the lace down my body until it pools around my feet, leaving me in just a pair of panties.

There is nothing sexual about the act, though. In fact, his eyes never leave mine as I step out of the dress. I cross my arms over my bare breasts and peer into his brown eyes, hoping to find something I’m not sure exists anymore.

Compassion.

Regret.

Anything that tells me he isn’t so disconnected from who he used to be.

That he stills possesses a conscience.

He reaches for me, cupping my face in his palms and leans closer.

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