Page 62 of Sin City Obsession

Rocco held her beside him as he walked up to the pre-arranged podium. He lifted his free hand to quiet down the tide of voices, and instead of taking questions to start, he launched into a speech. It was a pre-planned narrative designed to reassure everyone they had taken all possible precautions and had no reason to believe it was not safe to re-open. He made a point of declaring that he had been cooperating with LVPD from the beginning—which was only half true—and that they had not made him aware of any more recent threats, if such threats had come in. It was provocative phrasing, but not inaccurate phrasing. He also took the liberty of assuring the attentive crowd that his father’s recovery was going as well as could be expected, but he did not elaborate on the depth of Senior’s injuries.

While Rocco spoke, and as he opened to questions, Alessa held still at his side. She kept a calm smile on her face and a tight grip of his hand. She did not allow herself to lean into him or to let her gaze wander around in any obvious manner, because the less attention she drew to herself, the better.

Of course, inevitably, someone asked about her, anyway. “Mr. Cavallo, can you tell us who is this woman standing next to you? Is she your girlfriend?”

Heat rushed to Alessa’s cheeks that had nothing to do with the still-rising morning temperature, because she knew exactly how he would answer that.

“Yes,” Rocco said without a moment’s hesitation. He released her hand and lifted his arm to drape it around her shoulders, tugging her a fraction closer. “But we’re not here today to talk about my personal life, please. Let’s keep the rest of the questions a little more relevant.”

If her mother happened to be watching this, she was never hearing the end of it.

Rocco entertained three more questions before calling the press conference done and declaring the casino open for business once more. He turned her as he moved, keeping himself between her and the crowd as ifshewere the higher-value target.

As they stepped away from the podium and back toward the casino’s main entrance just feet away, Crazy Clarisa made her own grand re-entrance.

Alessa watched, as if in slow-motion, as the woman she barely even recognized shoved her way through the crowd to run up to them. Clarisa wore another unflattering muumuu, this one ivory with what appeared to be chunky, hand-embroidered crosses unevenly stitched up both sides. An image of Jesus Christ, complete with thorn crown and bleeding face, had been ironed onto the breast of the fabric. Probably years earlier, judging from the tattered edges.

Emanuele stepped around them, coming around on Rocco’s side and briefly obscuring Alessa’s line-of-sight. But not before Alessa spotted the painter’s bucket Clarisa was hauling.

“I am the herald of the end!” Clarisa exclaimed. “You heathens have corrupted too many souls! Down with you!”

“I’m going to need you to leave,” Emanuele said, trying to speak over her.

Alessa leaned closer to Rocco. “Seriously, why do you put up with her?”

He dropped his arm to her waist. “Never my idea.”

“Down with the Devil!” Clarisa shrieked. Or it might have been one of the YouTube reporters who shrieked.

All Alessa was sure of was that someone let out a shrill yell, Emanuele tensed, and in the next moment bright red liquid splashed over him. There was so much of it, in fact, that it sprayed wide and splattered around him on all sides.

Including them.

Rocco muttered a curse. “What the fuck is this?”

Alessa looked over, seeing dark red rolling down his outer sleeve, splattered across his formerly white shirt, and dripping down the side of his pantleg. Then she looked down, belatedly realizing she felt messier than she should, and the movement of her head caused droplets of red to fall from her hair. Sporadic splotches, none individually large, dotted her dress. Her lower legs and shoes, however, were another story. She looked like she’d jumped feet-first into a puddle of red paint, or cranberry juice, and it had splashed up all over her.That bitch.

Dark figures rushed past them in her peripheral vision.

Clarisa shrieked, and this time it was definitely Clarisa. “I am the Lord’s hands! I do His work! Don’t touch me, sinners!”

“Em?” Rocco asked, his voice tight and low.

“It’s paint, sir.” Emanuele reached up in an attempt to wipe at his face. “A shit-ton of paint.”

Paint.Alessa dragged in a breath. If she could reach her gun easily, she would be liable to shoot the bitch.

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 tohatemy 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.

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