Vows and Vendettas

Chapter 8

Blair

My eyes are glued to my phone screen. Call after call to the same number goes unanswered. At this point, I wonder if I can sneak out of the penthouse past all of my husband's guards and make it downstairs before anyone notices. I get my answer seconds later from Rocco himself.

“I wouldn't bother with doing that,” he says as he rounds the other side of the leather couch and settles in next to me.

I jump a little at the sudden sound of his voice, my phone flays out of my hands and lands in my lap, and my foot bangs hard against the edge of the coffee table in front of me. I groan, reaching forward to rub my hand over the sore spot that will definitely have a bruise in the morning. I still find it hard to believe that a person of his size can move throughout the world without so much as making a floorboard creak beneath him. It's truly unfair.

“Do what?” I ask while running my finger through my hair, pulling it into a high ponytail and tying it tight to get it up off my suddenly sweaty neck.

If there was ever a look that screamed bulls*t, it was the one on his face right now. “Don’t play me, Mrs. Lazzari.”

I rolled my eyes while simultaneously trying to sink deeper into the couch. After two weeks of practically living together, Rocco still insists on being completely formal with me. “Blair, please. We’ve spent enough time with one another in the past couple of days that I think you can drop the Mrs. Lazzari.”

The smile he gives me is easy, and I know that he still isn't going to do as I asked. “You know that he can see everything that happens on that.” He motions to the device that had landed on top of the blanket. “Right?”

Staring down at the device, I guess it shouldn't be that big of a surprise that my husband will drop mine in the middle of traffic so that he can give me one he already has total access to. “That's not exactly the way to have a healthy relationship with someone.”

The corner of Rocco's mouth ticks upward as he shakes his head. “Healthy? No. Necessary? Yes.”

Of course, he is going to make an excuse for his boss. Why would either of them see just how controlling his actions were or the fact that I had no real privacy whatsoever?

“It’s not necessary for him to see everything that I do when he can't even be bothered to even be here,” I grunt.

My anger is already starting to rise the longer I sit here and think about everything that has happened. I f*cking hated feeling this way. So disappointed. Like I was just being tossed to the side like some inconvenience that Dante Lazzari couldn't be bothered to deal with.

Rocco sighs. “You grew up in this world.” The statement grabs my attention, and I turn to face him reluctantly. He shifts his body sideways, so now he is sitting on the sofa with one rather large leg underneath him and the other booted one planted firmly on the floor. “Your father is one of the most well-known heads in the area too. Sh*t, he is damn near at the same level as your husband. You know damn good and well, Mrs. Lazzari, that men like that have enemies.”

Rocco levels a look at me that makes me feel like a small child that is getting reprimanded for being naughty.

“Do enemies usually steal someone’s fiancée?” I ask while glaring at him through narrowed eyes.

His mouth twitches again as if he finds our entire conversation highly amusing. “Stealing is such a strong word.”

I huff, crossing my arms and leaning back. My entire life is the one that has been turned upside down. Everything that I thought was going to happen had been ripped from my grasp in the blink of an eye without my input. It's my god-damned life. I should be the one that has the final say, not my Papa and certainly not the man that I was forced to marry.

Rocco shifts forward again, his huge arm now resting on the back of the couch. “And if he stole you away, why are you still here?” he asks.

I stare at him for a moment, confused, because certainly he isn't that draft. “Because I have no choice.”

Rocco just laughs while a smile breaks across his face, transforming his typical gruff bodyguard look into something more approachable. “That is not the same thing.”

“Isn’t it? Leaving isn't an option," I snap at him, far more annoyed that he finds this entire situation that has become my life to be so entertaining.

Rocco chuckles again, this time while shaking his head. “Actually, no. You aren't chained up here, Mrs. Lazzari. You are free to come and go as you please…” I open my mouth only to close it again when he holds up his hand. “Within reason. But you are not a prisoner here. If you truly wanted to run away, you could have done so…would have done so by now.”

I bite the inside of my cheek so that I focus on the pain instead of the thoughts of strangling my guard. If I had tried to run away, what good would it have done? Dante would have sent someone to retrieve me, or he might have done it himself if he could tear himself away for long enough. I might not be locked behind actual bars, but the cell was still there all the same. It was just prettier with fancy high-end perks that made the cell not as dismal.

“The fact that you are still sitting here,” he motions to the couch. “Says that maybe you aren't as opposed to the idea of being here as much as you wish you were.”

I grind my teeth and look away, back to the now dark skyline of Langston. A yellow glow dots across the city. I shove the blanket off my legs, a dull thud as my phone goes with it and hits the floor. Pushing up to my feet, I made my way across the room, over to the backlit bar filled with bottle after bottle of amber liquor.

There are several that have already been opened, and half the contents inside are gone. These aren't your typical cheap whiskeys either; I can tell by the labeling that this brand, Il Re Nero, is special. The Black King, a dark whiskey that looks like it has been sitting in a barrel aging for several decades. The label boasts a thirty-year reserve, and the bottle itself looks more like something meant to sit behind a glass than something meant to be poured.

Grabbing the bottle off the shelf and unscrewing it, I splashed a hefty amount into a crystal-cut glass. Even from a few inches away, the whiskey carries a warm scent of vanilla and smoke. Lifting the glass to my lips, I toss back the entire contents in a single go. Fire burns its way down my throat before warming my stomach. Holy sh*t, that's good. Whiskey isn't my go-to, but it seems to be the only alcohol in the penthouse, so I wasn't going to b***h about it. Right now, I just wanted something to numb me for a little bit.

I hear another chuckle come from Rocco, who hasn't budged from the couch to stop me. I turn, looking over my shoulder at him. “What?”

He shakes his head. “Nothing. But I would go easy on that stuff if I were you. It goes down smoothly, but it's a b***h coming back up when you've had too much.”

I nod even as I pour another large amount of alcohol into my glass. “I’ll be sure to remember that,” I say as I turn and lean against the bar. I don't drink this glass as fast. I sip it a lot slower, savoring the richness of the flavors as they hit my tongue.

We both slip into a comfortable silence, me sipping my drink while Rocco watches from the couch. I can feel my body starting to relax, my shoulders dropping, and the warm fuzziness that comes from alcohol spreads through my body.

“How long have you worked for my husband?” I ask, bringing the glass to my lips again.

He smirks. “Almost fifteen years.”

Wow. That's longer than I thought. Longer than Dante has even been in charge. “So you knew him long before he became the Don?” The question spilled out of me. The whiskey was making whatever filter that I normally have practically nonexistent.

“I did,” comes his answer with an even wider smirk.

Fifteen years would mean that Rocco and my husband would have basically grown up together. “What was he like back then?”

Why the question matters, I am not sure. Maybe I'm just trying to find some piece of him that will help me understand who I married without having to ask him myself. Rocco sighs slightly, and I notice the shift. His smile dims; it isn't completely gone but is not as bright as it was just seconds before. “An as*hole with a chip on his shoulder for the longest time.”

“Well, that isn't all that different from today, now is it?”

“It is. Back then, he had the weight of his father on his shoulders. Expectations are heavy.” I nod because I understand better than most. “Now he is worse. Colder, but I can't say that I blame him for it. The possibility of death will do that to a person.”

I would have chosen the word dismissive, but cold does seem to fit what little I know about my husband. He has never gotten that close to people that I know of. Ever Serina was a short-lived relationship that seemed one-sided to most of the outside world. I set the half-full glass on the bar next to me and braced my hands on the edge of the top of the counter.

“Why did he really marry me?” The question tumbles out.

Rocco freezes, and in the second I know that he knows the answer, but he also isn't going to tell it to me.

“That's something you're going to have to ask him.”

“Or you could just fill me in, and it would be a lot simpler to know where I stand.”

His smile returns. “Nice try, but that is not for me to say.”

I sigh because what did I expect? That Rocco was actually going to tell me the truth. I know better than that, but it still sucks that I am in the dark about all of this.

“But what I can tell you is that it was a very good reason. He didn't make the decision lightly.”

I grunt while grabbing my drink again and bringing it to my lips. “You have a very convenient answer for everything.”

Rocco smiles. “Keeps me alive.”