There is absolutely no reason for me to feel so disappointed. Hadn’t I just gotten myself out of a very toxic relationship? Why on earth would I feel like anything beyond sex with this man would lead anywhere good?
“However, should you request me to your room again, I wouldn’t deny you.” His eyes seem to darken with his words. “Kissing is off the table, but I’m sure I’d be able to make time for whatever else you might desire.”
It shouldn’t matter what he thinks. But his words strike an irksome chord. “Is that how you proposition all your women? Imight be able to squeeze in a quick fuck between selling drugs and murdering traitors?”
“Is that what you think I do?” He gives me a humorous look.
“You’ve not given me any reason to think otherwise.”
“You know I own theCandelabra,though.”
I cross my arms. “Likely as a front for all your illicit activities.”
He merely shrugs. “Sometimes I take clients there. The ambiance and spectacle of the performances help me win them over. But in terms of illicit activities, I predominantly deal in luxury goods.”
My shock must be clear on my face as he laughs loudly. “It’s not what you were expecting?”
“So what, you illegally trade Italian leather shoes?”
“Artwork, mostly,” he corrects me.“And not always illegally. In fact, the Museum of Modern Art wouldn’t be the institution it is today without us.”
I fold my arms. “You expect me to believe that you’re like the good guy mafia, then?”
“No, you are also right.” He looks away from me as he stands to approach the drink cabinet beside us. “Murder is a useful tool to create fear.”
I watch in nervous silence as he reaches for the whiskey decanter and pours. He then picks up his glass and takes a long drink. “Plus, we do also sell drugs on the side. But that’s mainly to annoy the Cartel.”
I take a heavy seat on the now unoccupied couch. A cool sense of dread falls on my shoulders. “Oh my God.”
“What?”
“You’re going to kill me, aren’t you?”
He lets out an inelegant snort as he turns back to me. “For what?”
“You just told me all your trade secrets.” My palms begin to sweat. “I could go to the police. I could tell them everything.”
Rocco, however, doesn’t seem concerned. “Cas, you’ve been here a week already. If you were going to do such a thing, I’m fairly certain you would have done so by now.”
“You really trust me that much?”
He considers me a moment. “I don’t know. But my gut is telling me I can enjoy a drink with you without the fear of you revealing my darkest deeds to the authorities.”
With that, he pushes a second glass of whiskey into my hand and sits down beside me.
For a moment, we sit in companionable silence as we drink. It feels so surreal, and yet bizarrely like the most normal thing in the world.
“What is your father like?” he asks suddenly.
I cringe at the question, but there’s no way he could know how his words would affect me. So, instead, I just shrug. “I didn’t know him well.”
He immediately clocks my shift in tense. “When did he pass?”
“A few weeks ago, actually.” I try to speak as casually as I can.
But Rocco becomes very serious. “I’ve been insensitive. I’m so sorry for your loss. Has the funeral passed already? I can organize for you to leave if you need to.”
“It’s fine, really.” I offer him a small smile at his kindness. “I didn’t know him. It was more of a shock than anything else.”
