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“I want you to supervise her stay with us, Rocco,” he says in a firm, serious tone.
I’m being charged with looking after something valuable, but not so valuable that he has to do it himself.
“Get what you can out of her,” he continues, ignoring me completely and listing things off like a block of chores I have to do instead.
“I want Portello to think she’s dead, but we’re not gonna do anything like that,” he says to himself, shaking his head.
“I’ll go to her now,” I say a little too quickly, determined to see who’s actually here and prove my gut’s feeling.
That it’s Jasmine here, I just know it is…it has to be.
Another hour of this, and I’d go insane from wondering and even worrying.
Overprotective of a complete stranger?
It’s not a feeling I’m used to, and she’s making me feel it a thousand percent.
Papa smiles with assurance, looking like he’s happy I’m playing along, not even minding being used as a stooge to cover for his real plans with Portello.
“I’ll go down with you,” Papa sighs, heaving himself out of his chair, linking his arm with mine for support.
It’s the closest I’ve come to him since he’s been unwell.
Since being sick, he’s aged so much, and he pats my hand with a clinical affection.
“You’re a good boy, Rocky. Maybe I was wrong about you. Maybe you will take over for me after all….”
Come to think of it. It’s the closest I’ve been to him since I was a boy.
CHAPTERSEVEN
Jasmine
Rocky.
It sounds like a nickname he doesn’t like from the look he gives the old man, but once he sees it’s me his eyes change. Once our eyes lock for the second time today, he could be called Fanny Fuck-face for all he cares.
I gasp at his sight, and he’s even bigger up close. And the magic of first sight is replayed for me all over again.
“Oh. Mr. Martinelli?” someone rasps from the doorway, out of sight.
“Excuse me,” the old man bows, turning to go as he gives Rocky a firm look with a frown before he leaves us alone.
The latch is hardly closed on the door when the huge man in front of me moves like lightning.
He lunges forward with a grin that would frighten me if it was on anyone else.
He grabs hold of my wrists, making me gasp louder and harder before realizing he’s only studying them.
“Are you hurt? Are you alright?” he growls, lifting my eyes to meet his again with his huge fingers gripping my chin.
I feel my lower lip trembling as if all the stress of today and every day before threatens to burst from my eyes.
I don’t know why, but this guy is with the gang I know just kidnapped me. Yet I’ve never felt so safe in my entire life.
It’s like I’m being rescued but kidnapped at the same time.
Weird.
