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“I’ll be back in a minute,” I warn the guard, giving him an accusing look. Wondering if I really can keep my nerve up if it means being apart from her.
Especially after seeing that tight little entrance of hers, that little tuft of blond over her perfectly pink little pussy?
Jesus, I can hardly fucking walk straight just thinking about it as I climb the staircase.
My father’s in his own world again, his face dark with recent news, as well as what we all know the future could bring for the family.
Now would be a great time to tell him we’ve got the wrong girl, but I need to know more first.
I need to know what he’s just found out. And then I need to know what he’d do if he found out Jasmine wasn’t who he thinks she is.
“This is bad, Rocco,” Papa sighs, taking his seat with a heavy heart.
I remain standing, my hands politely folding over my front.
If it’s hard for more than four hours, we’ll go to the emergency room… deal?
“The girl,” he says gravely. “They’ll make us pay a heavy price if we keep her…worse if we get rid of her,” he reasons aloud.
Hearing him say that about Jasmine is enough to cement my plans.
No way is she gonna stay here, not one night. And if I have to have a few premature family funerals as a result?
So fucking be it.
But fate is shining on us today, on Jasmine and me.
“Portello hasn’t said or done shit so far, which bothers me,” my Papa relates.
“It’s almost like he doesn’t even care we just snatched his only daughter….”
I twist my mouth to stop myself from smiling.
A bad habit of mine when I’m on edge.
I tend to get the giggles for some odd reason.
Probably because I never laugh in real life.
Never had a reason to.
If it wasn’t for seeing Jasmine for the first time earlier at the restaurant, I would’ve been grinning like a fool listening to old man Portello.
“But?” I ask, drawing a fierce look from my father, who I know hates being interrupted.
“But I think we can expect him to return the fucking favor somehow, don’t you?” Papa shouts, turning red until he starts to cough.
I pour him some water, walk over to him, and pat his back.
“Sorry, Papa. Go on…,” I encourage him.
“If she stays here, we’re all sitting ducks. If we move her, they’ll only have a fifty percent chance of knowing where she is,” he says more to himself.
He goes quiet, and I wait. But once I see his lids drooping, I remember that these moments of his always lead to his naps.
“Papa?” I ask gently, looking to him for an answer, a reason for dragging me up here in the first place, really.
“I’ll trust you to do it, Rocco,” he says quietly, calling me by my proper name only when things are life or death.
