Chapter 10
Rocco took his first step forward. His polished leather shoe landed heavily on the Persian rug. The movement was slightly stiff, betraying the months of atrophy and sabotage, but it carried an unstoppable, predatory momentum. He took a second step, closing the distance between himself and his cousin.
"Rocco, please, I am your blood!" Lucia wept, pressing herself flat against the therapy bench, desperately trying to merge with the leather. "We are family! You cannot execute family!"
"You poisoned my blood. The moment you kicked that bottle," Rocco whispered, stopping just inches from her. He looked down at her with eyes devoid of any human mercy. "You are not family. You are a disease. And I am the cure."
He turned his head slowly, his gaze sweeping over the ruined room until it landed on the heavy mahogany doors.
"Capos," Rocco commanded, his deep, raspy voice projecting clearly into the hallway.
The doors instantly swung open. Four white American capos in professional dark suits stepped into the suite. They had been waiting outside, loyal soldiers unaware of the drama unfolding within. When they saw their Boss standing perfectly upright, towering over the room, their jaws dropped in absolute shock.
"Boss," the lead capo breathed, quickly recovering his composure and bowing his head in profound respect. "You're... you're standing."
"I am," Rocco confirmed coldly. "Secure this room. Take Grant and Lucia to the soundproof holding cells in the basement. Zip-tie them to the chairs. Do not give them food. Do not give them water. I will be down shortly to extract the names of everyone on the Commission who helped them."
"Yes, Boss!" the capos responded simultaneously, moving with eager, violent precision.
They grabbed the sobbing, hysterical Lucia by her elegant formal outfit, hauling her roughly off the bench. Two other men dragged the bleeding, groaning Grant from the wreckage of the book display. The traitors were dragged out of the bright, cinematic light of the suite, their panicked screams echoing down the corridor until the heavy doors slammed shut.
Rocco turned his attention to Edwin Cole, who was still kneeling on the floor.
"Edwin," Rocco said softly.
"Boss, I swear on my life, I didn't know she wasn't giving you the pills!" Edwin cried, not daring to look up.
"You were blind. And a blind steward is of no use to me," Rocco stated, his voice a measured, freezing void. "Pack your bags. You have one hour to vacate my estate. If I ever see your face in this city again, I will have you buried under it."
Edwin scrambled to his feet, nodding frantically, and fled the room as if the devil himself were chasing him.
The suite was finally quiet. Rocco stood alone with June Harper.
The young caretaker stood near the shattered porcelain, her modest uniform a stark contrast to the absolute power radiating from the man in front of her. She looked at him, her fair, rosy cheeks flushed with adrenaline.
Rocco slowly walked toward her. He stopped, his deeply masculine frame casting a long shadow over her. He reached out with his tattooed hand, gently taking the full amber medication bottle from her grasp.
"You defied a senior member of this syndicate. To save my life," Rocco murmured, his cold eyes softening by a fraction as he looked at her.
"I was hired to take care of you, Mr. Santoro," June replied softly, holding her ground. "I just did my job."
"You did much more than that," Rocco said, the charming, romantic look returning briefly to his face. "You are no longer a caretaker, June. You are now the head of my personal household staff. Your salary is quadrupled. You answer only to me."
May you like
June gasped, her hands flying to her mouth in shock. "Thank you, sir. I won't let you down."
"I know," Rocco whispered. He turned toward the window, looking out at the sprawling, sunlit city that was his to conquer once again. He slipped the medication bottle into his pocket. The act was over, but the war to cleanse his empire of the traitors had just begun. He was ready to bathe the streets in blood.
