Chapter 4
The agonizing, suffocating tension in Rocco’s body finally began easing. His breathing was still heavy and labored, echoing harshly in the otherwise silent, brilliantly lit suite. The spasm had drained a massive amount of his energy, leaving his deeply masculine frame slumped slightly against the backrest of the wheelchair. June Harper remained kneeling on the Persian rug, her hand still resting lightly on his chest, her thumb unconsciously rubbing soothing circles against his tailored dark shirt.
Rocco’s cold, piercing eyes slowly refocused. He looked down at the fair, rosy face of the young caretaker. She had not backed down. She had defied a senior member of the Mafia family and physically overpowered his own resistance to save him from suffocating. It was a level of courage and defiance he had not witnessed in years.
"I told you," Rocco rasped, his voice barely above a whisper, yet still filled with that inherent, dangerous authority. "Not to touch me."
"And I told you," June replied softly, pulling her hand away from his chest and smoothing her modest cardigan. "You can fire me now that you're breathing."
Before Rocco could formulate a response, heavy, aggressive footsteps pounded down the hallway.
Grant Mercer burst through the open mahogany doors. At forty-three years old, Lucia’s brother and a high-ranking Mafia associate possessed a dangerous, volatile energy. He wore an incredibly expensive, tailored gray suit, his luxury wristwatch catching the bright cinematic light as his arms swung aggressively. His fair skin was flushed with arrogance.
Grant took one look at the scene—the shattered porcelain, his sister fuming by the door, and the penniless maid kneeling intimately close to the helpless Boss of the family.
"What the hell is going on in here?" Grant barked, his American accent loud and abrasive. He stormed across the room, completely ignoring Rocco, and zeroed in on June. "What is this trash doing touching the Don?"
"She refused my direct order to leave the room, Grant," Lucia sneered, adjusting her diamond rings. "She thinks she is playing nursemaid."
"Get away from him, you stupid bitch," Grant snarled.
He lunged forward, reaching down with a large, heavy hand. He violently grabbed June by the shoulder of her uniform, his fingers digging brutally into her collarbone, intending to physically drag her away from the wheelchair and throw her out into the corridor.
June cried out in sudden pain, stumbling backward as Grant yanked her up from the floor.
Rocco’s reaction was instantaneous and terrifying. The exhaustion of the spasm vanished entirely, replaced by a blinding, apocalyptic fury.
His large, heavily tattooed hand shot out like a striking viper. He caught Grant’s wrist in a vise-like grip. The sheer, crushing strength of Rocco’s fingers instantly halted Grant’s momentum.
"Take your hand. Off her," Rocco commanded. His deep, slow voice resonated with an absolute, lethal menace that dropped the temperature in the room to freezing.
Grant looked down at the hand clamped around his wrist. A dark, ugly sneer twisted his fair, rosy features. He was fully aware of the Boss’s current physical limitations, and his arrogance blinded him to the danger still lurking in Rocco’s eyes.
"Or what, Rocco?" Grant mocked, forcefully ripping his wrist out of Rocco’s grip.
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Without a moment of hesitation, Grant placed both of his hands squarely on the front armrests of Rocco’s wheelchair. With a vicious, aggressive shove, Grant violently pushed the wheelchair backward. The chair rolled rapidly across the Persian rug, jolting Rocco’s spine as it hit the edge of the floorboards.
As the chair came to a halt, Grant stepped forward, pulled his right arm back, and delivered a heavy, brutal punch directly across Rocco’s cheek.
