Chapter 8
Rocco held the amber prescription bottle up to the bright, cinematic light pouring through the windows. The orange plastic glowed, the dozens of unconsumed pills inside casting dark little shadows. He stared at the bottle, the pieces of a massive, agonizing puzzle finally clicking into place.
For months, he had been trapped in a cycle of worsening paralysis and crippling neurological spasms. His doctors had been baffled, prescribing higher doses that never seemed to work. But the pills hadn't failed him. They had simply never reached him. His own cousin had been systematically withholding his medication, ensuring he remained a weak, crippled figurehead while she and her brother siphoned power and money from his syndicate.
Rocco slowly lowered his tattooed hand, letting the bottle rest on his thigh. He turned his head, his cold, piercing eyes locking onto Lucia.
"You withheld my medication," Rocco stated. It was not a question. It was a terrifyingly calm execution of fact. He spoke slowly, the raspy depth of his voice vibrating with absolute menace. "You kept me paralyzed. So you and Grant could run my city."
Lucia pushed herself up onto her elbows on the therapy bench, her elegant formal outfit wrinkled and ruined. Tears of pure, unadulterated terror streamed down her fair, rosy cheeks.
"Rocco, please," Lucia wept, her American accent cracking violently. "You don't understand the pressure from the Commission! When you were attacked, the other families smelled blood in the water! They were going to move on our territories! Grant and I had to project strength! We had to take control, or the entire organization would have been slaughtered!"
"And you decided. The best way to project strength," Rocco whispered, the controlled pauses highlighting his absolute, freezing fury, "was to torture me. In my own bed."
"You were weak!" Lucia shrieked defensively, desperate to justify her treason. "You were obsessing over finding the men who shot you instead of running the business! You were going to start a war we couldn't win! We did it for the family, Rocco! We kept you safe!"
"You kept me in a cage," Rocco corrected smoothly.
He looked at Grant, who was weakly groaning and trying to push himself out of the collapsed book display, his face a swollen, bloody mess. He looked at Edwin, the steward who had blindly followed orders and allowed his Boss to suffer. And finally, he looked at June, the penniless caretaker who had risked her life to give him air.
"You told the capos my condition was deteriorating," Rocco said softly, directing his gaze back to his weeping cousin. "You insisted that the spasms were fake, a pathetic cry for attention from a broken man."
"It was the only way to make them stop respecting you!" Lucia sobbed, burying her face in her hands. "If they knew you were recovering, they would have waited for you! We needed them to swear loyalty to Grant!"
Rocco placed his hands firmly on the solid metal armrests of his wheelchair. His deeply masculine, intimidating presence seemed to expand, filling the entire, brilliantly lit suite.
May you like
"You built your new empire. On the illusion of my weakness," Rocco murmured, his jawline clenching until the muscles feathered beneath his fair skin.
He leaned forward slightly, his polished leather shoes planting firmly onto the intricate patterns of the Persian rug. The bright, cinematic colors of the room seemed to hold their breath. The absolute, terrifying climax of the betrayal had arrived, and the wounded king was finally ready to address his court.
