C5

Taryn Vescari

Suddenly, Rocco Falcone eased his grip just enough that I could wriggle my torso free. I stood up fast, pivoting on my heel, and swept my leg straight under his ankles. Rocco hit the concrete floor hard on his back, his jaw dropping in absolute shock. It took every ounce of self-control I had not to laugh in his face. I had actually caught the Falcone heir by surprise.

I drove my knee hard into the center of his chest, leaning all my weight into him to pin his wrists against the mat.

Rocco sneered up at me, his eyes dark. "You fight dirtier than you used to in high school."

"Like I told your father, we never went head-to-head without your bodyguards around." The violent rage pulsing in my chest burned hot, demanding I break his jaw right here. I didn't even care where the sudden spike of power was coming from.

"I kind of like having you on top of me, Taryn," Rocco rasped, his eyes dropping down my shirt. "Maybe we should finish this up at Belladonna Flats, stripped down."

"In your dreams, Falcone."

"Don't lie to yourself," he spat. "I saw how you looked at me when we were teenagers. You've always wanted a piece of the Falcone bloodline."

"Don't flatter yourself," I growled, pressing my knee harder into his sternum.

I was seconds away from winning this fight. All I had to do was hold him down until Joe called it. I could practically taste the sweet satisfaction of humbling him in front of his family's syndicate.

With sickening, lightning speed, Rocco reversed the leverage. Before I could throw a punch, he flipped us over, slamming my back into the canvas. Rocco straddled my hips, pinning my wrists flat over my head.

"You got arrogant," Rocco whispered, leaning down until his nose brushed mine. "Counting your money before the debt is collected."

"Bastard," I wheezed, struggling against his weight.

"Careful, little girl. You look like you're enjoying having a real mobster holding you down."

I squirmed violently, kicking my legs and twisting my spine, but Rocco had a full foot of height and fifty pounds of muscle on me. Once a made man locked his weight over you, a street bartender had no leverage.

"Do you yield, Taryn?" Sergio Costanzo barked, leaning over the ropes.

I glared up into Rocco's smirk. "You let me flip you on purpose, didn't you?"

Rocco grinned, his eyes gleaming with cruel amusement. "I couldn't let my dad think you were totally useless. But you took your eye off the target the second you thought you had me."

I should have known he was playing with his food. I never had a real chance against a trained Falcone enforcer. "Fine. I yield."

I was furious with myself for falling for it. "Fuck."

Rocco leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. "Does that mean you're coming to my bed tonight?"

"Don't count on it," I snapped, my blood boiling.

"Always a bitter loser," Rocco muttered, releasing my wrists and sliding off me. He stood up, smoothing down his black leather vest, then offered me a hand.

I stared at his open palm, my breathing heavy.

"Get up, Taryn," Rocco said, his voice dropping into a dangerous, low register. "Everyone's watching."

He meant Don Salvatore was watching.

"Up," he ordered. "Show's over."

I caught the hidden threat behind his words. For a brief second inside the cage, I had almost convinced myself we were just two fighters. But we weren't. He was a Falcone heir, and I was syndicate debt trash. Nothing had changed.

I swallowed my pride, shoved my anger down, and took his hand.

He yanked me to my feet with effortless force, making sure I felt the power imbalance. "We should do this again sometime."

"Pass," I rasped.

The deafening roar of the mob crowd flooded back into my ears, overwhelming after the intense focus of the fight. Don Salvatore stepped through the cage door, a rare look of approval on his harsh, weathered face as he clapped his son on the shoulder.

"No mercy," Don Salvatore grunted. Then he turned his cold gaze onto me. "You've grown some teeth since the day your dead father left your family's debt on my desk. I'm impressed, girl. You might actually survive the Vescari District after all."

"Thank you, Don Salvatore," I said, keeping my head down.

Don Salvatore threw his arm over Rocco's shoulders, steering his son toward the exit while lower-level soldiers swarmed them to offer congratulations.

I stood alone on the blood-spotted mat, chest heaving, completely ignored. Nobody in the Falcone syndicate cared that a street girl had taken a beating to keep their heir from looking weak.

I climbed out of the cage, wincing as my bruised ribs throbbed. Matteo Bellini and Dario Lucchesi were waiting for me near the back hallway.

"I can't believe you survived three rounds with Rocco Falcone," Dario said, shaking his head.

"I didn't have much of a choice," I muttered.

"You handled yourself, kid," Matteo added, putting a firm hand on my shoulder and guiding me down the narrow corridor toward the back rooms. "You're going to feel those bruises tomorrow. Normally, Don Salvatore doesn't let un-bonded street workers get in the ring."

"If I'm lucky, nobody will drag me into that cage again," I said, leaning into the wall as a wave of dizziness hit me. "Next time, I'm taking my chances with the door."

"Why did Rocco pick you out of the crowd anyway?" Matteo asked, frowning. "Are you two sleeping together?"

I forced a dry laugh, instantly wincing as the pain shot through my ribs. "I'd rather jump into the river. We've hated each other since we were kids."

"Well, when Don Vittorio Moretti knocked out that enforcer for laying a boot on you, Rocco looked like he wanted to murder the Dark Don right there," Matteo noted. "I've never seen Rocco get that possessive."

"You misread it," I replied coldly. "Rocco was just pissed that another syndicate leader was marking territory in a Falcone basement."

"Maybe," Matteo said, sounding unconvinced.

A cold shiver raced down my spine at the mention of the Moretti boss. I had no idea who Vittorio Moretti really was behind the terrifying stories spoken in the alleys, but he was the most lethal, suffocatingly attractive man I'd ever laid eyes on. I wasn't the type of woman to throw myself at dangerous mobsters, but the memory of his rough thumb on my lip made my pulse spike. "Who is he really?"

"Vittorio Moretti?" Matteo whispered, checking over his shoulder.

"Nobody talks about the Don's private business," Dario cut in quickly, his voice tight. "And if you value your life, Taryn, you won't ask twice."

"Are you keeping secrets from me?" I asked, stopping in my tracks.

Matteo dropped his hand from my shoulder, his expression hardening into a professional mask. "Enzo Caradonna is going to pay out the bar staff in ten minutes. Go wash the blood off your face."

I knew when a boundary was drawn in the mafia world. They were low-level soldiers; they weren't going to risk their necks spilling syndicate intel to a debt-girl.

The two bartenders stood by the metal door of the private break room, looking at me like I was made of glass. I hated feeling weak. I'd held my own against Rocco, but realizing he had toyed with me was a gut punch to my pride. If a real hitman ever came for me in the Vescari District, I wouldn't stand a chance.

"Go on inside," Dario offered. "Clean up the cuts before Enzo gets down here."

I pushed open the heavy wooden door into the small back washroom. A single flickering fluorescent bulb illuminated a cracked mirror and three porcelain sinks.

Rocco Falcone was standing by the paper towel dispenser, zipping up his leather jacket as he turned toward me.

"Well, look at this," Rocco sneered, a dirty smile spreading across his bloody lips. "Just you and me, all alone in the back room. My night just keeps getting better."

"Don't flatter yourself, Rocco," I said, my voice cold despite the pain throbbing in my cheek. "You owe me for covering for you in front of Don Salvatore, and you know it."

He shrugged casually, leaning his hip against the counter. "Maybe. But I think you liked being pinned under me in front of the whole lounge. Center of attention; you and me skin to skin."

I gestured to my bloody lips and swollen cheek. "Nobody likes getting their ribs cracked by a mob prince."

"You took a hit better than most of my father's soldiers," he admitted.

"You're a sadist, Rocco."

He took a step toward me, and I pulled back, my stomach turning. "Aren't you going to wash the blood off your hands?"

Rocco let out a harsh laugh, changing direction to turn on one of the rusty faucets. "Since you asked so nicely, sweetheart."

I moved to the furthest sink and caught my reflection in the stained glass. I looked worse than I felt. My left eye was dark and swelling fast, my lip was split, and dried blood was crusted around my nose. My hair was falling out of its tie in a tangled mess. Every breath I pulled into my lungs felt like a hot blade sliding through my chest.

"I can't believe you dragged me into your family mess," I spat, running cold water over my hands and splashing it over my face. As the icy water stung my open cuts, my mind drifted straight back to the giant who had stepped into the ring before Don Salvatore arrived. "Who was the man fighting before the power cut out?"

"Calls himself the Dark Don," Rocco grumbled, grabbing a paper towel and scrubbing his bruised knuckles. "Stupid title."

"What's his real standing?" I pressed. "He's not a Falcone."

"No, he isn't," Rocco growled, his jaw clenching. "He runs the Moretti Syndicate out of the Umbra territory. He's blood-soaked scum."

"So why was he in a Falcone basement?"

"None of your damn business," Rocco snapped, turning his dark gaze onto me. "Though he seemed awful eager to lay his hands on you. I didn't realize you had a thing for rival syndicate bosses."

"I don't," I lied instantly.

"Why the hell did he step in when my guy kicked you?" Rocco asked, his voice laced with suspicion.

"How should I know? I've never seen Vittorio Moretti in my life before tonight," I replied.

"Well, you won't see him again," Rocco warned, stepping closer, his shadow falling completely over me. "Once I take over the Falcone family, any Moretti soldier caught crossing the district line gets put in a body bag."

My heart hammered against my ribs, a strange panic twisting in my chest at the thought of never seeing Vittorio again. I forced the feeling down. It was suicide to care about a rival Don.

Rocco took another step, trapping me against the edge of the cold porcelain sink. "I never really looked at you as a real woman before tonight, Taryn. But I'm looking now."

I lifted my chin, glaring right into his eyes. "If that were true, you wouldn't have sent your crew to jump me in the alley behind Belladonna Flats two years ago, leaving me with two cracked ribs."

"Street lessons," he waved off casually. "Building character."

"You hurt me, Rocco. You've been hurting me since we were kids."

"And tonight you proved it was worth it," Rocco murmured, reaching out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear. His fingers were heavy and unwelcome against my skin. "Look at you. You took my best shots and you're still standing. You're going to make a fine prize once I inherit the family business."

"Is this supposed to make me grateful?" I hissed, flinching away from his touch. "I'm going to be spitting blood for a week."

Rocco didn't back down. He closed the remaining distance until his broad chest was inches from mine, blocking my only path to the door. I forced myself not to shrink back, staring him down with every ounce of hatred I possessed.

"You think you're tough, Taryn," Rocco whispered, his hand dropping to rest heavily on my hip, his fingers digging into my sore flesh. "But once my father passes the mantle, every inch of the Vescari District belongs to me. Including you."

Before I could shove his hand off my body, the heavy door of the washroom slammed open against the wall with a deafening crack.

Nico Sforza stood in the doorway, his dark suit immaculate, his hand resting casually inside his jacket where his shoulder holster sat. Behind him, the corridor was dead silent.

"Am I interrupting something, Falcone?" Nico asked softly, his cold gaze shifting from Rocco's hand on my hip to my bruised face.

Rocco slowly pulled his hand back, his expression turning ugly. "This is a private Falcone room, Sforza. Get the hell out before I have my father's men toss you into the river."

Nico didn't move an inch. A faint, vicious smile touched his lips as he pulled a heavy, sealed manila folder from under his arm and held it out.

"Don Salvatore just signed off on the transfer, Rocco," Nico said, his voice dropping into a razor-thin calm. "Your father sold her debt to close his account with the Moretti Syndicate. Taryn Vescari doesn't answer to the Falcone family anymore."

Rocco froze, his face draining of all color. "What?"

"She's Moretti property now," Nico said, stepping aside and gesturing toward the dark hallway. "Don Vittorio is waiting upstairs in his vehicle, Taryn. He doesn't like to be kept waiting."