C6

"What do you want from me, Rocco?" I snapped, backing away until the cold sink cut into my spine. "Your goons aren't around to watch you flex, and you already got your cheap shots in. What else could you possibly want?"

Rocco moved with sudden, predatory speed, his large hand clamping firmly behind my head as his mouth crashed down over mine before I could even draw breath. My eyes flew wide open, and I shoved violently against his chest, breaking the contact and stumbling back.

"What the fuck are you doing?" I panted, raising my fists as I prepared to knee him right in the groin if he closed the distance again.

"Don't you feel it, Taryn?" Rocco murmured, his chest heaving as he stared at me with hungry eyes. "The raw heat between us. I've never seen a street girl fight like you did tonight. So much fire, so much dirty passion. Even the Moretti boss saw it in you before I did."

My brow furrowed in utter disgust. "The Dark Don? He saw me bleeding out on the concrete. You saw me trying not to die. There was no passion in any of this. It was pure survival."

"Think about it, Taryn," Rocco urged, taking a slow step forward. "We'd be unstoppable together. You're feisty, sharp, and gorgeous as hell. I'll admit, you were always the hottest girl in the Vescari District, you just didn't have the family name. But I'm going to run the Falcone syndicate soon. I'll have more than enough power for both of us. Plus, I'd have the authority to tear up your debt contract completely. You'd be free."

It felt like someone had plunged my entire body into a tub of freezing water. Was he actually offering what I thought he was offering? Sure, Rocco was dangerously attractive in that violent, untouchable way. And he was the future head of the family. More importantly, aligning with him would wipe my slate clean. I could finally walk through the district without a target on my back.

The catch was obvious. I'd simply be trading one master for another, locked away as little more than a mob prince's trophy wife with zero real freedom.

"Rocco Falcone, you promised me you weren't going to spend the whole night down here," a shrill, irritated female voice echoed through the narrow hallway outside the washroom.

I didn't even need to turn around to recognize Mirella Santoro's voice.

"What is she doing in here with you, Rocco?" Mirella demanded, storming into the room.

"Good night, Rocco," I muttered, pushing past Mirella as she glared daggers at me. I walked out of the washroom and headed straight down the corridor without a single backward glance.

Enzo Caradonna and Dario Lucchesi were waiting for me near the end of the hall, keeping their word.

"Is Enzo at the front?" I asked, keeping my voice low.

"He's wrapping up by the bar," Dario said, nodding toward the stairs.

We walked back out to the main lounge area, the bass from the speakers still vibrating through the floorboards. I'd only been working the underground pit for a few hours, but it felt like a night that would permanently scar my life. If Enzo paid out my wages in full, I'd take the shift again, though I needed to demand Sergio guarantee the cocktail waitresses stayed out of the fighting ring.

"Did you hook up with the future Don in the back room?" Dario teased quietly.

"Hell no," I shot back. "Not my type."

"You were locked in there quite a while," Matteo added, raising an eyebrow.

"Nothing happened," I snapped defensively, hating how guilty my voice sounded. It wasn't my fault Rocco had tried to force himself on me.

Enzo stood by the mahogany bar, his face dark and crossed with irritation. "You had one primary job tonight, Taryn."

I stopped in front of him, blinking through my swollen eye. "Are you serious? You can't possibly blame me for getting dragged into the cage. Don Salvatore literally ordered it."

"I don't give a damn about the Don's orders," Enzo growled, crossing his arms. "That fight was a great spectacle, sure. People will talk. But I'm furious that you dropped a heavy tray all over a VIP's expensive dress."

"That's what you're mad about?" I stared at him in disbelief. "It was an accident. We settled it."

"Just keep your tray balanced next time," Enzo muttered, dropping his hands.

"Fine," I said, holding out my hand.

"Fine," Enzo sighed, pulling a thick paper envelope from his breast pocket. "I had to dock your envelope a bit to cover the shattered glassware and the dry cleaning bill for the VIP."

I fought the urge to roll my eyes. Even with the deductions, the cash inside was more than I usually made in a month of standard cocktail shifts. I snatched the envelope from his palm, watching as he handed similar payouts to Dario and Matteo.

"You think she can handle working the basement crowd again?" Enzo asked the two bartenders.

"She held her own, boss," Matteo said.

"Yeah, tougher than Gisella ever was," Dario agreed.

Enzo turned his sharp gaze back to me. "Alright, kid. We're keeping a low profile for a couple of weeks while the heat dies down, but we'll host another fight night soon. Let me know if you want back in."

I clutched the envelope tightly. This was my only ticket out from under the Vescari debt. It didn't matter if the underground lounge was illegal; I was just serving drinks and dodging fists. Plus, the thought of potentially crossing paths with Vittorio Moretti again made a strange, hot shiver run down my spine. "I'm ready whenever you are, Enzo."

"Good. Head home now. Celeste can handle the closing shift upstairs," Enzo ordered, waving me off.

"You sure?" I glanced toward the stairs, hating the idea of leaving Celeste alone up front.

"You're opening the brunch shift tomorrow to make up for tonight," Enzo reminded me flatly.

My shoulders slumped. That meant a punishing double shift with zero sleep. "Got it. Heading home."

"Want me to walk you out to the lot?" Dario offered, tossing his cleaning towel over his shoulder.

"I'm fine, thanks," I said, eager for some air.

"You saw her handle Rocco in the ring," Matteo laughed softly. "I feel bad for any street thug who tries to jump her tonight."

I wasn't nearly as confident as they were, especially with my ribs throbbing with every breath. Walking out into the cool night air was the only thing I wanted.

After stuffing my cash envelope safely down into my sock, I pushed open the heavy back service door leading out of the basement. The stairwell was completely dark, but I preferred it to walking past the main bar.

The concrete steps emptied out into the narrow, trash-lined alleyway behind the Black Crown Lounge. Dumpsters lined the brick walls, casting long, menacing shadows under the dim amber glow of a single overhead security light.

I walked cautiously, stepping over broken glass and stagnant puddles as I made my way toward the open street. A cold wind cut straight through my thin shirt, making me shiver violently. I shoved my hands deep into my pockets, instantly regretting leaving my leather jacket back in the locker room.

The public gravel parking lot a block away looked pitch black. The municipal streetlights overhead had been smashed out, leaving the entire lot shrouded in darkness. I didn't have the enhanced night vision of the high-ranking syndicate members, making the shadows look twice as threatening.

My heart hammered against my ribs as I hurried across the pavement, keeping my eyes fixed on my beat-up sedan parked near the back fence.

A group of dark figures stepped out from between two parked trucks, blocking my path to the car door.

I stopped dead in my tracks, my breath catching in my throat as I recognized the sharp, sneering face of Mirella Santoro leading the pack.

"What do you want, Mirella?" I asked, my voice dripping with exhaustion and pure venom.

"Not much," Mirella purred, taking a slow step forward with her arms crossed over her leather jacket. "Just here to teach the little Vescari debt-slave a permanent lesson."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw two more girls step out from the shadows on either side of me, completely cutting off my escape. Mirella and her wealthy little syndicate friends—the same elite bitches who had tormented me through every year of school, minus Rocco. I suppose he figured he’d done enough damage to my body for one evening.

"Back off, Mirella," I snapped, squaring my shoulders despite the pain in my side. "We aren't teenagers anymore. You got your rich lives, and I'm stuck working the gutters. Isn't my miserable existence punishment enough for you?"

"If only it were that simple," Mirella sneered, her eyes flashing with pure malice. "But you just couldn't keep your hands to yourself tonight, could you? Trying to sink your claws into Rocco right in front of everyone."

"That's what this pathetic ambush is about?" I let out a sharp, mocking laugh. "Please. You can keep your precious mob prince."

That was the exact wrong thing to say.

Mirella lunged forward with blinding speed, her fist connecting hard with my already swollen cheekbone. "Who's laughing now, you cheap little bitch?"