Palazzo Rocco You Are My Antidote Novels & Stories

"You have seven days left." … The banquet was at its peak. Emanuela was in a custom lace wedding gown. Real pearls were sewn into her veil. Benedetto had one arm around her waist as they spun in the center of the dance floor. Alessandro stood beside the champagne tower, raising his glass to toast the newlyweds. No one saw me. Or rather, everyone chose not to. I slipped through the crowd and headed for the back garden. The Andreotti Estate sat along the Blackthorn River, with its private dock and wooden platform stretching out over the water. At night, the river was as black as ink. It reflected Novastone's lights.

I hissed in anger, slamming my fist on the table. “Son.” Hernando patted my arm, trying to calm me down. “All hope isn’t lost Mr Romano.” He chipped in. I tensed up for a slight second, it just felt so weird to be addressed as a Romano, it was still new. “What do you mean?.” I asked, shaking it off. “We have observed that each time Rocco leaves his house, he stops by the market and buys a lot of Vinegar, precisely the ones used to make Brines for storing food.” he informed.

My body went rigid as I scanned the room, until my eyes landed on a heavy leather armchair in the corner. "Morning, sunshine," Rocco said softly. He was sitting back in the chair wearing only his dark trousers and a plain black t-shirt, a heavy woolen blanket draped over his shoulders. I was under a massive down comforter on a king-sized mattress. Oh, hell. I had spent the entire night at the Falcone Estate. "What... what happened after I passed out?" "That scum tried to drop a heavy black-market knockout drug in your shot," Rocco said, his voice deep and rough from lack of sleep. "He got the drug into you, but he didn't get you out the door."

I said as I hailed a taxi, my voice strangely calm. The driver nodded as he slowed down to make a turn. The drive was quiet,matching the silence in my head. The city began to fade away into long, lonely stretches as he drove. Finally the dark, gleaming building of the lounge finally emerged, I took a shaky breath,retouched my makeup in the compact mirror I had always kept in my purse. I paid the driver, stepped out into the cool, hushed air, and faced the door. The Absinthe Lounge was a fortress of luxury and gilt. It smelled of aged whiskey, expensive perfume, and quiet, intimidating money. My heels sank softly into the deep navy carpet.

"Marcus?" Grey shrugged, but there was nothing casual about the way he pulled one strap of his backpack over his shoulder. I looked toward the parking lot. Marcus was trying to close his car door without knocking the crate sideways. Nothing about the scene made sense. Marcus had spent the afternoon carrying plastic fruit and complaining about his sister. Ten minutes ago he'd discovered somebody had put Romeo's dagger in the box labelled FOOD and acted personally betrayed by it. I'd eaten the crackers he'd bought me, he'd loosened my water bottle, and that had been the extent of our great romance.

Nico looked at the narrow slice of driveway visible between branches and knew that if nothing sudden moved in the next thirty seconds, he would go home and do the other work: the work of phone calls made on landlines from rooms the city had forgotten, of schedules adjusted so men tripped over their own egos, of whispers that sent rivals to look one place while danger walked through another door. “Let me put a man on Mazzo,” Rocco said. “Tight. A ghost, but tight.” “You already did,” Nico said. “Keep him.” Rocco’s mouth tilted. “Getting predictable.” “Getting old,” Nico said. “Predictable is the only way to still be here when you are.”

"Good to see you." Rocco looked at me, his dark, shrewd eyes set in a fleshy face. "And this," Rocco said, grinning. "This is the firecracker." "Elena," I said, extending my hand. Rocco didn't shake it. He took my hand and kissed it, like an old school style. "My daughter tells me you put a knife in a St. James," he laughed. "That is fantastic! I hate those Southern peacocks."

“What?” We stopped in a small clearing of low-hanging trees interspersed with hawthorn and blackthorn shrubs, and Rocco pulled his shirt over his head, revealing his thin chest. “You just wanted us completely out of the way so we could fuck. Well, here I am, ready, willing, and hard.” I placed my hand on the nearest shrub and pushed some of the Hellfire I’d been given into my palm. Flames spread across its green foliage, making Rocco step back.

"I don't see any reason why a place like this should not exist. Unless... there is more going on here." Rocco tilted his head, his eyes glittering in the dim light. "More? Like how much more?" he asked. "You tell me," I said with a small shrug. Rocco smiled again. He reached for a glass bottle of amber liquid sitting on the table. He poured some into a clean glass, took a slow sip, and set it down with a soft click. Then he picked up another glass, poured some liquor into it, and pushed it across the wooden table toward me.

Valentino snarled, cocking his gun and pressing it hard against Rocco’s forehead. “I will kill him if anything happens to my woman!” Bianca’s expression did not change. “He means nothing to me,” she replied. “He was just a pawn, uno stupido pedone (a stupid pawn), and now he is useless. Why would I care if you kill him?” “Bia…nca…” Rocco’s weak voice dragged through the air, broken and full of disbelief. “You ungrateful, manipulative bitch… after everything, this is how you repay me?”