wore to the club. It was wrinkled to shit and stunk like stale cigarette smoke, but it was better than nothing.
I cock my head to the side and glare at him.
“Glad you approve, I changed just for you. I wouldn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable, you looked like you were sweating back there, being forced to stare at my tits.”
Normally after a comment like that, Rocco would deliver one of his own. It would likely be laced with innuendo and designed to make me blush even though I don’t blush. However, instead of a flirty, smart retort, he clenches his jaw and reaches for his jacket.
After I dressed, I threw it on the seat, and it’s been acting as the Berlin wall, keeping us both firmly planted on either side.
“Bruno will take you home in the morning, before he drops me at the airport,” he says finally.
Then he snatches the wrinkled jacket and shrugs it on. I try to recall a time in my life, other than his mother’s funeral, when I’ve seen him wear a suit. Before he and my brother took a job with the notorious gangster, Victor Pastore, who also happens to be Rocco’s uncle, he favored sweatsuits. Nike, Adidas, even Jordan and no matter which brand he wore, he completed the ensemble with a fresh pair of Air Force 1’s.
This look is…different.
“What?” he snaps.
For a split second I forget about my brother, Mitch, and my mother’s drama. In this moment, he’s Rocco and I’m Violet, the girl who has no problem calling him out on being an asshole. The girl who is about to tell him where to go and how to get there.
“Oh, I don’t know, Rocco, you haven’t said two words to me since you entered the car and now, we’re at your hotel,” I hiss exasperatedly. “Here’s a thought, instead of being a dick, why don’t you tell me what the hell happened back there.” He remains quiet and that infuriates me even more. “Damn you, Rocco, this is none of your business. My mom’s restaurant—"
He cuts me off, piercing me with a glare.
“It’s taken care of, Violet. Mitch isn’t going to go after the restaurant.”
My brows pinch together as I stare at him, waiting for him to elaborate. Again, the bastard remains silent. He may be sexy as sin, but he’s the biggest dick to ever walk the face of the earth.
“I don’t want to have this conversation in the back of a car,” he grunts, swiping a hand over his handsome face. The five o’clock shadow is a new look for him too. “Correction, I don’t want to have this fucking conversation at all, but I definitely don’t want to have it sober.”
“Well, what if I don’t want to have this conversation in a hotel room?”
He arches an eyebrow.
“Scared?”
“Of you?” I scoff, rolling my eyes. Changes and all, I would never be afraid of the man next to me. I may hate him right now, but I trust him explicitly. I don’t know if that’s a good thing or what, but it’s true. “I’m not scared of you, Rocco.”
“You should be.”
There’s truth to those words, I’m sure of it, but I don’t know what that truth is and I’m not sure I want to know. Still, I ask, “Why?”
He doesn’t respond right away and after a moment, he shakes his head, dismissing the conversation altogether.
“Move your ass, Bug, there is a fifth of vodka somewhere in that hotel with my name on it.”
Opening his door, he slides out of the car, leaving me reeling and all sorts of angry. I grab my duffle bag and sling it over my shoulder before stepping out of the car myself. Of course Rocco isn’t there to hold my hand and escort me into the building. He doesn’t even hold the door for me.
Bastard.
I stalk after him, following him to the bank of elevators. He pushes the button and I move to step around him, forcing him to look me in the eye.
“Last I checked, I didn’t answer to you Rocco, so I’m not really understanding why you’re acting like such a dick.” He doesn’t even fucking blink which only aggravates me more. Throwing my hands up, I continue, “So you saw me naked, big deal! I’m sure you’ve seen your fair share of tits and ass—”
“You’re making a scene,” he growls.
“I don’t give a damn. You’re acting like an asshole.”
The elevator doors open, and he shakes his head, brushing past me to step