Page 25 of Unworthy Ties
The sincerity in his expression caught me off guard, and Felix’s words suddenly came to mind.He’s got a good heart.
I swallowed hard, trying to organize the chaos of emotions swirling inside me. “You really want to see my photos?”
“Of course I do.” Rocco’s thumb traced my jawline, his touch feather-light. “Perhaps we need to rewind. We haven’t really done the whole ‘getting to know’ each other thing very well.”
“I just assumed you weren’t interested in who I am.” My voice came out quieter than I intended, vulnerable in a way I hadn’t planned.
“What if I want to know everything?” His eyes held mine, unwavering.
My heart stuttered in my chest. The intensity in his gaze made it impossible to look away, even as vulnerability crawled up my spine. This wasn’t part of our arrangement—this genuine interest, this desire to know me beyond the confines of our marriage contract.
“I’m not sure you’d like everything you’d find,” I admitted, setting the camera down on the bedside table. It felt like a confession, like peeling back a layer I’d carefully maintained.
Rocco’s lips quirked into a half-smile. “That’s the risk with people, isn’t it? The messy parts are part of the package.”
Something shifted in the air between us, a door cracking open that I hadn’t noticed was there.
“Is that why you keep everyone at a distance?” I asked before I could stop myself. “To avoid the messy parts?”
His expression faltered, a flash of something vulnerable crossing his features before his mask slipped back into place. But I’d seen it—that momentary crack in his armor.
“I’ve found it’s easier that way,” he finally said, his voice measured. “In my world, people usually want something. They have agendas, expectations.”
I nodded slowly, understanding washing over me. “And with me? What do you expect?”
Rocco’s hand fell away from my face, and I immediately missed his warmth. He took a step back, creating physical distance that mirrored the emotional wall he was carefully reconstructing.
“I expected a mutually beneficial arrangement,” he said, his business tone creeping back in. “But I’m finding it’s not that simple.”
As Rocco’s words hung in the air, a heavy silence settled between us, laden with unspoken truths and unexplored emotions. I could feel the weight of his expectations, the cracks in his carefully constructed facade, and the vulnerability that lingered beneath the surface.
In that moment, I realized that we were both navigating uncharted territory, treading the delicate balance between the roles we had agreed upon and the unexpected connection that had blossomed between us.
Rocco took me out on a date two days later. Apparently, there was a giant flower market on the outskirts of the city, something I’d never known about despite living here for years. He had mentioned it over breakfast casually, as if suggesting we take a walk around the block rather than embark on what felt suspiciously like a real date.
But, before we could make it to the flower market, he had to stop by one of his friends houses and drop something off. I knew Maximo, his friend, vaguely; he was to be the next Don for the Salvaggio family.
Whatever mafia business Maximo and Rocco had, I wasn’t privy to listening to it. I was waiting in our car, watching vans take a shipment of boxes from Maximo’s estate.
I drummed my fingers against the leather seat, curiosity gnawing at me. The men moving the boxes worked with military precision, their movements efficient and practiced. Shipments of illegal things was business as usual for mafia families, but something about this felt off. I tried to pinpoint why.
From what I could see, the boxes were unmarked—unusual for typical shipments. Most contraband, even illegal goods, had a labeling system, codes that meant nothing to outsiders but everything to those in the know. These were completely blank, pristine white cardboard with no identifying features.
But I could be wrong, and that was just how Maximo Salvaggio transported his cargo. Frustrated, I unzipped my bag and took my camera out. I’d just look at the situation again later, and see if I was being paranoid or if there was something sketchy with the shipment.
It was probably the former. I hadn’t left the house much since getting married and was turning into a wannabe detective; trying to find something to occupy my time.
I adjusted the lens, zooming in on the nearest van. Click. Another shot of the men carrying boxes. Click. One of the boxes had been set down at an angle, and through the viewfinder, I could see a small tear in the cardboard. Click.
I quickly shoved my camera back in my bag when I saw Rocco exit through the front door. His expression was neutral, but there was a tightness around his eyes I’d come to recognize. Whatever business he and Maximo were talking about hadn’t gone smoothly.
“Everything okay?” I asked as he slid into the driver’s seat beside me.
“It’s fine,” he responded. His tone was level, although his face told another story.
“Okay,” I said, not wanting to press the issue.
“Let’s head to the flower market,” Rocco said, starting the car. “I know you wanted to pick something out for the dining room.”
