Rockland: A Mafia Billionaire Romance Read online

  My sobs begin to subside. I hear the three claps. They signal our rock, the one all our family members’ frozen remains are stored within. The whirring begins and the enormous gray stone rises from its hiding place within the Earth.

  The grass is unseasonably green, as it always is here. A mystery I’ve never solved. I stare at the rock, knowing what’s expected of me next.

  My gut roils. I can’t do it.

  I won’t do it.

  The family falls to their knees. Bow their heads, join hands. They chant Love lives on, over and over and over. Goosebumps rise on the flesh of my arms. I’m grateful I’m all cried out—otherwise I’d begin weeping. Rockland helps me kneel.

  I hold onto him, clinging to his chest.

  A few quiet moments later, Bronson comes to me. Helps me up. Takes me to the far side of the stone wall. I’m beside John now, the member of the Brotherhood who Brett was closest to. John’s my age and Brett was more of a father figure to him than anything else.

  The same could be said about my relationship with Brett, I suppose.

  Bronson removes a stone. Places it on the ground. John holds the black chamber out to me. What’s left of Brett’s body lays within.

  They are waiting.

  Bronson’s gaze locks on mine. Soft, but commanding.

  With shaky hands, I tug at the chain around my neck. The necklace Brett locked around my neck the day we were wed, the day I became a Bachman. I’ve worn it every day since. The little sword made of cut diamonds the sign of Brett’s dedication to lay down his life for me.

  He didn’t get the chance to.

  He’s gone, way before his time.

  I’m angry now—this precious memento is being taken from me as well—and the chain snaps. My fingers clutch around the charm. He’s gone. He’s left me. I throw it onto the chamber, screaming, “Damn you, Brett! How dare you leave me. How dare you—” My words turn into a choked sob and Rockland appears by my side.

  His arm firmly wraps around my waist. I turn to him, I lift my fists, beating his chest. I cry, “He left me, why did he leave me?”

  He doesn’t even flinch. Just lets me have my mindless moment. The fury leaves my body and I collapse against him, boneless and spent. I take a few deep breaths.

  Then I feel Rockland moving his hand. He’s taking something out of his pocket.

  My world stops spinning. The air around me is frozen, buzzing with tension. A white heat flushes over my face and my breath leaves my body. In my mind, I’m screaming no!

  But there it is, in his opened palm. His sword, diamonds glittering in the sun. It’s different from Brett’s. Sleeker. Darker.

  Just like Rockland.

  Before I can move, he’s got it clasped around my neck.

  Marking me as his.

  Never.

  Fury rises in my chest. My hand goes to my neck and snap, the necklace is broken. I give him one dark look and toss the thing to the ground like the piece of trash it is to me. It means nothing.

  Placidly he retrieves the chain from the ground. Slips it into his pocket.

  Now he’s grabbing my arm, hard. So hard that I’m wincing. I prepare to shout let go of me! but before I can summon the words, the brush of the stubble of his beard strokes my cheek. His mouth is hot against my ear. I smell his cologne, feel his tense muscles press against me as he gives me another squeeze and hisses, “Best behave, little girl.”

  I freeze.

  Another warning.

  He escorts me to the car. Drops me into the passenger’s seat. He gives me a long, hard look. Reaches up to my shoulder and pulls the buckle over my lap. Clicking it in. He throws me one more glance, as if I’ll run off.

  He’s in the driver’s seat. His jaw is clenched beneath that beard—I just know it. Fury and sorrow and exhaustion billow within me. But the anger wins out over the other emotions and I direct it at my sitting target.

  “Who do you think you are? Dragging a widow from her husband’s burial before he’s even laid to rest?” My fingers clutch the kerchief he’s given me. It dampens from my tears.

  “You were ready to leave.” His eyes cut to me as he starts the car.

  “How could you possibly know? You never asked.”

  “I didn’t need to. I’ve grown quite good at reading you.”

  “Reading me? You mean staring at me from across the room with that disapproving look on your face?” Now he gives me one of those familiar glances from the side of his eyes. “See—you did it just then! You think I’m such a problem. Well, guess what? Consider yourself relieved of your duties. I certainly don’t need you looking after me—”

  The look goes from general displeasure to something deeper. He rumbles, “It’s not your call.”

  He’s infuriating.

  But no match for me. I never back down. My voice lowers, my words made of steel. “Rockland Bachman. As soon as this gathering is over, you get yourself on the next plane to the Greek Islands or wherever the hell it is your Neanderthal cave is hiding.” I sniff, turning my body toward the window. Scooting toward the car door and as far from him as possible.

  The slightest hint of that smug smile dances across his face.

  What does he know that I don’t? What has him so amused?

  My stomach drops. I say, “Don’t you dare say Bronson’s enacting the hierarchy.”

  “Did you not feel the weight of my sword against your chest?” His tone is equally as icy.

  “Did you not see me rip it from my throat and throw it to the ground?” I snap.

  He heaves a sigh—the one I’m familiar with. The one that reminds me he thinks I’m a child he’s dealing with. “Tess, it’s just a symbol. You know when a Bachman woman is in the family, it’s forever. And that any woman in our family would be cared for by one of the brothers. The day my brother married you, he clasped the necklace with his sword around your neck—showing you he would lay down his life for you. Now that he’s gone, I take his place in that same way. Protect you, lay down my life for you should you need it. But it’s symbolic, Tess. We all know you’re a big girl who can take care of yourself. You will continue to live your own life, but the sword, the hierarchy, it’s in place to care for you should you need it.”

  “I will never, ever need care from you.”

  He doesn’t answer me.

  I want to keep fighting. I want to stay mad. Do anything to keep this deep sob that’s sitting in my belly from rising. Anything to keep the maddening grief at bay.

  I sit back in the seat and sigh. We’re pulling up to my house.

  The house where I built a life with Brett.

  And now, I live alone.

  * * *

  Rockland

  Of all the shitty luck. My brother goes out on a mission and dies of a heart attack.

  How many times did I tell him to lay off the burgers? Hit the gym? Our fellow brother, Carter, owns one only a few blocks from the Village—Brett could have gone anytime. Instead, he always brushed me off, attributing my good health and trim body with the fact that I’m ten years younger than him. Not my Mediterranean diet and five-mile morning run, or daily swim in the ocean.

  Now I’m stuck, caretaker of Miss Temper Tantrum herself.

  Tess—the sexy little redhead my brother has spoiled and coddled for the past five years.

  Bronson knew what he was doing when he enacted the hierarchy for this one—she’s out of control.

  I sigh as I drive her to the house. I know the hierarchy is an excellent idea in theory—having a line of order so that each of our Bachman women are cared for in the special way of the Brotherhood, should one of us not be able to do so, or in my brother’s case, leave this earth and a widow behind—but Tess’s arrogant nature has always infuriated me.

  Now more than ever. Her grief has done the impossible—made her more difficult than she already was. And even more disgusted by my presence.

  Never mind though, I’ll do what I have to do to get her through this day. For other wome
n, that would mean a shoulder to cry on. A few gentle words of sympathy. An escort to the celebration.

  Not Tess.

  That woman needs strict boundaries. Ones that earn her a harsh punishment when crossed. The easiest way to get her through this day would be by me reddening her ass. Relieving her of her emotional weight through pain and tears. But alas, I can’t. As much as I want to take that hellcat over my knee and spank some sense into her, I won’t.

  It would be highly inappropriate of me.

  Though I want to. Badly.

  She’s sick with grief. And she needs time to heal.

  But just as I’m convincing myself that doling out a good old-fashioned spanking is not my place today, the memory of her ripping my sword from her neck and throwing it to the ground flashes in my mind and my palm begins to twitch.

  Someone needs to teach that little girl a lesson in respect.

  I’m not the only one of this opinion. At the service, after her little show, there was unspoken command that flashed in Bronson’s eyes. Get her under control for all our sakes.

  And I will. I’ll be firm with her. It’s easy with Tess—I always know what she needs. It only took one squeeze of my hand on her knee to make her bite her sharp tongue. I’ll keep her under control. Make sure she doesn’t lose it and do or say something she’ll regret later. She must be strong for the Village. For she is not the only one grieving the loss of the great man that was my brother.

  My own unshed tears are buried deep within me. I park the car. Cut the engine.

  I’ll help calm her. Get her ready for the family event. Guide her through it.

  Then I’ll leave.

  With any luck, I’ll never have to come back.

  Except for the little fact I’ve seemed to forget, until just this moment when we’ve arrived at her front door.

  Every year for the next three years on the day of the anniversary of Brett’s death, there will be a memorial for my brother.

  And I’ll have to be in attendance.

  Celebrating his life. And caring for his widow.

  Chapter Two

  One year later

  Tess

  The little fucker just arrived in the Village.

  It’s the day of my husband’s memorial—it’s been one year since my beloved Brett died. And instead of spending my day alone, mourning, I’ll spend it annoyed to be escorted by Rockland.

  Today he’s standing in front of a brand-new red Mercedes, leaning against it like he hasn’t got a care in the freaking world. Still with the same bad boy look. The beard tightly trimmed, the dark glasses covering those liquid pools of gold that so love to shoot venom at me.

  He hasn’t aged over this past year. If anything, he’s even tanner and more muscular than before—if that’s possible. He stands with that smug, self-satisfied look pasted across his chiseled face. Wanting to get this day over with as quickly as possible, as do I.

  Again, like at the burial, I know I need him. And it makes me hate him all the more. I brush past him, my white dress hanging from me, loose after all the weight I’ve lost in the past year. I’ve had no appetite whatsoever.

  I get into his car. Allow him to close my door for me. Wait for him to take his seat before I unleash my wrath. He’s starting the engine when the words begin flowing from my mouth.

  “What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue? I haven’t seen you in a year and you can’t even manage to mutter a greeting to me? I don’t know how you do things on that deserted island of yours, but here in the Village, we have manners. We actually—”

  “Tess?”

  “What?”

  He turns to me, jaw clenched. “Don’t allow your grief to become misplaced anger.”

  His words only serve to make me absolutely livid.

  Because he’s right.

  I cross my arms over my chest and spit the words at him. “What are you even doing here? Don’t you have a barrier reef to mow or something?”

  When he speaks, the words come out deep and low, laced with the very same gut-wrenching grief I’m feeling. “He was my brother.”

  Shit.

  I say, “I’m being a total ass. I... I’m—sorry.”

  “Thanks.” He gives me a nod. A slight turn-up of the corner of his mouth.

  We spend the rest of the ride in silence. Me feeling equal parts guilty for not thinking of Rockland’s grief, mixed with disgust at having to spend the day with him.

  I say, “So, how have you been?”

  “Well. And you?”

  “Pretty good. Considering.”

  He turns the car down Seventh Street and just when I think things are going well—that we’ve made a truce and the two of us will be able to get through this day in peace—the asshole murmurs under his breath, “You’d be doing better if you had your ass slapped a couple times. Remind you that you aren’t the center of the universe.”

  His words light a fire of fury within me. I’m seething. This man brings out the worst in me.

  I take the high road, ignore his comment. Sit and watch the trees pass as we reach the back of the Village.

  As we drive, I tell myself I can behave. I can contain my temper even if provoked. It’s only one day, right? Then he’ll be gone again, and I’ll have three hundred sixty-four days before he makes his next appearance.

  If only it was that easy.

  Is it true what they say about redheads? All those stereotypes about our hair making our temperament fiery. I don’t know but I do know that no matter how hard I try to be good, my temper gets the best of me.

  I can already tell today is going to be one of those days. I sigh, slouch down in my leather seat, and stare out the window. Brooding over his comment.

  You know what? Forget about being good. I’m going to give him hell. Then send him on his way. He wouldn’t dare touch me—I get a free pass as a grieving widow. Everyone understands how fresh the pain still is for me.

  His words spin in my mind as we near the meadow. Don’t allow your grief to become misplaced anger.

  You know, I think that’s just what I’ll do. It’s been a hard year. The hardest of my life. I could use an outlet for my grief.

  I sneak a peek at Rockland. Beneath his beard, his jaw is so tight it looks as if it’s made of stone. He stares straight ahead, fingers clutched tightly around the steering wheel.

  It must be killing him to have to ride in the same car as me.

  A little smile plays at my lips. Today I’m going to torment him.

  This is going to be fun.

  He parks the car beside the meadow. Most of the family is already gathered, wearing their best whites. He exits the car, slamming his door just a touch. Strides with that panther-like slink around the front of the car to my side. He opens my door. He offers me his hand, I accept. As I exit the car, I misstep, the chunky heel of my shoe planting and digging into the toe of his shoe.

  Hard.

  He lets out a groan. A grimace covers his face.

  I hold in a smile. “Oops. Didn’t see you there.”

  He gives me an ominous stare, then links arms with mine and leads me to refreshment table set up at the meadow. Paige and Sasha are serving hot drinks on this chilly day. Sasha gives me a tight hug. Hands me a coffee with cream and sugar—just like I like it—and for Rockland, a black one.

  “Thank you,” I tell her, holding the mug between my two hands.

  Paige says, “Take your seats, I think Brauny is ready to start the service.”

  Brauny. I’ll never get used to Paige using that nickname for our fearless leader, Bronson. But I’ll forgive her—after all, it’s Paige. Curvy, cute as pie little Paige with her dark, blunt-cut hair perfectly placed and designer couture. The massive rare blue diamond sparkling on her finger. The one who gave us Bachman women the nickname, Bachman Beauties. The only one in the whole family who can make our Bronson smile. She was also the only one as broke as me when she married into this family of billionaires. We’ve often shared stories about our
messed-up childhoods. I give her a nod and follow Rockland to our seats.

  Where I clumsily stumble over the perfectly manicured grass. I trip. Catch myself just before I fall. But in my disruption, I’ve managed to spill my coffee all over the white linen lap of my escort. Sucking in air between his teeth, he mutters something so far under his breath I can’t tell whether he’s just emitted a string of curse words at his brother’s memorial.

  I almost laugh—so inappropriate—but when he looks up and meets my eyes, the laughter catches in my throat. My stomach tightens and I almost feel bad for what I’ve done. I sit beside him, watch him dabbing at his pants with the same handkerchief he gave me at the funeral and has brought to the first memorial. I whisper, “I’m so sorry. It was an accident.”

  “Forget it,” he hisses, taking a napkin from Paige. She shoots me a curious stare as she makes her way back to the table. He dabs, absorbing the beverage from his trousers as he says, “I’m sure you have a lot on your mind today. As do I. As does the rest of the Village who are also mourning their loss, princess. But you seem to have forgotten that anyone else exists or has feelings. So help me God, in my brother’s honor, I would take your selfish ass over my knee right here, right now...”

  I sit back in my seat, the guilt ebbing because of his sharp words, and I enjoy his discomfort. I shrug. “I’ve always been a bit clumsy.”

  Sasha teeters over on her sky-high heels, offering club soda and a white towel for his trousers. As she does, her lips purse at me in disapproval. The Beauties all love Rockland. Apparently, I’m the only one immune to his charms, his good looks. The only one who sees how infuriating the man is. He gratefully accepts the club soda from her then turns to me, his gaze piercing mine, and replies, “Clumsiness is only one of your many character flaws.”

  An ice-cold hatred creeps into my chest. “Excuse me?”

  “You are clumsy. And spoiled, and short-tempered—”

  I hiss, “How dare you insult a widow at her husband’s memorial service.”

  Mary, the unofficial mother of the Beauties, turns to me, her blush pink manicured fingernail over her matching pink lips and shushes me. A flush creeps up into my cheeks at her reprimand.