Coveted: An Alpha Male Romance (4 page)

Yanna E. Hill

Financially, Roc didn’t need me to work, but I did anyway.

I loved what I did. Teaching was my passion. If I didn’t do it, I would most likely lose a large part of my identity. I had received my Bachelors and Master’s in Education from the University of Illinois at the age of twenty–two. I was now teaching at a high school near our home.

Though it was summer, I taught summer school and tutored. During the school year, I taught a diverse group of twelfth graders. On most days, they were a joy and hilarious. But on others, they made me want to rip every curl out of my head.

Today was one of those days that they were a joy.

Just as I was shutting down my laptop and tidying up my desk to leave, my other passion and my other joy surprisingly appeared in the doorway of my classroom.

A smile spread across my face and my body relaxed without it even telling me to.

“Daddy.”

Okay, so, I don’t have “daddy issues.” Though I didn’t have much of a relationship with my biological father, I for sure knew who he was. David H. Hill was my father. Rocco de Michele was my
Daddy
. One day, his possession of me, the way he guarded me, the way he secured me and gave me the most comfort that I’d ever felt in my life guided me into calling him that. It just fell out of my mouth one day and had since stuck with us throughout the years.

I called him Daddy for a reason. He took care of me. He reassured me. He validated me. He was the truth. I was able to ignore his imperfections because he was the bane of my existence.

Those who know us, that know him, would say that he was able to ignore my imperfections for the same reasons.

At that very moment, he took my imperfections into his hands. He held my body tight and kissed me as if we were in the privacy of our own home.

“Mmmm. That’s what I’ve been missing all day,” he breathed into my mouth as he squeezed my ass. “How is my baby?”

“Surprised to see you here.”

His face held a sneaky smirk. “Security was nice enough to let me back here. As always.”

“Nice? No, I think it’s more so fear.”

“Fear? I don’t scare people. Coherence… Persuade… But not scare. Not me.”

I stared into his eyes, mirroring the same smirk that was on his face. “Mmm humph… Anyway, what are you doing here?”

“I’ll tell you as I walk you out. Weren’t you leaving?” he asked.

“Yes.”

He gathered my things from my desk into his arm, held my hand with the other and we walked out. Suddenly I began to wonder what was up with his unexpected visit. What couldn’t he wait to tell me when I got home?

But I knew better than to worry too much. There was hardly ever anything to worry about with Roc. Even in the face of danger or bullshit, he took care of everything. I had little to nothing to worry about or fear.

“Tia is here.”

Except Tia.

My pace wavered. The sound of my heels click–clacking against the hallway slowed tremendously. Immediately, Roc turned to look in my eyes. He knew exactly what I was thinking.

“My father is retiring, and has charged her and Jaime with running the club.”

My laugh was saturated with sarcasm. “Of course he’d ask those two to run it. So that was what the meeting was about?”

As he nodded his answer, I could feel him pulling me along, encouraging me to keep walking alongside him. The mere presence of that whore, Tia, annoyed me. I knew that I had nothing to worry about and the loving look in Daddy’s eyes only verified that for me.

Still in all, I hated that bitch.

I decided to change the subject. I had to let Tia be Roc’s problem if I didn’t want to cause further issues in his family by beating the shit out of her. “Did you find anything out yet?”

“Gabe is on it. Still waiting on those DNA test results to come back.”

As we left the school, the sun hit my face. Even though it was mid–afternoon in July, it had to be ninety degrees.

I had briefly closed my eyes to admire the sun on my skin, when a loud popping sound pierced the air. I shot my eyes open just in time to hear another then another. They came so fast that I couldn’t wrap my mind around what was going on. Roc forced me to the ground with his body on top off mine.

Above the popping and the screeching of tires, I could hear him in my ear. “You okay, Baby?”

“No,” I said, through my forming tears.

The asphalt was so hot. It burned my skin through my cotton maxi dress. I felt Roc kiss me and it amazed me how, though we were being shot at, he still thought to soothe me.

But that kiss on the cheek wasn’t enough. This was my second kiss with death in a matter of days.

Roc was a self–made man with a violent past that was obviously catching up to us.

Above fearing the loss of my own life, I feared being taken away from Roc.

We had been taken away from each other more than enough.

2000

Chapter 4

Yanna E. Hill

“Oh my gaaaaawd, YaYa! I’m going to miss yoooou!”

Kenyatta was so dramatic, but this was actually a moment that called for the dramatics. Kenyatta was my best friend. She had been since we started high school at Whitney Young High School two years prior.

“I know,” I whined, as I continued to clean out my locker. “We were supposed to go to prom together.”

“We were supposed to do
everything
together! Now we can’t! This shit fucking sucks. Who am I supposed to be friends with now?” Then she lowered her voice a bit before saying, “I hate these chicks.”

I giggled. Hell, we both did.

Kenyatta and I weren’t the coolest girls in school and we weren’t the prettiest, either. In fact, we were way better at Honors Trig. There was more to us than being popular enough for the cheerleading team or attracting attention from the popular boys.

We didn’t stick out and in high school that wasn’t necessarily a good thing. We blended in amongst the rest of the lames. The only thing that made me stand out was the sudden popularity of “thick” girls. Rap videos had women with hips and ass parading through them and suddenly boys were looking at me twice. But they only looked and gave their attention to the cooler, more fashionable, and experienced girls.

That wasn’t me.

Neither was it Kenyatta.

“
Whyyyy
is your mother moving anyway?!”

“It’s actually a good thing that we’re moving,” I said leaning against my locker. “I hate living in the projects. My mama finally finished nursing school. She got a job at some hospital in the suburbs so she rented a house out there.”

The only bad thing about this was leaving Kenyatta. Everything else was a dream come true. My family had struggled throughout the years while my mother went to school and kept odd jobs here and there. Finally, we were moving out of that two bedroom apartment and into a house. I would have my own room with a full–sized bed. That was all that my mother had to say to persuade me to leave my best friend. But it was still heartbreaking, and my heart broke even more as I looked over at Kenyatta, leaning against a locker with tears streaming down her face.

“Oh, Kenyatta,” I sighed, as I wrapped my arms around her. We both began to cry like no one was around.

“We can still talk every day,” I tried convincing her. “We can hang out on the weekends,” I said, sniffling.

She smacked her lips. “Girl, how in the hell am I supposed to get all the way out there to Glendale Heights? My mama ain’t got no damn car!”

Though we were still hugging and crying, we laughed slightly.

I was suddenly startled by a voice. “Yanna, is everything okay?”

I pulled away from Kenyatta’s arms and looked up into those memorable green eyes. He was tall and scrawny with an empire cut and the baby face that I remembered playing with when I was three years old.

“Hey, Rocco–”

“Roc,” he quickly corrected me while wearing an expression that was filled with concern. He was hovering like a bodyguard, ready to attack whoever caused our tears.

I smiled. “Sorry,
Roc…
Everything is cool.”

I hadn’t been back to his home since the day that my mother dragged me out. She had actually gotten fired the next day by Mr. de Michele. However, over the years, my mother and Mrs. de Michele kept in touch.

To my surprise, on the day of high school orientation, there Roc was, sitting in the bleachers with the rest of the riffraff. He was no longer the sweet five–year–old boy that I remembered, but one thing never changed—the pierce of those emerald eyes.

Surprisingly, he remembered me when I waved. Though I was still the girl with the sandy brown, wild, curly hair, physically, I had matured. My body had filled out in ways that I wasn’t mature enough to handle. Other girls didn’t have the big breasts, wide hips and round behind that I owned, so I felt awkward, therefore encouraging me to hide myself in books. Thus, I was the smartest girl in class, rather than the most popular girl in school.

Rocco had changed too. Though scrawny, he was now tough, arrogant and ruthless. Even at sixteen, he had begun to collect tattoos all over his arms. He even insisted on being called by his street name, “Roc.”

Of course high school is nothing but a big, fat rumor mill, so I’d heard about his family’s reputation. However, Black folks didn’t know much about the Italian mob to figure out whether the rumors were true or not. But I did see how he constantly got kicked out for fighting or for abiding by no rules except his own.

In school, we hadn’t been the close friends that we were when my mother was his nanny. He mostly stayed on the outside of the school ditching classes, while I was on the inside with my nose in a book.

Our worlds were so far apart. My family was working middle class, and his was rich. I was a freshman and he was a junior. But regardless of our differences, he always managed to be there when I needed a hand… with anything.

One day, in the winter, I was walking to the bus stop in the snow, and Roc appeared out of nowhere. I was struggling with a heavy book bag and supplies for an assignment while walking across black ice. Some dumbass came out of nowhere running, and knocked me over. Just as I was attempting to stand to my feet, I caught a glimpse of Roc punching the dumbass in the face.

He made him come back, apologize, and pick up my things. Then he drove me home in his Range Rover.

Like I said, we weren’t friends, but he was always around somewhere, in the shadows, protecting me.

“Everything is so not cool, Roc!” Kenyatta shrieked. “She’s leaving!”

Rocco de Michele

Leaving? No. Please say you’re joking.

“Leaving?” I tried really hard to keep it cool and not show the dismay that I was feeling. I mean, I was sixteen. I wasn’t supposed to feel “dismay” for any chick.

But this just wasn’t any chick. She was Yanna; beautiful, chocolate, and shapely Yanna E. Hill.

“Yea.” When she sighed and her chest heaved, I fought not to stare at her breasts that were seemingly fighting their way out of the tee shirt that she had forced them into. “My mother got a new job. We’re moving to the suburbs, so I have to transfer.”

Yanna was not only my first love but my first heartbreak, because right then my heart crushed. But it wasn’t her fault. She had no idea that, even at sixteen, I craved every inch of her. At that moment, I was kicking myself in the ass for taking so long to have the guts to ask her out. But I could never find the nerve. At age sixteen, I was the leader of my pack, but I was still a boy who was learning how to take what he already felt like he owned.

I would never forget the day that my father threw me away—literally—because he found me kissing her. But what else could the old man expect? Yes, we were Italian, but I was raised in the heart of Chicago. I had been around Black women all of my life; thick ones with big asses and round tits, so that’s how I liked them, and Yanna E. Hill was
it
.

I guess the sadness was all over my face because Yanna gave me a curious stare as Kenyatta exclaimed, “See, YaYa?! Even Roc is sad! This is fucked up!”

When Yanna bent down to pick up her book bag, I stopped her, picked it up and threw it over my shoulder. She had other bags with her, most likely things that had been occupying her locker all year. I took them from her as well as she began to walk out of the school. I followed next to her and Kenyatta. “When are you leaving?” I asked.

“Today is my last day. We’re moving tonight–”

“YaYa?!” As soon as we exited the school, a woman could be heard yelling her name. “C’mon here! Let’s go!”

Immediately, Yanna began to take her things from me, and I was stuck inside of my regret that I just let her.

“Yea, see?” she said. “Actually I have to go so that I can go help–”

“YAYA?!”

“
Okay
, mama!” She wrapped her arms around Kenyatta and they whined.

Say something,
I told myself.

But I couldn’t. The moment that she looked at me and wrapped her arms around me, I fell speechless. I had imagined being this close to her for years. She had been in my daydreams,
my wet dreams
, for years. I’d stalked her while watching her from corners, imaging what I would do to her if we were old enough. And now here I was—her chest in my stomach, her hair in my nose. Her smell engulfed me and I wanted so badly to kiss every piece of her skin. “Bye, Roc.”

And then she ran away, towards her mother’s car.

And that was when I first experienced her being taken away from me. But it wouldn’t be the last.