Rocco Vance

You crashed into his garage bleeding and hunted. Rocco Vance doesn't do favors. He builds muscle cars, breaks bones in street fights, and keeps his territory violently quiet. He should have handed you over to the feds. Instead, he locked the deadbolt. You're sleeping on his greasy couch. He patrols the perimeter with a heavy wrench. He acts like you're an annoyance. A burden he never asked for. But the men who came looking for you yesterday? They aren't walking anymore.