“What are you talking about? How did Vic know?” I ask, fearing the guys fucked up when dumping Pablo’s body.
He sighs, leaning against the leather cushions of the couch as he spreads his arms across the back.
“Did you stop to ask yourself how Pablo was allowed into the club?”
Recalling the conversation, I had with Omar before I made my way up to Rocco’s office, I nod.
“Omar said he was on the guest list, which is crazy because I checked the list earlier in the afternoon. I didn’t have a chance to dig deeper into it because Victor suddenly appeared, and I had to get back to Pilar.”
“Victor put Pablo on the list.”
“What? That makes no sense.”
“It was a fucking test, one I apparently passed thanks to you.”
“A test,” I repeat. “Why the fuck would he test us?”
The only logical explanation would be that someone reported some bullshit to him— my guess, that weasel Jimmy Gold. He might be Victor’s right hand, but there’s something not right with that motherfucker and it isn’t just his gold teeth.
“Bro,” he calls, demanding my eyes. He swipes a hand over his face and his bloodshot eyes go wide as he blows out a shaky breath. “I don’t know, and I don’t want to get ahead of myself, but what if he was testing me because he’s finally decided to make me a made guy.”
The tension that was escalating between us only moments ago suddenly dissipates, and I stare at him, trying to find the words. If that’s the case, that’s a huge deal. It’s huge for me too seeing as I can never be made. Having Rocco play with the big dogs is good for our crew. It gives us the power we lack in the organization. You see, him being a made guy means he can essentially do whatever the fuck he wants. He can take out anyone so long as he isn’t a made too and use his weight with the family to make a score. It means he has a say in what the fuck goes on. But more than any of that, it is his chance to finally step away from his deceased father’s shadow and rid himself of the tarnished reputation he inherited because they shared the same name.
Still, Victor setting us up like that, I don’t like it. Not only because I have another man’s blood on my hands, but because Pilar was a victim of his games.
“Wait a minute,” I start, pausing to swallow the lump in my throat. “When you say Victor set us up with Pablo, what does that mean?”
“He put his name on the list to see how I’d handle having a well-known drug dealer on my turf. You know how he feels about drugs.”
Pilar’s face flashes in my head as I rise to my feet and start to pace in front of the coffee table separating us.
“So because Victor wanted to test you, Pablo was allowed in the club with his drugs. Was Pilar part of the plan too or was she just a fucking coincidental casualty?”
“Uncle Vic has no idea who Pilar is,” he says, narrowing his eyes for a moment.
That’s not entirely true. During a few of his visits, he’s met her. She even came to dinner with us one night. I never introduced her as a girlfriend or anything like that, but that shouldn’t matter. She was with me and if . . .
“Man, get that shit out of your head. You’re looking for someone to blame when the truth is, Pilar’s a junkie. She knows where to get her shit and if it wasn’t Pablo it would’ve been someone else. You put a drug dealer in a room with people looking for an escape, the dealer is gonna score— all Uncle Vic did was set the stage for what he knew was inevitable.”
He goes silent and my mind drifts back to Pablo’s last words.
I didn’t know she was yours.
Would it have made a difference if he knew she belonged to me?
“Fuck, you’re in love with her,” Rocco accuses.
I lift my gaze to his. For a fleeting moment, after Pablo uttered those words, I wanted everyone to know she was mine, including the guy I considered a brother. Then reality settled in and I remembered this life I’m living ain’t meant to be shared with a woman or . . . a child.
“She was pregnant,” I reveal, scrubbing both hands over my face. After a moment of silence passes between us, I brace myself and drop my hands to my sides.
“What do you mean, was?”
“She had an abortion.” The words sound just as foul as they did when I handed her the money and told her to get rid of it.
“Jesus, man,” he hisses. “And you said not to drink this early,” he mutters, pulling himself off the couch. I watch as he reaches for his empty glass and crosses the room, pouring himself a refill. He takes a gulp before turning back to me. “I’m guessing you wanted her to keep it?”
“I’m the one who gave her the money and told her to take care of it, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t want it. That part of me isn’t fucking dying inside.” I shake my head and look at him. “A baby doesn’t fit in this life.”
“Would it have really fit in hers either? She needs to get straight, man.”
“Maybe she would’ve,” I say. “She was clean from the minute she found out.” My voice trails and I sigh. “It doesn’t matter,” I tell him, clearing my throat. “We’re done.”
Finished before we began.
Rocco bites the inside of his cheek as he studies me for a beat. Before he can bestow any advice— which, let’s be real, he’s probably the last person who should be dishing out advice on relationships or anything for that matter— I clear my throat.
“We need to put a plan in place should any of Pablo’s men feel the need to retaliate,” I tell him. The worrisome look on his face dies and he shakes his head.
“According to Vic, that won’t be a problem.”
“And why is that?”
Before he can answer, a knock sounds on my door. Raising an eyebrow, I turn and stare at the door.
“You expecting any visitors?” Rocco questions from behind me. Shaking my head, I start for the door. I peer out the peephole to see who it is but I can’t make out anything. Glancing over my shoulder, I motion for Rocco to get my gun from the safe. Instead, he reaches into his jacket and pulls out his own. With a jerk of his head, he gives me the green light to open the door and aims his gun.
My hand closes over the knob as the mysterious person on the other side of the door knocks again. Rocco moves to stand behind me and as I pull open the door, he cocks his gun.
“Don’t shoot!”
Chapter 6
Joaquin
“Violet,” Rocco murmurs, quickly lowering the gun. I divert my eyes to my sister, watching as she slowly peels her hands away from her face. Swallowing, she stares wide-eyed between me and Rocco, her gaze lingering on the gun still in his hand.
“Put that shit away,” I growl, reaching out to pull her into the apartment. Snapping out of his trancelike state, he tucks the gun back into his jacket pocket. Violet doesn’t move away from the door once I close it and for a moment, I wonder if my twenty-year-old sister is in a state of shock.
Being eight years younger than us, Violet was just a kid when Rocco and I started running wild on the streets of Brooklyn. I don’t even know if she remembers his father getting deported or when he and his family moved to Italy. I don’t think either of us paid her too much attention when Rocco returned from Italy either. She was an annoying teenager who got in our way until she wasn’t. It was like I blinked and suddenly, my little sister who snuck out of the house to follow me and Rocco was a young woman auditioning for the New York Academy of Ballet. There was no ignoring her anymore, she was destined for bright lights and stages across the world.
“Vi, what are you doing here? Why didn’t you call me?”
Her gaze snaps to me and the shock flees her face as she narrows her eyes.
“Why didn’t I call you? I’ve been calling the both of you for two days,” she snarls, glaring between the both of us. “I guess you’ve been too busy shooting shit to answer me, though.” She looks at Rocco. “I’ve never had a gun pointed at me before. You really know how to welcome people,” she mutters, rolling her eyes.
“Glad you enjoyed it, Bug,” he quips, flashing her a smile. I almost laugh at his use of the nickname he gave her years ago, but then I notice the way his eyes rake over her.
“Don’t call me that,” she snaps.
“You never used to mind,” he reminds her.
“I’m not twelve anymore, Rocco.”
“Yeah, I noticed.”
Asserting my body between them like a shield, I glance from Violet to Rocco. The cocky fuck remains impassive, shoving his hands into his pockets nonchalantly like I didn’t just witness him eye fuck the shit out of my sister.
“What’s going on here?”
“What are you talking about?” he replies, stealing another glance at Violet. The fucker actually has the audacity to wink at her. I step to him, getting in his face.
“I’ll kill you,” I warn.
“Relax,” he chuckles. “I’m just busting your balls, besides . . . ” his voice trails as he turns so she can’t hear him. “It’s Violet, man. I’d never fuck with your sister.”
“I can hear you idiots,” Violet calls from behind me. Turning around to face her, I watch as she plops down on the couch and kicks up her legs. “And just to be clear,” she continues, looking at Rocco. “You’re not my type.”
“Right, you’re into men in tights these days.”
“Don’t knock it,” she chastises. “There’s nothing wrong with men in tights. They hug everything, leaving very little to the imagination and no room for surprises. There’s nothing worse than a guy hyping up his dick and lowering his pants to reveal one of those mini hot dogs you get at a buffet.”
“Sort of like when a girl stuffs her training bra with tissues and coincidentally gets caught in the rain,” Rocco retorts.
Violet’s cheeks flush as she stares daggers at him.
“Again, I was twelve,” she grinds out. “Since you’re so full of yourself, I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”
“Careful, Bug, I may have just promised your brother I wouldn’t touch you, but I never said I wasn’t down for a little game of show and tell.”
“Damn,” she says, snapping her fingers. “I knew I should’ve stopped at the airport gift shop and bought that magnifying glass in the window.”
I must have missed the memo where my sister got a smart mouth and started playing with dick.
“Who are you?” I question, shaking my head.
“Aww, you missed me, big brother. That’s cute. Now, which one of you is going to go downstairs and get my bags? By the way, I used your Uber account to call for a car since neither of you could pick me up from the airport.”
Rocco comes up beside me, keeping his eyes fixated on my wild child sister.
“What are we going to do with her?” he asks low enough that only I can hear him.
“Fuck if I know,” I mutter. “Hey, Vi, weren’t you supposed to bring some friends with you?”
“They bailed on me,” she says, staring at her manicured nails. “So, I’m sliding into my twenties with the two of you. Better make it fun, guys.”
The good thing about Violet’s visit is— oh, who the fuck am I kidding, there is nothing good about her being here. Don’t get me wrong, I love my sister and I hate that we’re not as close as we used to be, that I’ve missed so much of her life, but she couldn’t have shown up at a worse time.
There was no explaining any of that to her, though. She didn’t know about Pilar and while she probably surmised I was not a fucking club promoter, I couldn’t come out and tell her I had to have a sit down with Victor, or that I was regrouping from murdering a man the night before. To be honest, I’m not sure she would’ve cared. Violet had a one-track mind and all she seemed to care about was partying it up. That and busting Rocco’s balls.
“Why are we here again?” she questions, sliding onto the barstool.
Ignoring the question, I look toward the hostess station, hoping to catch a glimpse of Pilar. Of course, Victor would pick the restaurant she worked at for his sit down. Now, not only did I have to worry about running into her, but I had to deal with my sister too. I didn’t feel comfortable leaving her out of my sight, especially when I’m not sure Pablo’s guys aren’t going to try to retaliate— something I plan to further discuss with Victor when he gets here.
“Well, if you’re not going to answer me, the least you can do is buy me a drink.”
“You’re not twenty-one.”
“If you think I came to Miami on my birthday to be sober, you’re a fool. A handsome fool, but still a fool,” she says as she reaches over and squeezes my cheek.
Peeling her fingers away from my face, I signal for the bartender.
“What are you drinking?”
“Hmm . . . a dirty martini . . . extra dirty.”
“Just the way I like things.”
I turn at the sound of Rocco’s voice and watch as he steps behind Violet’s stool, his eyes leisurely trailing over her bare back. Caught, he shrugs his shoulders as if to say, I’m only looking. Right, and as soon as I leave here, I’m going to go to Saint Bernadette’s to confess my sins.
“Where did you come from?” Violet questions as she takes Rocco in from head to toe. I wonder if it’s too late to fit her for a chastity belt— those things still exist, right?
He smiles at her briefly before sliding into the space next to where she sits and orders her a dirty martini and a shot of bourbon for him and me.
“How about you worry about your dress instead?”
“What’s wrong with my dress?”
“Half of it is missing,” I growl.
“Don’t be lame,” she replies, rolling her eyes. “It’s bad enough I have to sit here and twiddle my thumbs while you two have some fancy dinner. I don’t understand why I couldn’t just go to the club.”
“One, the club isn’t open yet, and two, I don’t fucking trust you,” I tell her, taking my own glass from the bar. “I suppose we should toast you.”
“Yes,” she says, plucking an olive from the little sword dangling out of her martini glass. “Go on, boys, tell me how much you love me and how wonderful it is to have me in your lives.”
Rocco smirks.
“They’re inflating your ego at that dancing school, Bug,” Rocco comments.
“It’s the New York Academy of Ballet,” she corrects, curling her lip. “Not a dancing school.”
Rocco’s eyes meet mine and he raises an eyebrow.
“Isn’t that the same shit?”
One would think.
But I know better than to say that out loud.
Violet smacks his bicep.
“It is so not the same thing and to be clear, they don’t inflate my ego. It’s quite the opposite.” Setting her glass on top of the bar, she spins around to face him. “I’m constantly told I’m not good enough, that I don’t have what it takes to make it onto the stage. I’m five pounds heavier than every girl in my class, and my hips lock entirely too much. My frame needs work and . . . ” her voice trails as she glances over her shoulder to look at me. My jaw tightens as I set my glass down.
“And what?”
“Nothing,” she says with a shake of her head. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”
“Bug,” Rocco calls softly.
“I told you not to call me that.”
“Yeah, that’s not going to happen. If you hate the school so much, why are you still there?”
“I never said I hate the school. They’re only hard on me because they’ve taught the best and if I want to be in their company, I need to do better . . . be better. I will be on that stage,” she says, determination flaring in her blue eyes as she takes her glass off the bar and raises it. “And you two assholes better be in the front row with flowers, cheering me on.”
A smile ticks the corners of my lips.
That’s the girl I remember.
The one full of dreams and will.
This sex-crazed, half-dressed alter ego is nothing compared to that
girl.
Swallowing, I raise my glass.
“To the determined ballerina I have the privilege of calling my sister, may all your dreams come true.”
A smile spreads across her face as she clinks her glass against mine. Before she can take a sip, I press a kiss to her cheek.
“Proud of you, Vi,” I murmur.
“Happy Birthday, Bug,” Rocco adds.
And just like that, I’m forgotten.
She turns to look at him and he winks at her before finishing off his drink.
“We’ll celebrate at the club,” he promises, setting his empty glass on top of the bar. I bite my tongue, letting the sharp threat that sits on the tip of it die and I signal for the bartender. Handing her my credit card, I tell her to keep a tab open for Violet.
Rocco clears his throat.
“He’s here,” he says, looking down at his phone.
“Who?” Violet asks.
“No one,” I reply. “We won’t be long. Stay out of trouble and don’t move from this fucking chair.”
“You know, I was just starting to like you again.”
“I mean it, Vi. Stay put.”
“Fine, but don’t be long. I want to dance.”
Shaking my head, I follow Rocco away from the bar, down a narrow hallway that leads to the back of the restaurant and a room reserved for private parties.
“How much trouble do you think she can get into in the time it takes for Victor to eat a porterhouse?” I question.
Rocco’s lips quirk as we reach the room. He pauses, turning to me.
“You don’t want to hear this, but I’m gonna say it anyway so maybe you get used to the idea . . . I’m gonna marry her.”
“The hell you are.”
“You’ll see.”
Chapter 7
Joaquin
Victor Pastore made an art of everything he did and eating dinner was no exception. He cut into his steak with precision and savored each bite as though it was his last. I sat there watching him, barely touching my food, wondering how long he had left.
Connected (The Pastore Crime Family) Page 4
