Straightened Out (The Pastore Crime Family Book 1)

by Janine Infante Bosco

  I don’t like it.

  I don’t like it one fucking bit.

  “Go out to the car,” I order quietly.

  “But—”

  “Now, Bug,” I reply gravely. Shrugging my jacket off, I hand it to her. “Tie this around your waist and go out the back door. My driver will be waiting outside with the car.”

  She hesitates, her eyes flitting from me to Mitch for a second before she reluctantly takes my jacket. Stepping closer to me, her breath tickles my ear as she whispers, “You don’t understand…my mom…” Her voice trails as I wrap my fingers around her wrist. Turning her head slightly, her worried gaze meets mine.

  “I’ll handle it,” I assure her.

  Her eyes search mine for a moment before she ties the jacket around her waist. Hitching her bag over her shoulder, she glances at Mitch before exiting out the back door as I instructed. Once the door shuts, I turn back to Mitch.

  “Rocco…I…I….”

  Ignoring the stuttering prick, I undo the buttons on my sleeves. I take my time rolling them up to my elbows as I contemplate my options. Coming here I knew the odds of me collecting his debt were slim to none, but I’d take whatever the cocksucker offered, drain every dollar from the register behind the bar and then rough him up before telling him he had twenty-four hours to come up with the rest. Then, because Uncle Vic was smart enough to insist Mitch put him as a beneficiary of his insurance policy as collateral, I’d set the motherfucking place ablaze.

  But Violet is the wildcard.

  I stare at the balding bastard, taking in his wrinkled polyester suit and the three gold chains around his neck.

  Looks like I’m taking those too.

  I lift my head and meet his gaze. Already knowing the answer to my question, I ask, “You got my uncle’s money?”

  He swallows, raising his hand to swipe the sweat from his forehead.

  “Not yet, but....” his eyes drift to the door Violet exited. “…she was supposed to help me get it.”

  Wrong answer, motherfucker.

  “Explain,” I demand, reaching behind me for the beretta I have tucked into the waistband of my slacks. Aiming it at him, I watch as he starts to inch backward. The fear in his eyes gets my adrenaline pumping and for a moment I let myself imagine the satisfaction I’ll feel once I end this miserable fuck’s life.

  “I don’t hear you talking, Mitch.”

  “Uh…before things got bad and I took the loan from Vic, I was doing all right. Her mother, Flora, owns the Puerto Rican restaurant on Carol Street, Los something or other—”

  “I’m aware,” I grunt. This guy can’t be this fucking clueless, but I suppose that’s what years of drug use will do to you. “Get to the fucking point.”

  “The restaurant was going under; she was three months behind on the rent and up to her ass in debt. I offered to help her. Gave her twenty grand to get her on her feet. Then a couple of months later things went south here when that Russian cocksucker opened up a strip club on Union Street.”

  My expression stills as I transfer the gun from my left hand to my right hand.

  “What Russian cocksucker?” I sneer.

  “I think his name is Yankovich,” he supplies. “He’s putting me out of business, that’s why I went to your uncle for the money in the first place.”

  Hmm…interesting.

  “Does my uncle know about this other club?”

  “I don’t know.”

  I’m veering off track. This Yankovich guy isn’t my concern, the only thing I care about is the barely clothed girl freaking out in my car right now.

  Keeping the gun cocked, I tip my chin.

  “And what does Violet have to do with any of this?”

  “Your uncle started bringing the heat on me, so I went to Flora and told her I needed the money back.”

  I take it back, he’s not clueless, he’s a fucking moron. A moron with a death wish.

  “Do you have any idea who her son is?”

  He blinks and quickly shakes his head.

  “No, she doesn’t talk about her son.”

  Of course not, because she’s ashamed of Joaquin’s choices. If she knew he was funding Violet’s education, she’d likely demand her daughter drop out of the Academy because she considers every dollar her son earns as blood money. She ain’t wrong. It’s also probably why she didn’t go to him for a hand-out when her restaurant went down the tubes. However, none of that explains why Violet is mixed up in any of this bullshit.

  “Two weeks ago the daughter got wind of my exchange with Flora and came here. She gave me five hundred dollars and offered to dance here until the debt was settled. She’s the best girl I got now.”

  Not a surprise.

  Judging by tonight’s performance alone, Bug was born to dance.

  She was also blessed with an incredible body—one she won’t be sharing with these motherfuckers anymore.

  “That’s a shame, seeing as she no longer works for you,” I say, stepping toward him. “And as of today, Flora Cabrera, doesn’t owe you a fucking dollar, do you understand me?”

  His face pails.

  “What? You’re talking about twenty thousand dollars! That’s not chump change. I’m…how am I going to come up with Vic’s money? You just sent my highest earner out the door.”

  Again, wrong answer, motherfucker.

  “You should’ve done your homework, Mitch,” I chastise. “But don’t worry, I’m gonna teach you a nice little lesson.”

  Chapter 2

  Violet Cabrera

  I want to die right now. Fucking die. Okay, so maybe I’m being a tad bit dramatic, but I don’t think I’ve never been so humiliated in my life and that’s saying a lot considering the first night I danced at Delilah’s Den, I took the stage with tears in my eyes. I wouldn’t let them fall while I was performing, though. I forced myself to focus on why I was on that stage in the first place and ignored the crowd of men cheering for me to take my clothes off. To them I was just a pair of tits and a girl with a great ass, a pretty thing their limp dicks could get hard looking at and fantasize about later on. They didn’t know my story. They didn’t know I took the stage imagining I was performing at Lincoln Center or that I spent ten hours a day studying at the New York Academy of Ballet. And they certainly didn’t care that the only reason I danced night after night at that sleazy club was because I felt obligated to help my mother.

  They didn’t care but the man who saw me tonight did.

  That man—that incredibly handsome man knows my story and he knows my dreams.

  He knows I’m destined for so much more. That one day my name will appear on marquis all over the world and I’ll be a star.

  A prima ballerina.

  He knows because he’s been my brother’s best friend for as long as I can remember and the object of my desire since I reached puberty. And now, Rocco Spinelli, knows what I look like naked.

  Well, mostly naked.

  I often fantasized of the day when Rocco finally opened his eyes and noticed me as a woman and not just Joaquin’s annoying sister and I can tell you for certain none of those fantasies were set in a seedy strip club.

  Chills shoot up my spine as I recall the look in his soulful brown eyes. They were so full of shock before they darkened and narrowed, taking in every inch of my body. The man sitting next to me in the backseat of this luxury car definitely noticed me tonight.

  My mom always warned me to be careful what I wished for, that my wish might come true. Flora Cabrera was a pessimist. My brother says she’s bitter, that she’s been dealt a shitty hand at life and has struggled ever since our father left her. She doesn’t have faith in dreams because none of hers ever came true.

  I agreed with my brother and every time my mother warned me to be cautious of my wishes, I dismissed it. She could spend the rest of her life hating the world, but not me. I’m going to embrace life and wish on every star all while chasing every dream.

  But after tonight, I think she might
be onto something. People should definitely be cautious of what they wish for because one day they might be dancing on a pole in front of the man they dreamed of marrying someday.

  The car rolls to a stop and I reluctantly turn my gaze to Rocco. Since he emerged from the back entrance of Delilah’s Den and slid into the backseat beside me, he hasn’t said a single word, nor has he glanced in my direction. It didn’t bother me so much because I was still reeling from our exchange. I was also worried over how him finding me at Delilah’s would affect my arrangement with Mitch.

  I don’t know what transpired between the two men, but I need to keep my end of the deal with Mitch or my mom will lose her restaurant. And let’s not even talk about what might happen if Rocco runs his mouth to Joaquin.

  All hell will break loose and I’m not sure who will catch more heat—our mother, for not going to him for help, Mitch, for bringing the heat on our mother, or me, for cutting a deal with the asshole.

  Yeah, I think it’s best if we leave my dear brother out of this mess. The thing is, I’m not sure how I can convince the brooding man next to me to agree to that.

  Sighing, I cut my eyes to glance out the window and realize we’re not parked in front of my house. I inch closer to the glass and stare up at the fancy five-star hotel. Snapping my gaze back to Rocco, I point a finger at the window.

  “This isn’t my house.”

  A ballerina and a detective.

  Give me a gold star.

  “No kidding,” he mutters, scratching the side of his jaw. He turns to face me, his eyes sharp and assessing as they drink me in from head to toe. “Much better outfit choice.”

  While he was in the club doing God knows what with Mitch, and the driver stood outside the car waiting for him, I took the time to change into the Victoria’s Secret sweatsuit I wore to the club. It was wrinkled to shit and stunk like stale cigarette smoke, but it was better than nothing.

  I cock my head to the side and glare at him.

  “Glad you approve, I changed just for you. I wouldn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable, you looked like you were sweating back there, being forced to stare at my tits.”

  Normally after a comment like that, Rocco would deliver one of his own. It would likely be laced with innuendo and designed to make me blush even though I don’t blush. However, instead of a flirty, smart retort, he clenches his jaw and reaches for his jacket.

  After I dressed, I threw it on the seat, and it’s been acting as the Berlin wall, keeping us both firmly planted on either side.

  “Bruno will take you home in the morning, before he drops me at the airport,” he says finally.

  Then he snatches the wrinkled jacket and shrugs it on. I try to recall a time in my life, other than his mother’s funeral, when I’ve seen him wear a suit. Before he and my brother took a job with the notorious gangster, Victor Pastore, who also happens to be Rocco’s uncle, he favored sweatsuits. Nike, Adidas, even Jordan and no matter which brand he wore, he completed the ensemble with a fresh pair of Air Force 1’s.

  This look is…different.

  “What?” he snaps.

  For a split second I forget about my brother, Mitch, and my mother’s drama. In this moment, he’s Rocco and I’m Violet, the girl who has no problem calling him out on being an asshole. The girl who is about to tell him where to go and how to get there.

  “Oh, I don’t know, Rocco, you haven’t said two words to me since you entered the car and now, we’re at your hotel,” I hiss exasperatedly. “Here’s a thought, instead of being a dick, why don’t you tell me what the hell happened back there.” He remains quiet and that infuriates me even more. “Damn you, Rocco, this is none of your business. My mom’s restaurant—"

  He cuts me off, piercing me with a glare.

  “It’s taken care of, Violet. Mitch isn’t going to go after the restaurant.”

  My brows pinch together as I stare at him, waiting for him to elaborate. Again, the bastard remains silent. He may be sexy as sin, but he’s the biggest dick to ever walk the face of the earth.

  “I don’t want to have this conversation in the back of a car,” he grunts, swiping a hand over his handsome face. The five o’clock shadow is a new look for him too. “Correction, I don’t want to have this fucking conversation at all, but I definitely don’t want to have it sober.”

  “Well, what if I don’t want to have this conversation in a hotel room?”

  He arches an eyebrow.

  “Scared?”

  “Of you?” I scoff, rolling my eyes. Changes and all, I would never be afraid of the man next to me. I may hate him right now, but I trust him explicitly. I don’t know if that’s a good thing or what, but it’s true. “I’m not scared of you, Rocco.”

  “You should be.”

  There’s truth to those words, I’m sure of it, but I don’t know what that truth is and I’m not sure I want to know. Still, I ask, “Why?”

  He doesn’t respond right away and after a moment, he shakes his head, dismissing the conversation altogether.

  “Move your ass, Bug, there is a fifth of vodka somewhere in that hotel with my name on it.”

  Opening his door, he slides out of the car, leaving me reeling and all sorts of angry. I grab my duffle bag and sling it over my shoulder before stepping out of the car myself. Of course Rocco isn’t there to hold my hand and escort me into the building. He doesn’t even hold the door for me.

  Bastard.

  I stalk after him, following him to the bank of elevators. He pushes the button and I move to step around him, forcing him to look me in the eye.

  “Last I checked, I didn’t answer to you Rocco, so I’m not really understanding why you’re acting like such a dick.” He doesn’t even fucking blink which only aggravates me more. Throwing my hands up, I continue, “So you saw me naked, big deal! I’m sure you’ve seen your fair share of tits and ass—”

  “You’re making a scene,” he growls.

  “I don’t give a damn. You’re acting like an asshole.”

  The elevator doors open, and he shakes his head, brushing past me to step inside the car. Holding the doors open with one hand, he jabs his thumb against the button and pierces me with a look.

  “You done with your tantrum, yet?”

  Glaring at him, I huff out a breath and step onto the elevator. The doors close and seconds later we’re padding across the fancy hallway, making our way to his room. I watch as he pats his pants in search of the keycard. Coming up short, he moves his hands to his back pockets. The hem of his jacket lifts as he pulls the keycard from his pocket and a flash of something shiny catches my eye. I inch forward and my eyes go wide when I realize he’s got a gun tucked into the waistband of his pants. He brings the keycard around and the jacket falls back into place, shielding the gun from my eyes.

  “You’re carrying a gun?” I blurt as he fits the card into the door and pushes it open. I don’t know why I’m so surprised. It’s no secret who his uncle is, and seeing as he does work for him, I suppose it goes hand in hand. Hell, Victor probably gives nine millimeters as Christmas presents. Still, I wasn’t expecting to see it firsthand and it makes me wonder what exactly he and Joaquin do for Victor. To my knowledge they run his night club in Miami, I hardly think that requires them to carry a weapon but what do I know?

  Breaking the cardinal rule of the streets I ask, “Why do you have a gun?”

  “Get inside, Bug,” he clips.

  Ignoring his demand, I cross my arms against my chest and stare at him. He rolls his eyes and mutters a curse, before roughly grabbing my arm and pulling me inside the hotel room.

  It was worth a shot.

  “You’re still stubborn as hell,” he grinds out, kicking the door shut.

  “At least one of us hasn’t changed,” I fire back, tossing my bag onto the bed.

  “Oh, don’t kid yourself, Bug, you’re different too,” he scoffs, moving to the mini bar in the room. Without skipping a beat, he plucks a tiny bottle of vodka from the sele
ction and unscrews the cap. Throwing his head back, he downs it in one gulp without flinching. “That’s good,” he mumbles, shrugging off his jacket. My eyes trail to the gun tucked into his pants, watching as he reaches behind him to pull it out. He gently sets it on top of the bar and reaches for another mini bottle of vodka. This one goes down even quicker than the first and I start to wonder why he’s even brought me back here.

  “You know what, fuck this, I’m leaving.”

  “You’re not going anywhere,” he growls. “The bathroom is straight through those doors. Shower and wash that shit off your face and while you’re at it, lose the fucking attitude.”

  Anger coils in my veins as I stare at his back.

  “What the hell happened to you?” I hiss.

  He unscrews a third bottle of vodka but doesn’t bring it to his lips as he seems to contemplate my question. Setting it on top of the bar, he slowly turns to face me. A muscle quivers in his jaw and the expression in his dark eyes seems to soften ever so slightly as he closes the distance between us. Lifting his hand, he touches a strand of my hair, staring at it like he’s mesmerized by the blonde locks. The intensity rolls off him in waves and my breath hitches when he tucks the strand of hair behind my ear. Our eyes lock and defeat washes over his features.

  “The same thing that happened to you happened to me, Bug,” he rasps. “We fell off course.”

  My mind whirls at his response. He has no fucking idea what he’s talking about. I didn’t fall off course, I did what I had to do. I stepped up to help my family, just like my brother has always done. Just like Rocco stepped up when his mom died, and his sister needed him.

  “I didn’t fall off course,” I argue.

  “So, baring your ass for a room full of desperate men is a requirement for the Academy? Hmm…I must’ve missed that. Tell me, Bug, will you put your stint at Delilah’s Den on your resume as an internship?”

  “As soon as you add gopher to yours,” I hiss. “That’s still what you are, right? Your uncle’s lackey.”