Straightened Out (The Pastore Crime Family Book 1)

by Janine Infante Bosco

  A muscle flicks angrily at his jaw as he ignores my slur and pads back to the mini bar. Expecting him to pop open another bottle of booze, I roll my eyes, but instead of drinking himself silly, he reaches for his discarded jacket. Draping it over his arm, he reaches into the inside pocket and pulls out a thick wad of money.

  Holy shit.

  His eyes come back to me and he holds out his hand, offering me the stack of hundreds. I have no idea what kind of game he’s playing, but before I can question his antics, he says, “It’s too late for me, but it doesn’t have to be too late for you, Bug. There’s ten thousand dollars here—every dollar you should’ve earned in the last two weeks. Take it.”

  If you come from a neighborhood like Rocco and I come from, where wise guys rule the streets, you are schooled from an early age not to ask questions. I already broke that rule by asking about the gun, there’s no way I’m asking where he got the ten grand from.

  But it’s ten thousand dollars!

  And he’s offering it to me like it’s no big deal.

  Like the stack of hundreds fell from the sky.

  I smack my lips together and stare at the wad of cash in his hand. He’s right, I earned every dollar but, that doesn’t matter. Earlier he mentioned Mitch won’t go after the restaurant, but he didn’t elaborate. As far as I’m concerned that money is Mitch’s. It needs to be or else my mom will suffer.

  I meet his gaze.

  “I can’t take that money,” I say, bringing my eyes back to his.

  “I know all about your deal with Mitch,” he says as he reaches for my hand. Turning it over, he shoves the wad of bills into my palm. “You’re not a fucking stripper, Violet. Now, your mother doesn’t owe Mitch a dollar as of tonight, but should she ever find herself with her back up against a wall and too proud to call your brother, you call me.”

  He closes my hand around the money.

  “Do you understand?”

  Trying to force my confused emotions into order, I glance down at the money.

  I could definitely use the extra cash. Maybe even help my mom with some of the restaurant’s bills—who knows, maybe she’ll start seeing a profit then. I lift my chin.

  “What about my brother?”

  “What about him?”

  “Are you going to tell him?”

  “Not if you listen to me and take the fucking money.”

  He may have traded his Nike’s for a pair of Italian loafers and his attitude definitely needs an adjustment but buried somewhere deep inside of him there are traces of the guy he used to be. The guy I once thought I’d marry, and he confirms it with the words he says next.

  “You looked beautiful up there…” he murmurs, pulling in a sharp breath as his eyes leisurely travel the length of me. “So fucking beautiful,” he hisses roughly, before bringing his eyes back to mine. He lifts his hand and gently brushes his knuckles over my cheek. “Too beautiful for those motherfucker’s eyes.”

  Yeah, crude and all he’s still the guy who makes my heart race.

  The one who steals my breath and confuses me all with a single sentence.

  Chapter 3

  Rocco Spinelli

  The second I gave into temptation and touched Violet, I knew I was fucked beyond measure. Sure it was just a hand to her cheek, but that simple touch burned my fingertips and when I confessed that I thought she looked beautiful on that stage, she gave me a look that seared my black fucking soul. A look that made me forget whose sister she was. A look that made me want to throw her on the bed and explore every inch of her body.

  I realized no one had ever looked at me the way Violet did in that moment.

  Like I mattered.

  Like I was enough.

  Like I was wanted and not for my dick, but for whatever was buried deep inside of me. To her I wasn’t the son of man with a tarnished reputation. Nor was I the nephew of the most powerful man in all of New York. I wasn’t a soldier or someone desperate to climb the ranks of the mob. I wasn’t anything but the guy she spent a better part of her youth following around like a bug.

  I’m a greedy motherfucker by nature. A selfish bastard who doesn’t think twice about taking what he wants and yet, I somehow found a sliver of self-control and turned my back to Violet. Growling, I ordered her to take a shower.

  Beautiful and all, you reek of cheap perfume.

  The softness in her features hardened and I felt relief flood through my veins as her guard flew up. I can handle a disgruntled Violet. I can take her smart mouth and roll with every cheap shot she aims my way because that’s what we do. We push each other’s buttons and mercilessly tease one another.

  We don’t stare at one another wondering what the other tastes like.

  A knock on the door interrupts my thoughts and without a second thought I reach for my gun. The blood rushes to my head as I stand and make my way to the door. Cock-eyed, I peer into the peephole and tuck the gun back into my pants when I realize it’s only room service.

  As soon as Violet shut the door to the bathroom and I heard the water begin to run, I envisioned her naked body under the spray of the shower and downed the last of the vodka. I stared at the closed door fighting the urge to open it, knowing I wouldn’t even bother removing my clothes before I joined her in the shower. The water could rain over me, my suit could cling to me, so long as I had her body against the tiles and my mouth on every inch of her skin.

  It became clear there was no way I was getting through the rest of this night without a little help from my friend Tito, so I ordered a bottle to my room. I also ordered a few things for Violet. A cheeseburger and a Shirley Temple—that should get her blood boiling. Then we can get back to normal.

  Fight it out.

  Taunt one another.

  With any luck, I’ll pass out from alcohol poisoning and her from a food coma. We’ll wake up and go our separate ways. I’ll go back to Miami and she’ll go back to being the good ballerina. I’ll nod my head and smile when Joaquin mentions her, and I’ll forget all about those perky little tits and the way she looked at me tonight.

  The guy parks the rolling cart in the center of the room, and I quickly fish a twenty out of my pocket. Pocketing the tip, he exits the hotel room just as Violet emerges from the bathroom wearing nothing but a towel.

  One day a year.

  That’s all I ask for.

  One day to be the man my mother would’ve been proud to call her son.

  But it seems like the odds are stacked against me.

  Swiping a hand over my face, I mutter a curse.

  “For fuck’s sake, Violet,” I grunt.

  Ignoring me, she moseys into the room, dragging her fingers through her long, wet hair.

  “Do I smell food?” Her eyes light up at the sight of the tray and she basically prances across the room to lift the silver plate warmer. I pluck the bottle of vodka from the ice bucket just as she moans.

  Hand to God, I think she’s trying to kill me.

  My fist tightens around the neck of the bottle.

  “Where are your clothes?” I sneer as I flip a glass over. Making quick work of the cap, I fill my glass to the rim.

  “You said I smelled like cheap perfume, so I figured my sweatsuit must stink too. I can put my blazer back on if that will make you more comfortable, but I don’t carry extra underwear in my back pocket so…”

  My eyes cut to her just as she shoves a greasy French fry into her mouth. Chewing, she winks at me. The girl is playing with fucking fire and judging by the gleam in her eye, she gets off on the flames. I wonder what else gets her off. Does she even know? She’s barely fucking legal. My hand tightens around the bottle as I start to think about how many lovers she’s taken and if any of them knew what the fuck they were doing when they had her underneath them.

  “Fuck this,” I mutter, tearing my eyes away from her. I stalk across the room and grab my suitcase. Tossing it on the bed, I unzip it and pull out a t-shirt and a pair of basketball shorts.

  “H
ere,” I say, shoving the clothes at her. “Put this on.”

  “Looks a little big.”

  “Violet,” I growl.

  “Fine, but don’t eat my cheeseburger.” She pauses and glances at the bottle of vodka. “Oh, who am I kidding, you’re deep into a pity party for one to care much about food.”

  Ignoring her, I drop an ice cube into my glass and lift it in salute.

  “Here’s to you, Bug,” I say.

  May you fucking eat your burger and go the fuck to bed before I make it my mission to find out what gets you off.

  She rolls her eyes and tucks my clothes under her arm, sashaying her hips as she makes her way back to the bathroom and slams the door.

  Good, she’s mad.

  I can handle her mad so long as she’s not wearing a fucking towel.

  Taking a seat in the armchair in the corner of the room, I nurse my drink. The bathroom door opens, and I reluctantly lift my gaze to Violet. A groan escapes the back of my throat. I was better off with the towel because seeing her dressed in my basketball shorts and my treasured Jeter t-shirt is far worse. To really add salt to my wounds, she’s knotted it under her tits, revealing her toned stomach.

  “If the ballet fails you, you should consider joining a nudist colony,” I tell her pointedly. She doesn’t pay me any mind as she drags the rolling table toward the bed. Plopping onto the edge, she tucks her legs under her ass and starts to go to town on the food.

  “So, should we make small talk and make this even more awkward than it already is?” she asks, biting into her burger. With her mouth full, she continues, “What brings you to New York, hot-shot? You only make a visit once a…” Her voice fades as she realizes what day it is. Forcing her food down with a swallow, she whispers, “Shit. It’s your mom’s birthday, isn’t it?”

  There’s no need for me to confirm. She knows and when she places the burger back on the plate, her eyes soften.

  “I’m sorry, Rocco, I didn’t realize.”

  I shrug my shoulders.

  “It’s not a big deal,” I say, setting my glass on the table next to me.

  “I should’ve put two and two together, especially since Joaquin isn’t with you,” she continues.

  “You make it sound like we’re a fucking couple.” It’s meant to come out as a joke, but it doesn’t really meet the mark. I’m not all that funny on a good day, much less on a day like today.

  “Well, you two are attached at the hip.” She pauses. “Can I just say it makes sense now.”

  I narrow my eyes at her.

  “What does?”

  She tips her chin to the bottle of vodka.

  “I was starting to wonder if I should call Joaquin and have him drag you to a rehab or something.”

  I undo the top button of my shirt and lean back against the chair. Her brother wouldn’t bat an eye if he knew I drank myself into a stupor. He’d only ask how bad of a mess I made of things that way he can sweep all my misdeeds under the rug. My uncle is big on appearances, but so is the man he pays to keep me in line and though I’m the one technically running the shots in Miami, it’s Joaquin who keeps me in line. If it wasn’t for him, I’d probably be dead and not at the hand of one of my father’s enemies—because there is a lot of them still lingering—but at the hand of my uncle.

  If he knew what the fuck I really did down there night after night, he’d fucking put a bullet between my eyes. Actually, he’d make me dig my own grave, then he’d put a bullet in my head. Heaven forbid the don himself gets his hands dirty.

  “I know you and your sister are estranged but it might help you to talk to her. If my mom passed, I’d turn to Joaquin because even though we don’t always see eye to eye when it comes to our mom, he’s the only one who’d feel the same loss as me.”

  “You and your brother are nothing like me and my sister,” I scoff.

  Joaquin would cut his dick off for Violet, and I have no doubt this little vixen in front of me would walk through fire for him. If Gina saw me burning on the cross, she’d throw gasoline on me and take the ticket to Hell. She hates me that much.

  “I ran into her today,” I admit and as soon as the words leave my lips, I curse myself. I don’t know why I’m opening the can of worms.

  “I bet you didn’t run into her at a strip club,” she teases, tossing me a wink as she makes herself comfortable on the bed and pops another fry into her mouth.

  Seeing my sister dancing on a pole might be the only thing that can make this night worse.

  I shake my head and bring my eyes back to Violet.

  “She was at the cemetery,” I supply, quietly recalling the encounter. She was kneeling in front of our mother’s grave when I arrived, talking to the stone. I couldn’t make out what she was saying and still, I felt like I was intruding. That’s when I turned to walk away, but something kept me rooted in place. Not wanting to startle her, I cleared my throat and made my presence known. She glanced over her shoulder but didn’t say a word.

  I tried to speak.

  Hello, perhaps.

  How are you?

  Remember me? The guy who sold his soul to the Devil after our mom passed to make sure your dreams came true.

  But I couldn’t find my fucking voice and she quickly got to her feet. I watched her kiss her fingertips and bring them to our mother’s tombstone before turning on her designer heels. She stopped in her tracks, spun back around and took the time to remind me I was a thug that would never amount to anything so long as I let our uncle pull my strings. Then she was gone.

  “And?” Violet questions.

  I shrug my shoulders.

  “And nothing. Gina is set in her ways and nothing is going to change her.”

  “Looks like you’re set in your ways too.”

  I stare at her for a beat.

  “Bug, you don’t know anything about me.”

  She nods.

  “You’re right, I don’t know anything about this guy,” she agrees, pushing the cart away from the bed. She unfolds her legs and lets them dangle off the edge of the bed before continuing, “But I know a lot about the guy who used to wear these clothes.” She pauses to finger the Yankee t-shirt she’s wearing. “In fact, I spent most of my life studying that guy, some might even call me an expert when it comes to him.”

  Intrigued, I raise an eyebrow.

  “Yeah, who?”

  She waves a hand dismissively.

  “That doesn’t matter, you’re missing the point.”

  I reach for my glass and shake my head. She’s right, it doesn’t matter.

  “Seems like you wasted much of your life studying the wrong guy. A poor choice on your behalf. For a smart girl, you’re an expert at making mistakes.”

  “Why? Because I did something to help my mother? It might not have been the smartest decision, but I’d do it again and given the opportunity, I’m sure you’d help Gina again.”

  Again, she surprises me, and I find myself arching an eyebrow as I take a sip of the vodka. So much for getting black-out drunk. I think I’m immune to this shit. Setting the glass between my thighs, I stare at Violet.

  “What do you know about me helping Gina?”

  “I know after your mom died you went to your uncle for help and that’s how you and Joaquin started working for him. You needed help burying her and you wanted to make sure your sister went to college, that she got a degree and followed her dreams.”

  I swallow.

  Alright, so maybe she is an expert.

  “Your intentions were good, but I think you got lost along the way. I think you became too wrapped up in proving to the world that you weren’t your father’s son—”

  I cut her off.

  “But I am.” I move the glass from between my legs and stand. “I am Rocco Spinelli Jr. I’ve got his looks, his blood, and his drive to fuck everything he touches. You’d be wise not to forget that, Bug.”

  She frowns.

  “And you’d be wise to stop calling me that ridiculous n
ickname, especially after tonight.”

  “Just because I’ve seen your tits doesn’t change anything.”

  Lies.

  It changes everything.

  “I already told you, I’m not afraid of you.”

  “And why is that?”

  “You might not know who you are, but I do. You’re the guy who stalks after a girl once she’s humiliated herself and makes sure she’s okay. You’re the guy who settles the score that put her in that position in the first place. The one who promises to keep her secret from her brother, the man he considers a brother himself. You’re the guy grieving his mom. The guy who misses his sister. The guy who struggles every day to please his uncle because he’s terrified of becoming his father. You’re Rocco, the guy who used to crash on my mom’s couch and eat all the leftover empanadas. There’s nothing to fear about that person.”

  I remain quiet as I stare at her.

  That’s the thing about the youth, they’re so fucking naïve. They see what they want and not what’s right in front of them. The guy she knows doesn’t exist, he died a long time ago and the man standing in front of her is walking time bomb.

  “You should get some sleep.”

  “What about you?” she asks, eyeing the mostly full bottle of vodka. It doesn’t seem all that appealing anymore.

  “I’m going to take a shower.”

  Then as I push the rolling cart out of my way, I pause—the same way I did at the cemetery. I turn to Violet, and despite my better judgement, I lift the back of my hand to her cheek.

  “Become an expert in something else, Bug,” I say hoarsely.

  Something worthy.

  I drop my hand from her face, and I make my way to the bathroom where her clothes sit in a pile on the floor. I kick the door shut, lock it and stumble slightly as I bend to pick up her stuff. Setting it on top of the vanity, I lift my head and stare at my reflection in the mirror. I try to see what she sees. I stare and I stare hard, hoping to catch a glimpse of him.

  The youth may be naïve, but it’s the seasoned that cling to hope.

  Raising my hand, I lay my palm on the mirror, covering my face from my view. My phone rings inside my pocket and I close my eyes. Forcing my head back into the game, I drop my hand from the mirror and reach for my phone. My uncle’s number flashes across the screen and I silence the call. When it stops ringing altogether, I dismiss the notification. I call the airline and change my flight to a later one.