Tomorrow I’m going to have to make a pit stop at the bank and take fifty grand out of my safe deposit box to give to my uncle. I’ll look him in the eye, hand him the stack of cash and tell him Mitch’s debt is paid in full.
The guy got off easy tonight.
Aside from the ten thousand he had in the safe and the three gold chains burning a hole in my pocket, he gets to live.
One day out of the year.
No lying.
No cheating.
No stealing.
No killing.
Happy birthday, mom.
This one is for you.
Chapter 4
Rocco Spinelli
Two months later
Tucking my swollen cock back inside my pants, a red lace thong catches my eye. Things were just starting to get interesting between me and what’s her name. I’m not referring to the broad who only moments ago was spread across my desk with her legs wrapped around my head—she was mediocre—but the girl who was under the desk sucking on my cock? She was fucking fantastic.
I lift the thong with my finger and twirl it around. I wonder if these are hers.
Not that it matters, by now the kissing cousins or maybe they’re sisters, I don’t remember—
whatever they are, they’re likely getting each other off in the elevator or looking for some other guy to finish what I started.
Joaquin really has shit timing. He stormed into my office like a bat out of hell, grabbed a clean suit from the closet and disappeared into the bathroom. If only he had waited five more minutes, I’d have gotten us all off.
A grand time would’ve been had by all.
But I suppose he had good reason, seeing as he announced my uncle was downstairs on the main floor of the club. A surprise visit, just what I need.
Grabbing my shirt off the floor, I shove my arms through the sleeves and make my way to the rolling bar. I fill a crystal tumbler with scotch and lift the glass to my lips, taking a hefty gulp. Who needs mouthwash when you got Dewars. I let the amber liquid slosh around my cheeks before spitting it back into the glass. The bathroom door connected to my office opens just as I reach for my sports jacket—heaven forbid my uncle sees me in anything less than a three-piece ensemble.
“You reek of cheap perfume and pussy,” Joaquin sneers as he enters the office.
I roll my eyes. Always so serious this one.
“Sounds like a good time to me,” I retort.
A foreign concept for my pal.
Joaquin wouldn’t know a good time if it bit him in the ass. My right hand takes this club way too seriously. It’s like it’s all he has and maybe that’s true. Being of Puerto Rican descent, Joaquin can never be a made guy. A shame really, considering he is the best damn solider the Pastore Crime Family has. Better than me that’s for sure. He even has the respect of the other crime families—something I’ll likely never have.
Turning my attention back to Joaquin, I smooth a hand over my shirt. I should probably press him to tell me what the fuck happened that required a clean-up crew and the change of clothes, but to be frank—I really don’t give a fuck.
I guess that’s what happens when you’ve reached the end of your rope.
When you’re coasting through life on borrowed time with no real future.
No dreams.
No family.
No woman.
Nothing.
“Let’s get this shit over with,” I mutter.
As soon as I start for the door, my phone starts to ring causing me to pause. I pat my pockets and pull out the offensive device, my eyes instantly narrow at the sight of the name on the screen. Two fucking months later and the sight of her name gets my blood boiling. I lift my head and notice Joaquin’s eyes are aimed at my screen.
Playing it off, I turn my screen to him.
“Why is Vi calling me?”
A man of my word, I never told Joaquin about my night with his sister, a decision I’m still struggling with months later. I was fucked up that night—no surprise there—and I made a promise to Violet when my loyalty should’ve been with the man who made it his life mission to keep me grounded. The shitty thing is, I’d probably do it again. All of it… right down to the part where I made her promise to call me if she couldn’t get in touch with her brother.
Shit.
What if that’s the reason she’s calling?
Closing the distance between us, Joaquin snatches the phone from my hand and sends his sister’s call to voicemail.
“She’s only calling you because I declined her call,” he seethes, handing me back the phone. Drawing my eyebrows together, I stare at him for a beat, trying to mask my anger. See, if he knew his mother took a loan from a sleezy motherfucker like Mitch and his little sister was taking her clothes off to pay that debt, he might be inclined to answer the fucking phone when she calls him.
“Why?” I press.
His eyes narrow into tiny slits and he clenches his tattooed fists.
“What do you mean why?” he growls, losing his patience with me. “Did you not hear anything I fucking said since I entered this room? I don’t have time to entertain Violet right now and she’s only calling me to give her flight information.”
The color drains from my face at his revelation and my chest tightens. I force myself to focus on him and not the memories that taunt me every night since I dropped her on her mother’s stoop.
“Her flight information,” I repeat, forcing a swallow.
“God, you are such a fucking mess,” he hisses, scrubbing a hand down his face. “I told you, my mother is sending her and a few of her friends here for the weekend to celebrate her birthday.”
My eyes widen. There’s no fucking way he told me that. Had I known Violet was planning a visit, I would’ve moved heaven and earth to make sure it didn’t happen. And what’s this shit about Flora sending her—the woman doesn’t have a pot to piss in.
Those memories I’ve been trying to push out of my head surface and a vision of Violet dancing around a stripper pole with her bare tits on display flashes before my eyes.
Christ.
She can’t fucking come here.
I barely survived that night. I had to sleep in the fucking chair because I didn’t trust myself and when we parted the next morning, I felt like I was leaving things unfinished between us. And by unfinished, I mean I was kicking myself because I’d never know how it feels to bury myself deep inside of her.
A knock sounds on the door, pulling me away from my thoughts. Before I can ask who it is, the door opens and my uncle struts into my office like the fucking powerhouse he is. Dressed in a custom-tailored suit, with his gray hair perfectly styled, he’s earned the title of the Dapper Don.
I straighten my shoulders and plaster a phony smile on my face.
Just keep faking it until you make it, Spinelli.
“Uncle Vic,” I say, smoothing a hand over my wrinkled jacket. I step around Joaquin and spread my arms wide. “To what do we owe the pleasure of this surprise?” I ask, pulling him into an embrace. I kiss one cheek then the other—a big fucking show of respect.
“You stink,” he sneers, pushing me away. His eyes narrow as he takes me in. “And where the hell is your fucking tie?”
There was a time in my life when words like that would have wounded me, but through the years I’ve learned to take my uncle’s criticism with a grain of salt. Nobody is good enough for him. I could be decked in Armani with a shiny Rolex on my wrist and he’d find a speck of lint on my collar.
“It’s around here somewhere,” I reply, flashing him a smile. “Let me fix you a drink,” I offer and quickly make my way to the rolling bar. My phone vibrates inside my pants again and I nearly knock over the crystal decanter. Behind me, my uncle mutters a curse before greeting Joaquin. As the two of them exchange pleasantries, I take a quick peek at my phone and shoot off a text to Violet.
Me: Can’t talk now. Are you okay?
Before she can respond to the text,
my uncle clears his throat and I pocket the phone. I grab the glass of scotch and turn to face him.
“I wish you would’ve told me you were coming, Uncle Vic. I would’ve picked you up from the airport, or at the very least sent Joaquin for you.”
I extend the glass to him, but he doesn’t take it.
“Let’s cut the bullshit, okay, Rocco? I’ve been around a long fucking time and if you think for one second I don’t see right through you, you’re sadly mistaken.” The fake as shit smile falls from my face as his gaze cuts to Joaquin. “Joaquin, please see yourself out, I need to speak with my nephew in private.”
Well, shit.
Lifting the glass to my lips, I down the scotch myself. No reason to let a perfectly good drink go to waste, especially when it appears that my uncle is here to hand me my ass.
Joaquin looks at me and gives me a curt nod.
“I’m off. There’s something personal I need to tend to.” I want to believe he’s off to handle the Violet situation, but I’m sure that’s not the case.
“I’ll catch up with you later,” I say.
Once he’s gone, Uncle Vic rounds my desk and takes a seat in the leather armchair. It’s
another power play on his behalf and a move that reminds me who exactly is in charge around here.
Newsflash—it ain’t me.
“Sit,” he orders, pointing to the chair opposite of him. I’m not about to argue with the man, so
I do as I’m told and take a seat. Just as I park my ass in the chair, my phone vibrates again.
Fucking hell.
“You’re probably wondering why I’m here,” Uncle Vic starts, folding his hands on the
desk. Considering what transpired on the very spot, I should probably offer my dear uncle a Lysol wipe.
Shit. Where the fuck did I put that thong?
“The truth is, I had no intention of paying you a visit after that stint in New York two months ago,” he continues, and I forget all about the missing scrap of lace. Mildly confused, I draw my brows together.
“What are you talking about? I took care of things with Mitch just like you asked me to.”
He eyes me skeptically as he leans his back against the leather chair.
“Is that right?” he marvels. “Because I specifically remember ordering you to end that motherfucker if he didn’t have my money.” He cocks his head to the side, arching an eyebrow as he silently dares me to disagree.
Reaching behind me, I cup the back of my neck.
If this guy has taught me anything, it’s to admit to nothing.
Take it to your grave.
“He paid,” I say evenly.
Suddenly, he inches forward and slams his fist against the desk. I don’t flinch, I don’t even blink. I simply wait for him to tear me to shreds like I’ve witnessed him do to countless others. It doesn’t matter that I’m his nephew, no one gets a pardon in Victor Pastore’s kingdom.
“Don’t fucking lie to me, Rocco,” he fires back. “There’s no fucking way that low-life piece of shit had fifty grand in his safe. For some odd reason, you’re protecting him, and I want to know why.”
“I’m not protecting anyone,” I argue. The lie slips past my lips so easily, I almost believe it myself.
Well, I’m not protecting Mitch, that’s for damn sure.
My mind instantly wanders back to Violet and I drag in a sharp breath, recalling the way she looked wearing my clothes. The way she sat on that bed and looked at me like I was something instead of nothing.
Two months—two fucking months have passed, and the girl is still fucking haunting me. Consuming every thought.
It’s wrong to think of her when I’m going to bed or when I’m with another woman, but it’s a catastrophic mistake to have her on my mind while discussing business with my uncle. It’s fucking criminal to have her be at the forefront of the lies I’m spewing to him too. But worst of all, it’s a sign of a weakness.
“I need to be able to trust you,” Uncle Vic sneers, his gray eyes narrowing into tiny slits as he curls his fists on top of the desk.
Though they are deserved, those words pack a punch and aren’t easily ignored. It’s not like he’s criticizing my clothes, he’s doubting my character. My loyalty. I may have had a temporary moment of weakness, but I’ve given this man my fucking life and all he’s done in return is put me down and tell me I’m not good enough. Another man might be able to shrug it off, but I don’t look at Victor Pastore and see a boss. I look at him and see the man who stepped up when my own piece of shit father failed me and my sister.
“If you don’t trust me by now then what the fuck am I doing here?” I ask hoarsely.
Considering my question, he looks down at his hands for a moment and I watch as he mindlessly runs his thumb over the plain gold band he wears on his left ring finger.
“This is a man’s world, Rocco. It’s ruthless and full of sin. Dark and deceitful. All those sins, every lie, it catches up to you in the end. Sometimes it’s you they catch, but other times it’s the people you love that get caught in the crossfire. The innocent bystanders you tried to protect. The ones you tried to love.”
His words are wise, but they don’t pertain to me. I don’t love anyone or anything. I don’t know what he thinks went down that night or what crazy story he’s concocted in his head, but what I did for Violet wasn’t an act of love. I did it as a favor to Joaquin. I’d probably be dead if it wasn’t for him bailing me out of all the bad situations I’ve found myself in. Helping his sister and mother just put me on the board. A single tally under my name. That’s all. So what if my phone feels like it’s burning a hole in my pocket—it means nothing.
She means nothing.
“We all got secrets, nephew. Precious little things we want to keep hidden so that they are ours and only ours, but don’t for one second think any secret is safe. There is no such thing in our world. Our enemies live to uncover them. They prey on them and then they serve them to us when our number is up.”
I want to argue with him. I want to tell him I don’t have any secrets. That I don’t have a single weakness, but I can’t. Everyone has secrets, we all have things we like to keep to ourselves. Things we don’t want to share with the rest of the world because once we do, we lose them.
As soon as I saw Violet on that stage, I had one primal thought…I didn’t want to share her. I wanted her to dance for me and only me.
Until now, I didn’t want to believe it. I didn’t want to think it. I pushed her out of my head whenever I could, told myself it was just one night, and that I had only been affected by her because I was at my lowest. I was grieving. Feeling sorry for myself. Lonely—so fucking lonely.
“Whoever she is, cut her loose,” he says, and I lift my gaze to his.
“It’s not like that,” I reply hoarsely.
“You sure about that? Because you’re fifty thousand dollars is a pretty big dent for someone you don’t have a claim on.”
I don’t respond, mainly because anything I say will be an admission of guilt. He stares at me for another beat before folding his hands under his chin. “You’re a mess, Rocco, a real fucking disaster, but by some miracle of God, you passed my test.”
Still reeling from the fact Violet was deep under my skin, my brows pinch together, and I lift my chin. What the fuck is this guy talking about now?
“What test?”
Just when you think you have the man figured out, he changes the rules of the game reminding you that he’s the boss.
This world isn’t a man’s world.
It’s his fucking world.
Chapter 5
Rocco Spinelli
Dead on my feet, I step off the elevator and make my way to Joaquin’s penthouse apartment. I’m about to knock on the door when it opens and a woman storms out, nearly knocking me on my ass. Bracing a hand against the wall, I catch my balance as Joaquin rushes after her.
For fuck’s sake.
My mind is still reeling f
rom the conversation I had with my uncle and I think I may still be somewhat drunk, never mind it’s too early in the morning for any of this shit.
I stare at Joaquin as the doors to the elevator close and roll my eyes.
He’s a merciless killer on the streets, but the man is a pussy when it comes to the woman who just took off in the elevator. My uncle’s voice rings in my ear and I bite the inside of my cheek as I continue to watch my right hand. Pilar Lopez is undoubtedly Joaquin’s weakness. His biggest secret. It doesn’t matter the girl is all sorts of fucked up, whatever she’s selling, Joaquin is buying and he’s buying in bulk.
It’s pathetic.
“Are you just going to stand there, staring at the elevator doors?” I ask, shaking my head. The motion makes my head spin and I take a moment to try and figure how many hours I’ve been awake.
Too long.
Suddenly, Joaquin spins around and glares at me.
Wonderful.
More hell.
“If you had paid attention to anything but your dick, you’d know her leaving me was a pivotal moment,” he seethes.
What he considers a pivotal moment, I consider a blessing. I don’t tell him that, though. Eventually, when he pulls his head out of her cunt, he’ll realize she’s not good for him. Until then we can entertain the Latin soap opera.
“Leaving you?” I scoff, entering the penthouse. “It’s Pilar, that girl hangs on you like a fungus.” He follows me inside and slams the door. Ignoring his tantrum, I meander to the bar and frown when I note there isn’t much of a selection. “I give it twenty-four hours before she’s at the club, looking for your dick,” I continue as I reach for the bourbon.
Vodka, scotch, and bourbon—some diet I’ve got.
Straightened Out (The Pastore Crime Family Book 1) Page 4
