But nothing chases a hangover better than another drink.
Turning to Joaquin, I raise my glass.
“Now put some fucking clothes on, motherfucker. I’m about to flip your world upside down and I prefer to do it without your junk staring me in the face.”
He hesitates for a moment before finally disappearing into his bedroom. I knock back my drink, draining the glass.
“That’s good,” I mutter, licking my lips. “Have another? Why, thank you, I think I will.”
As I refill my glass again Joaquin enters the living room. I set the decanter on the bar and tip my chin to the row of crystal glasses beside it.
“You should probably pour yourself a drink,” I advise.
“It’s eight o’clock in the morning,” he growls.
Shrugging my shoulders, I lift the glass to my lips. “It’s five o’clock somewhere.” I pause. “On second thought, don’t drink.” He’s already licking his wounds over Pilar and I need his head screwed on straight. “One of us should have a clear head, and seeing as I haven’t slept in, oh, forty-eight hours, I’m going to elect you to be that person.”
Let’s not mention, I’m currently seeing two of him.
“Look, I’m not in the mood—”
I cut him off, lowering my glass. It doesn’t matter if he’s in the mood to hear what I have to say, he needs to know.
“Uncle Vic is dying,” I blurt.
As soon as those four words leave my lips, I cringe. After my uncle went on a tangent about trust and made me dig into my actions regarding Violet, he revealed the reason behind his surprise visit. Cutting my eyes to the amber liquid sloshing around in the glass, I try for a little more finesse as I elaborate, “Stage four cancer.”
It still doesn’t seem real.
I thought he was pulling my leg, that telling me he was dying was part of the test he kept singing my praises about. He looked fine, the epitome of a gentleman. Dressed to the nines, not a hair out of place… a vision of health.
Appearances, man.
They’re the biggest misconception of all.
“No one knows and apparently, he has no intention of telling anyone,” I continue, shaking my head slightly. I think that surprised me more than the fact he was dying. He’s a man who prides himself on family. When he wasn’t cutting people at the knees with his sharp tongue, or wreaking havoc on the streets, he’s home, loving on his family.
“What about Grace?” Joaquin questions and I picture my aunt. If there was ever a woman meant to ride the waves of the mob, it was my mother’s sister. She took hit after hit without batting an eyelash. Raised her two daughters in the shadows of my uncle’s criminal empire and never once complained. I guess that’s what happens when you love unconditionally.
I shake my head.
She’s going to be devastated.
“Adrianna and Nikki?” Joaquin asks.
Fuck.
His daughters.
I didn’t even think what this would do to them.
Anthony Bianci, Adrianna’s on again off again lover and Uncle Vic’s former enforcer, better be bulking up because his arms are going to need to be huge to shoulder all the carnage Vic’s death is about to leave behind.
Sighing, I glance at Joaquin.
“What part of no one don’t you understand?” Draining my glass, I cross the room and lower myself onto the couch. I rub my temples as Captain-Not-So-Obvious tries to make sense of what I’ve just told him.
“So that’s why he’s here,” Joaquin says, taking the seat across from me.
I drop my hands away from my face and consider his words.
“I suppose that has something to do with it. He wants to have dinner with the both of us tonight.”
My eyes slice to him.
In between revealing he was dying and flipping my fucking world upside down, Uncle Vic revealed why Joaquin needed a change of clothes and clean-up crew—something I should’ve asked about myself, but I was too busy trying to bleach his sister from my mind with those two broads to give a flying fuck that my right hand had just offed one of Miami’s prominent drug lords.
“I need you to tell me what happened with Pablo Rodriguez. You don’t just off a fucking guy like that and not tell me about it. All you said was there was a problem and the next thing I knew, you were changing your clothes, but I don’t remember seeing any blood, so what kind of problem was there?”
The shock of Uncle Vic’s imminent passing wears and he clucks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, fixing me with a glare.
“First off, don’t fucking talk to me like I’m beneath you. I don’t give a fuck about bloodlines—we both know I do a fuck of a lot more around here than you do and if it weren’t for me, you’d be fucking dead.”
I’m the first to admit that, this we know—just never to him.
“Should I tell you where you’d be if it weren’t for me?” I counter, cocking my head to the side. It’s a low blow but with my uncle having one foot in the grave, it might be time I step up. Take charge of my own life and stop acting like a scorned bitch. Show the world who the fuck I am and what I’m capable of—I might need some sleep first, but after that, it’s on.
But before I commit to changing the underworld, I’m going to need Joaquin to explain why he wasn’t the least bit concerned by the fact a guy like Rodriguez got past the front door of Temptations. If there is one thing we’ve been groomed not to tolerate, it’s drugs. We don’t deal them, and we don’t do them. It’s not Uncle Vic’s style and that’s fine by me, seeing as how drugs ruined my fucking father.
Grinding his teeth, Joaquin leans his elbows on his knees.
“I didn’t know Pablo was even in the club until Miguel came to me and told me Pilar was unresponsive in one of the VIP booths.”
Fucking Pilar.
That woman is a cancer in her own right.
“I immediately took her off the floor and brought her downstairs, he gave her a shot of Narcan, and I played back the surveillance tapes. Luckily, Rodriguez is a greedy motherfucker and stuck around after he sold to her. I knocked his two guys out and grabbed him when he was taking a piss, his dick was still in his hand when I dragged him to the basement. You want to know his last words too?”
I swipe a hand over my face.
Weakness…it’s real.
Palpable.
Festering inside the man in front of me.
“I’m sorry, should we grieve the motherfucker who was dealing drugs in our club and nearly killed my girlfriend?”
No, we should be worried about why he was there in the first place.
We should be fucking terrified as to how Pablo knew Pilar was the perfect target.
“Wait, maybe I should’ve paused before I pulled the trigger and asked your permission,” he sneers.
That’s not how this thing between us works. I may be higher on the chain of command, but this has always been a partnership. I climb the rungs of the ladder and he holds it steady.
“For fuck’s sake, Joaquin, I’m not fucking busting your balls for taking him out. You should’ve seen Uncle Vic’s face—he lit up like a Christmas tree. He was so proud and thanks to you, I’m nephew of the year and—”
He cuts me off, his eyes narrowing into tiny slits.
“What are you talking about? How did Vic know?”
Leaning back against the leather cushions, I spread my arms along the back of the couch.
Like I said, he’s got his head so far up Pilar’s cunt, he can’t think straight. If that ever happens to me, put me out of my misery. A clean shot to the fucking head. Right between the eyes. Please and thank you.
“Did you ever stop to ask yourself how Pablo was allowed into the club?” I ask.
He considers the question for a moment.
“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.”
I shake my head.
“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,” he repeats. “Why the fuck would he test us?”
I asked myself the same question, but then it all started to click for me. When a man like Uncle Vic gets diagnosed with a terminal disease, he doesn’t grieve his life or cry woe is me. He swallows his bad karma and makes a plan so that long after he’s left this world, his mark remains. I have no doubt that the man is cleaning house, deciding who gets lowered into a shallow grave and who makes rank. After he caught wind of that shit with Mitch, he probably had me on his hit list—hence this last stint of his. He needed proof I was worthy of a place in his organization.
“Bro,” I call, forcing Joaquin’s eyes back to mine. “I don’t know for sure, 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.”
It makes sense. After all, whoever Uncle Vic chooses as his successor will need a fucking army of men behind him. The five families are all going to be gunning for a piece of the pie. The streets are going to be a war zone as they all try to claim the Pastore territory and blood will be shed.
“Wait a minute,” Joaquin says. “When you say Victor set us up with Pablo, what does that mean?”
He must’ve not heard the part where I said there’s a possibility of me becoming a made man.
“He put his name on the list to see how I’d handle having a well-known drug dealer on my turf,” I explain, huffing out an exasperated breath. “You know how he feels about drugs.”
I stare at him for a beat, gauging his reaction, waiting for him to fit all the pieces.
“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?”
For crying out loud, he’s worse off than I thought.
“Uncle Vic has no idea who Pilar is,” I snap. He needs someone to drum the hard truth into his thick skull and luckily for him, I’m feeling generous. “Man, get that shit out of your head. You’re looking for someone to blame when the truth is, Pilar is 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 doesn’t respond. I inch forward, keeping my eyes on him as he silently works out the shit in his head. Christ.
“Fuck, you’re in love with her,” I exclaim. His eyes cut to me and an unfamiliar expression slices through his features. Despair. Guilt. Regret.
“She was pregnant.”
And you people wonder why I always got a drink in my hand.
“What do you mean, was?”
“She had an abortion.”
Secrets.
We’ve all got them.
“Jesus, man, and you said not to drink this early,” I grunt.
Before I make matters worse and ask him if he’s sure the baby was even his, I push myself off the couch and cross the room. I fix myself another refill and take a hefty gulp. I’m going to need a liver transplant soon.
Turning back to him, I choose my words carefully, sensing he’s at the end of his rope. I don’t have much experience with this side of Joaquin, and I can’t afford for him to suddenly grow a conscience.
“I’m guessing you wanted her to keep it?” I ask. The sooner we address whatever this is, the quicker we can lay it to rest.
Tearing his eyes away from me, he shakes his head and glances down at his hands.
“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.”
His confession knocks me off-kilter. As long as I have known him, he’s never shared a desire to be a father. I mean, until this very moment, I wasn’t sure he even cared about Pilar. I thought she was just a warm body, someone who ignored the blood on his hands because she carried her own demons. A woman who welcomed his darkness because it overshadowed hers. I didn’t realize there was a part of him that may have wanted a future with her.
“A baby doesn’t fit in this life,” he rasps.
No, it fucking doesn’t.
Hell, I’m living proof that there are grave consequences to a child born into this lifestyle. However, I don’t think telling him that will do any good, so I try a different approach.
“Would a child have fit into Pilar’s life? She needs to get straight, man,” I remind him. No man should harbor guilt over something he can’t fully control.
“Maybe she would’ve,” he argues. “She was clean from the minute she found out.” He pauses, then clears his throat. “It doesn’t matter. We’re done.”
I bite the inside of my cheek, trying to find the words he so desperately needs to hear, but I fall short. Nothing I say will help him. That’s not the dynamic between us. I’m not the guy people go to for sound advice. I’m the one people turn to when they need a reminder that their life could be worse.
“We need to put a plan in place should any of Pablo’s men feel the need to retaliate,” he says, changing the subject.
“According to Vic, that won’t be a problem,” I assure him.
He arches an eyebrow.
“And why is that?”
I probably should’ve asked that question. Before I can admit that I have no fucking idea, there is a knock on the door. My eyes slice in that direction as the pounding grows louder.
“You expecting any visitors?” I question as Joaquin cuts across the room. He peers into the peephole then looks over his shoulder and points to the painting of the New York skyline that hangs on the wall, covering a safe.
Knowing he keeps his gun locked in there, I waste no time and reach behind me to retrieve mine. Pulling back the safety, I cock my gun and jerk my head, giving him the signal that I’m ready to fire.
He pulls open the door just as I take another step closer, wrapping my finger around the trigger.
However, it’s not one of Pablo’s men looking to blow our brains to bits. It’s Violet.
“Don’t shoot!” she shouts, holding up her hands to block her stunning face.
Fuck me.
Chapter 6
Violet Cabrera
I should’ve realized something was up when my brother ignored all my calls and Rocco—who doesn’t text ever—shot me a text saying he couldn’t talk. Instead, I boarded a plane and when no one showed to pick me up from the airport, I logged into my brother’s Uber account and ordered myself a ride. The whole ride here, I planned on how I was going to rip them both new assholes, but apparently, I should’ve been practicing how to dodge a bullet.
“Violet.”
The sound of Rocco’s shocked voice causes me to peel my hands away from my face. Our eyes connect as he lowers the gun he’s got aimed at my head.
How fucking considerate of him.
I look at my brother, then back to Rocco, my gaze lingers on the gun he’s still holding.
“Put that shit away,” Joaquin orders as he pulls me into the apartment. He moves to kick the door closed but I don’t turn around to acknowledge him, I’m too enthralled by the disheveled man still holding the gun.
In the last two months I can’t tell you how many times I’ve replayed that night over in my head or how many times I wanted to pick up my phone to call him. Those were the times I reminded myself we didn’t have a relationship like that, though. Rocco and I didn’t call each other to check in or shoot the shit.
So what if he sort of rescued me that night.
So what if he called me beautiful.
It didn’t mean anything—not to him.
He proved that much when he dropped me on my mother’s doorstep like I was a bag of laundry that
needed washing.
“Vi, what are you doing here?” my brother questions. “Why didn’t you call me?”
That last question snaps me out of my trance and my gaze cuts to him.
He’s got to be kidding me.
“Why didn’t I call you? I’ve been calling you both for two days!” I hiss.
Okay, so I’ve been calling my brother for two days, I only started calling Rocco last night after I began to wonder if Joaquin was going to leave me stranded at the airport—he did by the way. I look from Rocco to my brother, narrowing my eyes. “I guess you’ve been too busy shooting shit to answer me, though.” I meet Rocco’s gaze, cocking my head to the side as I stare at him. “I’ve never had a gun pointed at me before. You really know how to welcome people.”
“Glad you enjoyed it, Bug,” he quips, flashing me an easy smile.
It’s such a rare sight that it temporarily becomes my undoing and I lose all train of thought. His gaze slowly rakes over me just as it did that night, only this time it feels like he’s undressing me with his eyes.
“Don’t call me that,” I snap, feeling a blush creep across my cheeks.
“You never used to mind,” he argues, causing my eyes to narrow.
When I was a kid, I didn’t mind at all. I was desperate for his attention and would’ve answered to just about anything. Back then, I even found it endearing—not so much now that I’m adult. I thought I made that clear.
“I’m not twelve anymore, Rocco.”
“Yeah, I noticed,” he volleys, licking his lips.
My cheeks flame even more. I’m certain he’s fucking with me, I’m just not sure why, but it’s time to turn the tables. Rocco Spinelli needs to be taken down a notch or two. But before I can get my jabs in, my brother appears between us.
“What’s going on here?” he questions.
Shoving his hands into the pockets of his pants, Rocco shrugs and tears his gaze away from me.
“What are you talking about?”
“I’ll kill you,” Joaquin warns.
Rocco chuckles.
“Relax.” I’m just busting balls, besides….” His voice trails as he turns and lowers his voice. “I’d never fuck with your sister.”
Straightened Out (The Pastore Crime Family Book 1) Page 5
