Right…
I might believe that if he didn’t look at me like a starved man. Too bad he doesn’t have the balls to make a move, though.
“I can hear you idiots,” I mumble, plopping down on the couch. I kick my legs up. “And just to be clear,” I start, shooting Rocco a glare. “You’re not my type.”
I prefer a man who isn’t afraid to go after what he wants.
He arches an eyebrow.
“Right, you’re into men in tights these days,” he retorts, a playful smirk playing on his lips.
“Don’t knock it,” I chastise. “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.”
Let me be clear, I’m certain Rocco isn’t carrying a mini hot dog under his dress slacks. Like tights don’t lie, neither do gray sweatpants and basketball shorts. He really should consider going back to his old attire.
“Sort of like when a girl stuffs her training bra with tissues and coincidentally gets caught in the rain,” Rocco retorts.
I cock my head to the side.
Yes, there was a time when I stuffed my bra, but that was a long time ago and we both know my girls have come a long way since then. If my brother wasn’t standing right here, I’d rip my shirt over my head and show him who’s the real boss here.
Instead, I grind out, “Again, I was twelve. 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.”
I am too, just not when I’m the only one doing the showing.
“Damn,” I say, snapping my fingers. “I knew I should’ve stopped at the airport gift shop and bought that magnifying glass in the window.”
I feel my brother’s eyes drilling a hole into the side of my head.
“Who are you?” he mutters.
Peeling my eyes away from Rocco, I smile at my brother cheekily.
“Aww, you missed me, big brother. That’s cute. Now, which one of you is going to go downstairs and get my bags?” I point a finger at Joaquin. “By the way, I used your Uber account to call for a car since neither of you could pick me up from the airport.”
That’s what you get for leaving me stranded.
Amused, Rocco moves to stand beside Joaquin.
“What are we going to do with her?” he asks.
“Fuck if I know,” Joaquin says, glancing at the closed door. “Hey, Vi, weren’t you supposed to bring some friends with you?”
When I first concocted this plan to spend my birthday in Miami, I thought I’d bring a couple of friends with me, but they didn’t have an extra couple of grand lying around like I did.
“They bailed on me,” I admit, glancing down at my freshly polished nails. “So, I’m sliding into my twenties with the two of you.” I lift my head and stare directly at Rocco. “Better make it fun, guys.”
“Of course they did,” Joaquin mutters. “Where are your bags?”
“In the lobby. Oh, and a heads-up, the doorman has a major stick up his ass. I wouldn’t tip him much.”
My brother shakes his head and under his breath he mumbles in Spanish. I’m sure there are a couple expletives in there, but I don’t really mind seeing as he’s heading for the door. Once he closes it behind him, I turn to Rocco.
“That was a nice little show you put on there,” he comments, taking a seat on the couch across from me. “Just like old times.”
“You mean before you saw me naked?”
His heated gaze lowers as I make a show of crossing and uncrossing my legs.
“I got a peak at your tits, Bug, it’s not that big of a deal.”
“You saw my ass too,” I remind him, and his eyes immediately cut to mine.
“What are you really doing here?”
“I told you, it’s my birthday weekend. By the way, I’m still waiting for you to wish me happy birthday.”
“I don’t buy it,” he says, leaning forward. “Tell me you didn’t get that sweet ass into another situation.”
I smile.
So he didn’t forget my ass—good to know.
“My ass is just fine, thank you.”
He studies me for a moment, then nods.
“Keep it that way.”
Smacking his hands to his thighs, he rises from the couch.
“Where are you going?” I ask curiously.
“Home,” he replies, pausing to stand in front of me. “Something tells me I’m going to need all the rest I can get to survive this weekend.”
I smile up at him.
“Oh?”
Blowing out a breath, he shakes his head and fingers a strand of my hair.
“You are trouble, Bug,” he says huskily.
“No more trouble than you.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” he says, lowering his hand back to his side. “I’ll see you later. Dress nice.”
“Oh, I plan on it.”
Actually, I plan on torturing him with the sexiest black dress he’s ever seen.
It’s going to be a good night.
Chapter 7
Rocco Spinelli
Violet’s presence was a hiccup I didn’t need. I was fucking exhausted and still had to deal with my uncle, not to mention I was starting to worry about a possible retaliation attack from Pablo’s men. Even though Uncle Vic had assured me that wouldn’t happen, Joaquin had gotten in my head. The truth is Uncle Vic didn’t know much about Rodrigues. He wasn’t in tune with his operation the way Joaquin was, therefore, he really wasn’t in the position to make any guarantees.
I also wasn’t in any position to make birthday plans for Violet, and yet as soon as I left Joaquin’s apartment, that’s exactly what I did. I had Omar reserve a booth for us at the club and called in a favor to a local bakery.
Then I went home and took a shower. I was fucking whipped, so much so, that I didn’t bother getting dressed. I dragged my naked ass into my bed and tried to get some sleep, but every time I closed my eyes, I pictured Violet’s. It didn’t take long for me to fantasize about that smart mouth of hers and how perfect it would look wrapped around my cock. Even after rubbing one out, I was still fucking hard and I realized there was no fucking way I was going to be able to adhere to my Uncle’s warning.
How could I cut her loose when I didn’t even have her… yet?
About an hour before our scheduled dinner with Uncle Vic, Joaquin called me to tell me Violet was tagging along to the restaurant. With everything going on, he didn’t feel comfortable leaving her at the penthouse and if I’m being frank, neither did I.
I walk into the restaurant and the hostess informs me that Joaquin and Violet are waiting for me at the bar. As soon as I turn the corner, my eyes scan the room and I immediately spot Violet. It appears that my Bug brought her A-game. Dressed in a skin-tight black dress with a very low-cut back, she’s got the attention of every man in the joint—including mine. I wonder if Uncle Vic would mind much if I skipped dinner and took her into the bathroom for a quick game of show and tell.
Clearing my throat, I ignore the tightness in my pants and step behind Violet as she leans over the bar and orders a drink.
“A dirty martini…extra dirty.”
“Just the way I like things,” I murmur as my eyes leisurely trail up her bare back. Her olive skin calls to every part of my body and I almost trail a finger down her spine, but out of the corner of my eye, I spot Joaquin glaring at me. Feigning indifference, I peel my eyes away from Violet’s silky skin and look to her brother, giving him an innocent shrug. There’s no sense in denying my wandering eye…so long as he doesn’t know the filthy thoughts accompanying it.
“Where did you come from?” Violet questions as she spins around on the stool. Ignoring her br
other, I smirk at her and signal for the bartender. I order the birthday girl her dirty martini and two shots of bourbon for me and Joaquin, who rags on Violet about her dress.
“What’s wrong with my dress?”
“Half of it is missing,” Joaquin says.
“Don’t be lame. It’s bad enough I have to sit here and twiddle my thumbs while you two have some fancy dinner…” I tune out the rest of her sentence as a frown ticks the corners of my mouth. While she’s twiddling her thumbs, I definitely won’t be enjoying dinner because my mind will be on her, wondering how many guys are trying to take her home with them.
Our drinks arrive and I shake the thoughts from my head.
“I suppose we should toast you,” Joaquin growls as he snatches one of the shots from the bar.
“Yes,” Violet says, plucking the olive from the little plastic sword with her teeth.
Jesus Christ.
“Go on, boys, tell me how much you love me and how wonderful it is to have me in your lives.”
Yeah, she’s trouble all right.
“They’re inflating your ego at that dancing school, Bug,” I comment.
Must be the men in tights.
“It’s the New York Academy of Ballet,” she corrects. “Not a dancing school.” Her eyes hold mine for a moment and something flashes in those big blue orbs—something that tells me her nights moonlighting as a stripper are long behind her.
A thank you would be nice.
But I like my balls where they are, so I don’t tell her that. Instead, I say, “Isn’t that the same shit?”
“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 turns back to me and I forget all about my own drink as she goes on a tangent. “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…” Her voice trails as she glances over her shoulder to look at her brother.
“And what?” he snaps.
It’s good that he says something because the only thing I can think of is the million different ways I can get her hips to unlock.
“Nothing,” she mumbles, shaking her head. The tone of her voice jars me, and I scrutinize her for a moment, taking in the look of defeat that flickers in her eyes.
“Bug,” I call.
She sighs, reaching for her drink once again and twirls the plastic sword around as a frown ticks the corners of her full lips.
“I told you not to call me that,” she murmurs, purposely avoiding my eyes.
“Yeah, that’s not going to happen. If you hate the school so much, why are you still there?”
Her eyes cut to me.
“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.” Determination flares in her blue eyes and she raises her glass. “And you two assholes better be in the front row with flowers, cheering me on.”
Having witnessed her talent firsthand, I have no doubt Violet will be on a stage—clothed, of course—and when that day finally comes, I’m going to fill every inch of her dressing room with flowers.
“To the determined ballerina I have the privilege of calling my sister, may all your dreams come true.”
A smile spreads across her lips as she locks eyes with her brother and clinks her glass against his. There is no mistaking the pride shining in Joaquin’s eyes as he says, “Proud of you, Vi.”
For a split second, a pang of jealously hits me in my gut and I think of Gina. Sadly, I don’t think my sister and I will ever have a moment like the one I’m witnessing. That being said, as wrong as it may be, I’m glad I didn’t say anything to Joaquin about Violet dancing at Delilah’s.
“Happy birthday, Bug.”
Those three words draw her attention back to me and I wink at her. I can feel the heavy weight of Joaquin’s cautious stare, but I ignore him. The truth is, even if I want to pretend like there wasn’t something brewing between me and his sister, I can’t. I’m starting to realize I’m completely powerless to Violet Cabrera and like I’m going to have to get used to it, so will the rest of the fucking world.
“We’ll celebrate at the club,” I promise as I lean over her and set my empty tumbler on top of the bar. My phone vibrates inside my suit pocket and while Joaquin informs the bartender to keep his tab open for Violet, I pull it out and see a text from my uncle’s bodyguard.
“He’s here.”
“Who?” Violet questions.
“No one,” Joaquin answers. “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,” she teases.
“I mean it, Vi. Stay put,” he warns.
Her eyes shoot to me and I give a silent jerk of my head.
Don’t fucking move.
“Fine, but don’t be long. I want to dance.”
Yeah, I want her to dance too.
Ain’t nothing like it in the world.
We leave her at the bar and start down the narrow hallway that leads to the back room of the restaurant reserved for private parties. Reaching the door, Joaquin pauses and scratches the side of his jaw.
“How much trouble do you think she can get into in the time it takes for Victor to eat a porterhouse?”
My lips quirk slightly as I reach into my back pocket and pull out a tie. Tucking it under the collar of my shirt, I peer at him from the corner of my eye.
“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.”
I say it to bust his balls but as soon as the words leave my mouth, I decide I like the way they sound.
“The hell you are.”
And I like a challenge even more.
“You’ll see.”
Chapter 8
Rocco Spinelli
It’s all fun and games until you’re sitting at a table, sober as a judge, staring at your uncle waiting him for him to keel over and die.
“Quit looking at me like I’m going to drop dead and plant my face in the mashed potatoes,” he sneers, glaring at me.
Great, so he noticed.
Clearing my throat, I tear my gaze away and try to signal for a waiter to bring me another drink, but my dear uncle cleared the room for this meeting and all that remains is his bodyguards.
“I’m sorry, Uncle Vic.”
I think I was too drunk last night to process the fact he was dying, but it’s hitting me now. He’s giving up and I don’t understand why. I look at the barely touched steak on my plate and shake my head.
“If you taught me anything, it’s to fight until the end and here you are—”
“If you’re going to playback my words, make sure you have them right, Rocco. I don’t like to be misquoted. Yes, a man should fight until the end, but it depends on what he’s fighting for. I might not be fighting cancer, but I’m fighting for my family, for my wife, and my girls, and that’s why I’m here with you.”
Yeah, I call bullshit.
Doesn’t he realize he’s going to destroy his family with his death? If they knew he was sick and refusing treatment, they’d hate him.
Setting his fork and knife on top of his plate, his eyes dart between me and Joaquin.
“By now, the both of you have heard what happened at my opening in New York.”
My expression stills as I lift my chin. I have no fucking idea what he’s referring to—shocker.
“Last I heard, you had a lot on your plate, now you’re here. I’m going to assume that’s a good sign,” I say.
Vague, sure, but it does the trick.
“Never assume anything, Rocco, that’s what got your father pumped full of lead,” he volleys.
I can’t fucking win.
H
e smooths a hand over his silk tie, and I notice his handkerchief matches perfectly. A lost trend to some, but a fashion staple for a legend.
“As I told you, the situation you found yourself in last night was no coincidence. However, you made me believe it was you that handled our little problem, but that wasn’t the case, was it?”
Wait…what?
I lift my eyes from his handkerchief and stare at him. First, he surprises me with the whole Mitch thing, now this.
He looks at Joaquin.
“You’re sharp, Joaquin, it’s a shame your mother didn’t get knocked up by one of our kind. You would’ve been perfect.”
Joaquin flinches at the slur just as Uncle Vic lifts his hand and signals for one of the bodyguards positioned in the corner of the room. Like the trained chimp he is, the man crosses the room and reaches into his pocket, handing my uncle Vic a thick envelope before moving back to his post.
Fixing me with a look, he shakes his head.
“You should’ve known what was going on in the club. You should’ve anticipated Pablo before you even knew his fucking name, but you didn’t. You let Joaquin handle it and when I questioned you, you played it off like you had everything under control.”
Sweat beads on my forehead and I start to wonder if he’s planted bugs in the club. Hell, at this rate, he might have me fucking bugged—I’ve been so oblivious I wouldn’t have even realized it.
“Uncle Vic—”
He cuts me off.
“Shut up, Rocco. You don’t speak unless I ask a question and I haven’t asked you shit.”
Biting the inside of my jaw, I swipe a hand over my face. So much for becoming a made man. After tonight, I’ll be lucky if I’m washing dishes in the kitchen of this restaurant.
“Sir if I may—” Joaquin asserts.
“You may not,” Uncle Vic fires back. “I know this idiot has been too busy fucking anything with a skirt and that you’re the one cleaning up mess after mess around here, but that ends now, here at this table.”
He slams his fist down and all the silverware rattles.
Jesus Christ.
Straightened Out (The Pastore Crime Family Book 1) Page 6
