Straightened Out (The Pastore Crime Family Book 1)

by Janine Infante Bosco

  I don’t bother turning around when I reply.

  “My game, my rules.”

  ~*~

  Violet should’ve been done with school long ago. I called her a few times, and every call went unanswered. Tired of waiting around, I decide to check on her myself. I don’t know what the protocol is, if I.D. is required to enter the building, but I’m quickly learning the mighty dollar goes a long way and there isn’t a person in this city who can’t be bought.

  A hundred dollars not only buys me admission into the Academy but also directions to where I can find Violet. Navigating the hallway, I peek inside one room after another until a woman steps out of one of them and stops me in my tracks.

  “May I help you?”

  I turn around to face her, taking in the tightly pulled bun on the top of her and the standard garb of a ballerina. For a second, I try to picture Violet in the same getup, but I fall short. She’s unbelievably talented, no one can dispute that, but staring at this woman, I can’t imagine Violet sporting the same look. Violet isn’t stiff, she’s not prim and proper. She’s wild and dances to the beat of her own drum. I guess that’s sort of how she perceives me when she sees me in a suit.

  Pushing that thought to the back of my head, I offer the older woman a friendly smile.

  “I’m looking for Violet Cabrera,” I reply.

  “And you are?”

  “A friend.”

  It’s the safest answer with all the buzz my name is getting these days.

  She stares at me for a moment and I raise an eyebrow.

  “Violet is very busy perfecting her routine for the auditions we have coming up and I find it very concerning how you are even here in this building. Do you have a visitor’s pass?”

  “No, but the guy working the door has a crisp hundred in his wallet. Look, ma’am—”

  “Ms. Beechers,” she interrupts, her lips twisting in disgust.

  As soon as she reveals her name, I connect the dots and realize this is the woman giving Violet hell. I bite the inside of my cheek, giving myself a moment to decide how I want to handle her. Today has been a fucking day from hell and I’m tempted to unleash my fury on this stuck-up broad.

  “Rocco?”

  Both me and Ms. Beechers turn at the sound of Violet calling my name. Our eyes connect for a brief moment before the color drains from her face and her gaze cuts to the headmaster of this joint. She quickly schools her features and steps to my side. Her fingers curl around my arm as she stares at this Becchers woman.

  “I’m sorry Ms. Beechers,” she says. “Would you excuse us for a moment?”

  She jerks her head tightly and Violet pushes me into one of the empty dance studios.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Well, hello to you too,” I grunt.

  Ignoring me she crosses her arms against her chest, and it dawns on me that she’s dressed just like Ms. Beechers—tight bun and all.

  “How did you even get in here?”

  “Does that really matter? I tried calling you.”

  “I don’t keep my phone on me when I’m rehearsing.”

  I glance at the watch on my wrist.

  “You were supposed to be out of here an hour ago,” I point out, lifting my gaze back to hers. “I was concerned.” Her features soften at the admission and she drops her hands to her sides. Taking a step closer to me, she sighs and runs a hand down the front of my suit.

  “I was off my game today, and Ms. Beechers asked me to stay later to work on my form. With auditions right around the corner, I was really in no position to turn her down.” She pauses, cocking her head to the side. “I didn’t think to call you and I completely forgot about Bruno.” She frowns slightly. “I guess I got so wrapped up in my work I forgot I have someone in my life that cares.”

  She may have forgotten, but I didn’t.

  Not when I was staring down those bikers.

  Not when I was facing off with her mother.

  Not when that asshole took pictures of me.

  Not when Rienzi called a meeting.

  I kept reminding myself I had someone waiting for me.

  Someone who cared.

  I wrap my arms around her waist and pull her close. Bending my head slightly, I touch my lips to hers and steal a kiss. After a moment, I lean back and cup her cheeks.

  “It’s new territory for both of us.”

  All of it.

  My position.

  Her career.

  Us.

  It’s all new and instead of giving us time to get acclimated to the changes, I’m steamrolling ahead without pause. Any sane man will tell you it’s a recipe for disaster.

  But I don’t know that I can stop either.

  The train has left the station.

  The question now—will we keep it on the tracks.

  Chapter 24

  Violet Cabrera

  I should be rehearsing my routine especially after Mrs. Beechers embarrassed me in front of my entire class. The tension was high with the auditions approaching and I was starting to doubt I’d be casted in the production. But instead, I let Rocco escort me out of the academy. As soon as I heard his voice and saw his face, I knew I was done with dancing for the day. I didn’t even bother changing into my street clothes. The fact that he had somehow made his way inside the Academy after I didn’t answer my phone, just sealed the deal. I didn’t care about Mrs. Beechers or the look of disdain she gave me when I told her I was leaving. I didn’t even care about the auditions. All I wanted was him.

  We walked out of the Academy hand in hand and once we were situated in the back seat of the Maserati, he pulled me into his arms and ordered Bruno to drive us to my mom’s house. That wasn’t exactly the direction I saw this night going, but before I could question him on it, he turned to me and said, “Pack a bag, you’re coming home with me for a couple of days and while you’re in there, change into something nice.” He paused, letting his eyes rake over me for a moment. “A dress,” he continued. “Something like you wore on your birthday.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “On an overdue date,” he replied, bringing my hand to his lips. I stared at him as he peppered my knuckles with kisses and that’s when it hit me. For years I crushed on this man and while I loved him for being part of my life, I wasn’t in love with him. But that was changing, and it was happening at the speed of lightning. When something strikes that hard and fast it paralyzes you and all you can do is remain still as it takes over. That’s probably why I didn’t respond.

  It’s also very likely the reason I felt the onset of tears when he draped his arm around me, and I laid my head on his chest. There were no words spoken until the Maserati pulled up in front of my mom’s house. Then, he took my face in the palm of his hands and told me to be quick.

  That was forty minutes ago.

  I know, I know…but cut me some slack. This is the first time Rocco and I are going out together on a real date and after dancing all day, I want to look and feel pretty. I took a quick shower, but instead of blow drying my hair, I let it air dry while I did my make up. When I was done applying my mascara, I wasted another ten minutes pulling every dress from my closet. I finally decided on a red, satin dress that falls to my knees and hugs all my curves.

  Giving myself one last glance in the mirror behind my door, I move to grab a pair of heels, but the thought of squeezing my battered feet into a pair of stilettos is a hell I’m not sure I can withstand. I’m about to swap my beautiful heels for a pair of practical flats when my bedroom door opens.

  My eyes lock with my moms and the heels fall from my hand. When we arrived at the house, I actually breathed a sigh of relief because there was no sign of her car. I’m not in the mood for another fight.

  “Hey, I was just leaving,” I say as I tear my eyes away from her. I walk toward the flats and slide my feet into them. She doesn’t say anything, so I continue to go about my business, fixing the tennis bracelet to my wrist and spritzing my favo
rite perfume behind my ears.

  “Yes, I saw Rocco outside,” she finally comments. That gets my attention and I turn to face her. To my surprise she doesn’t look disgusted, if anything she looks more defeated than anything else. “Can we talk? I won’t keep you for long.”

  “Not if you’re going to tell me I’m making a mistake. I don’t want to hear it.”

  She stares at me for a beat before sighing and taking another step closer.

  “I know you care about him and if I’m being honest, I think he cares about you too. But, Violet, he’s in over his head and so is Joaquin.” She pauses, taking a deep breath. “Violet, I didn’t almost lose the restaurant because business was bad, I got into that situation because I was trying to protect my son.”

  Confusion mars my face as I try to decide whether she’s bluffing or not. If I’ve learned anything recently, it’s that my mother is a master manipulator and everything I thought I knew about her is just wishful thinking on my behalf.

  “A couple of months before I took that loan from Mitch a man came to see me at the restaurant. Your brother was in New York for the weekend and this man—Vladimir Yankovich—propositioned me. He showed me pictures of your brother…things he had done…people he had….” She shakes her head and I narrow my eyes.

  Here we go again with another episode My Son Is A Rotten Criminal, starring Flora Cabrera as the martyr.

  “Spit it out!” I demand.

  Shocked at my tone, she lifts her head and that’s when I spot the sheen of tears glossing her eyes. I cross my arms against my chest and fight the urge to roll my eyes. If Joaquin were here, he’d have walked away already.

  “Anyway, this Yankovich fellow wanted me to set up your brother.”

  Not really buying any of her bullshit, I play along.

  “Set him up how?”

  “A meeting, he wanted me to arrange for Joaquin to be at the restaurant,” she explains. “He told me that if I didn’t comply, my son was either going to wind up dead or in prison and after looking at those photos, I didn’t think either option seemed so farfetched.”

  I uncross my arms and drop them to my sides. That last part resonates with me. I’ve been doing a good job at blocking it out, but every now and then, my mind wanders to the night Pilar was murdered and I struggle. Accepting the man you’re falling in love with—as well as your brother—both, have a price tag on their heads, is a hard feat. As much as I want to discredit everything my mother is saying, I can’t.

  I force a swallow.

  “Back up,” I say, meeting her gaze. “This Yankovich guy—was he a cop?”

  She shakes her head.

  “According to Mitch he’s a rival of Victor’s or someone trying to move in on his territory.”

  Victor doesn’t have any territory—not anymore—everything is Rocco’s. I stare at my mother as I let that sink in.

  Sensing that she has my attention now, she continues, “After Yankovich left the restaurant, your brother showed up and I threw him out. I told him he wasn’t my son anymore and that I didn’t want anything to do with him. I panicked but I thought I was doing him a favor. He went back to Miami the next morning and I was relieved because I figured if he wasn’t here, Yankovich couldn’t demand anything from me or even him. When Yankovich came back I told him Joaquin had left and that I couldn’t set up the meeting. He saw right through my lies and soon enough he got his revenge. The health inspectors started showing up at the restaurant, fining me for things that weren’t even out of code. The freezer blew and the ovens all miraculously needed to be replaced.”

  I remember when everything started to go. At the time, I chalked it up to bad luck and watched her fall apart. Then Mitch swooped in with his loan and things started to look up…well, at least until he came looking for his money.

  “Wait a minute, you’re saying he was responsible for all that? Why didn’t you say something?”

  “You’re missing the point. The only reason I’m telling you this is because you’re about to suffer the same fate.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Violet think about what I just told you. If you think this is over, that there aren’t a dozen men just like Yankovich looking to stick it to Rocco and Joaquin, you’re naïve. They’re going to get wind of you and they’re going to try to use you to get to him.”

  I think about that for a second. I’m sure there is some truth to that, but if my mother can handle a man like Yankovich, so can I.

  “I never want you to have to choose between your heart and your life.” She pauses for a beat. “Now, do you understand? It’s not that I don’t want to see you happy, I don’t want to see you be destroyed.”

  My head spins as I stare at her blankly. There’s so much to dissect—so many questions. Suddenly my phone rings, pulling me out of my trance. I walk across the room to snatch it from my dresser and glance down at the screen, noting it’s Rocco. Silencing it, I shove the phone inside my purse and look back at my mother.

  “I’ve got to go,” I say.

  “Violet—”

  I cut her off.

  “I heard what you had to say and there’s a small part of me that appreciates the concern, but I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.”

  Nothing is going to destroy me.

  I hitch the strap of my purse over my shoulder, grab the overnight bag I packed and head for the door. But in the back of my head a little voice cries out. I wonder if Pilar thought the same thing. Did she think she was invincible? Did she believe love conquered all? What about Grace Pastore? Is she sitting in her mansion destroyed by her husband’s lifestyle? Does she climb into her bed at night and stare at the empty spot beside her wondering what good is life without her heart?

  As soon as I open the door and step outside, I collide with Rocco. Steadying me, he places his hands on my hips.

  “Whoa,” he murmurs softly. “Everything okay?”

  I lift my chin and stare into his eyes. What a loaded question that is.

  “Let’s just get out of here, please.”

  His eyes flit toward the door for a moment before he drags them back to me and takes the overnight bag from my hand.

  “What happened?” he asks, and I immediately spot the tick in his jaw. I know I have to tell him what my mother revealed, but I don’t want to do it here.

  “Nothing,” I lie, silently vowing to tell him everything at dinner. I ignore the pang of dread that washes over me and force a smile. “Now, are you going to wine and dine me, Spinelli, or are you all smoke and mirrors?”

  Like me.

  Chapter 25

  Rocco Spinelli

  Something is off and it’s not ravioli. Nor is it the phone in my pocket that keeps fucking ringing—it’s Violet. She’s here with me physically, but her head is miles away and I’m sure I can thank Flora for that. The woman is like a fucking cancer.

  Tossing my napkin onto my plate, I lean over the table and take the fork out of Violet’s hand. I set it beside her plate and lace our fingers together as she lifts her eyes to mine.

  “I can’t watch you pretend to eat your pasta anymore,” I say. “Something is bothering you and the sooner you tell me what that something is, the sooner we can go enjoy the rest of our night.”

  “Nothing is bothering me,” she argues. “Well, except for the fact that my wine glass is empty.” She eyes the empty

  “Violet, cut the shit. I know when something isn’t right with you. What did that woman say to you?” The last question comes out harsher than I intend. I wasn’t planning on telling Violet I put a bid on a place for her until it was accepted but now, I’m reconsidering that decision, especially if Flora told Violet I paid her a visit this afternoon.

  Sighing, she pulls her hand free and signals for the waiter.

  “I need more wine for this,” she mumbles.

  Narrowing my eyes, I try to read her. My hands ball into fists and my jaw tightens as I ask, “Did she put her hands on you again?”
>
  The waiter lifts the bottle of merlot from the ice bucket and fills her glass as her gaze darts back to me.

  “No, and I really wish you would forget about that.”

  “Fat fucking chance,” I growl, watching as she thanks the water and guzzles the wine. She sets the half-empty glass on the table and leans forward as an exasperated sigh leaves her lips.

  “Does the name Vladimir Yankovich mean anything to you?” she questions.

  The question throws me off for several reasons. I was expecting Flora to be the center of this conversation, but the name Yankovich is familiar and I rake my brain, trying to place why I know the name.

  “Why do you ask?” I question.

  “Well, because whoever he is apparently approached my mother and she thinks there is a long list of men like him lining up to use me against you—”

  I cut her off.

  “I’m sorry, back up. What do you mean this guy approached her?”

  “It was before she took the loan from Mitch,” she explains. At the mention of Mitch, it clicks—that’s where I heard the name. The night I found Violet dancing at Delilah’s, he named Yankovich as the cause for why his business was failing. According to Mitch, Yankovich had opened up a club and was taking all his cliental.

  “He showed my mother pictures of things Joaquin had done and told her that if she didn’t cooperate by setting up a meeting between the two of them, Joaquin would end of up dead or in jail.”

  I’m having a hard time wrapping my head around all this, especially since Flora could’ve told me all of this herself. Instead she called her daughter a mess. But that’s beside the point. This is the second time I’m hearing the name Yankovich. I don’t know who the fuck he is or what his agenda may be, but you can bet the house I’m going to find out and then I’m going to end him.

  I’m still harping on this illusive motherfucker, when Violet goes on to tell me how Flora neutralized the situation and the repercussions of her actions. She finishes with how her mother is concerned that rivals of my organization will come after her next and instead of being fearful, she looks insulted that Flora doubts her ability to handle herself.