“She doesn’t know what happened in Miami,” she continues to rant. “I mean, I may have freaked out a little bit, but I think I handled myself just fine. Sure, I have the occasional moment every now and then, but I push past it.” She breaks from her tirade and narrows her eyes before going on. “You’re quiet. Why are you quiet? Don’t tell me you think she’s right. C’mon, Rocco, I would never sell you out like that. If someone approached me—”
“If someone approached you, you’d be at their mercy,” I say leveling her with a look. I can pretend like it’s not going to happen, that I have everything under control, but the possibility is great.
Pushing my plate away, I lift my gaze back to Violet.
“Are you saying you agree with her?” she questions, her eyes flickering with both shock and annoyance. Before I can answer question, the waiter approaches.
“I’m sorry Mr. Spinelli, I know you asked for a private room and not to be disturbed but there is a man here, demanding to see you.”
Well, well, well, would you look at that—something money can’t buy. Peace and privacy. I tear my eyes away from Violet and turn to the waiter just as the door to the private dining room opens and Rienzi charges in with three soldiers, Carming DeLeo, Dino Romano, and Sammy Bellow, behind him. All of whom are in their late fifties. They tip their chins simultaneously, a show of respect, but I don’t doubt for one second that they can’t stand the sight of me. To be fair, I don’t blame them.
Uncle Vic pulled the wool over their eyes too. When word got out on the street that Uncle Vic was turning himself in, everyone in the family started gunning for power, hoping they’d be appointed the new boss of the Pastore organization. After all, they did their time, some of them did it on the streets, others did it in a cell. No one expected the don’s newly made nephew to take the reigns once the big guy left for the big house.
For the most part they’ve made peace with their capo’s decision—or at least they pretend to. As long as Uncle Vic is still breathing, none of them will object or make a move. But when the man is in the ground, all bets are off. If I let these wiseguys walk all over me now, I’ll end up like Paul Castellano or worse, my father.
I keep my eyes on Rienzi as I swirl the red wine around in the glass.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I sneer, plucking the bottle of wine from the bucket. The waiter moves to take it from my hand and refill my glass, but I wave him off.
“A situation has developed,” Rienzi growls. “Something you’d know if you answered your goddamn phone.”
“You should really watch the way you talk to me,” I say pointedly, as I knock back the merlot. Violet twists the napkin in her hand as she nervously looks from Rienzi to me. “It’s fine,” I tell her. “He works for me, isn’t that right, Rienzi?”
Rienzi doesn’t respond, but before I can press him any further, Violet pushes back her chair.
“I think now is a good time for me to head to the ladie’s room. I’ll pretend to powder my nose while you deal with this,” she says, referencing Rienzi and company. Understanding there is a reason for this impromptu visit, I don’t object. Instead, I signal for Johnny to follow her. We don’t exactly have a great track record leaving Violet to herself in restaurant when there is conflict.
Once she’s out of view, I turn back to Rienzi.
“This better be good.”
“Your uncle is being transferred to a penitentiary in North Carolina the day after tomorrow,” he spats, and I immediately straighten in my chair.
“Bullshit,” I declare. If it were true, I’d know before him. Uncle Vic would’ve called or at the very least he would have had his lawyer call me to inform me.
“He called you six times to tell you, but you decided not to answer your phone for the better part of the day,” Rienzi fires back, shaking his head. “I don’t know why Victor has so much faith in you, but you are going to be the ruination of this family. In case you didn’t connect the dots yet, Spinelli, the fact his transfer was pushed up is not a good sign. There’s a war brewing on the streets and you’re too busy wining and dining some fucking whore.”
I’m on my feet in a flash. The chair topples over as my hands wrap around Rienzi’s neck. He can spew all the insults he wants at me, but Violet is off fucking limits. I spin us around and slam him on top of the table. The ravioli goes flying, as does the wine glasses.
“You might want to rephrase that last part,” I grind out, tightening my hold on his neck. Dino rushes to my side and starts to pull me off Rienzi, but I don’t relent. I’m a man at his breaking point.
“Rocco, son, he’s turning blue,” Dino shouts.
Good.
Let him gasp.
Let him cry.
Let them all fucking realize this is what happens when you cross me.
When Rienzi starts to foam at the mouth, I loosen my grip slightly. I tell myself the last thing Violet needs to see is another fucking death, bad enough I ruined our fucking dinner. As if on cue, I hear her voice sound.
“Rocco, what the hell are you doing?”
I lift my head and turn around to see Violet standing behind me, her eyes wide and trained to Rienzi. I let him go and take a step back. Her gaze meets mine and for fleeting second, I see the horror reflected in them. The same fucking horror I saw the night Pilar was killed.
“Don’t look so surprised, Bug,” I mutter.
Dino and Carmine rush to Rienzi’s aid as he coughs and tries to catch his breath. I glance at the waiter who wears the same expression as Violet and ask him for the check. Violet’s shoulders straighten and she moves toward the table. I watch as she pours a glass of water for Rienzi and offers it to him.
Still struggling to reclaim his breath, he stares at her outstretched hand and back to me. I don’t say a fucking word as the anger continues to flood my veins. He finally takes the water from her and I watch the bruises form on his neck as he forces a swallow. Pulling the glass away from his lips, he lifts his gaze back to me.
“At your uncle’s request, be at the prison tomorrow.”
Not feeling the need to reply, I turn to Violet.
“I think we’re done here.”
~*~
The ride back to my house was silent for the most part. Violet tried to talk to me, but I was still reeling from the shit she dumped on me and my altercation with Rienzi, not to mention the news that Uncle Vic was being transferred to North Carolina. In all the talks we’ve had since that fateful night when he told me he was handing me his organization, not once did he mention a transfer. I almost want to call Bianci to see if he had any knowledge of this turn of events but when I enter the house and see I have a missed call from him, along with six from Rienzi and three blocked calls that are likely from the prison, I decide against it.
“So, that’s it? You’re just going to remain silent for the rest of the night?” Violet asks as I make my way to the kitchen. Ignoring her, I open the wine fridge under the island and pull out the first bottle I see. She steps around the island before I can grab a glass and pulls it out of my hand. Slamming it down against the granite, she glares at me.
“What the hell was that about?”
“I told you not to ask questions.”
“And I thought you knew me better than to assume I’d be your puppet.”
Frustrated, I comb my fingers through my hair. Hand to God, I do not want to fight with her right now.
“Look, today has been a long fucking day,” I start. “I’m not in the mood to go toe to toe with you, right now.”
“Well, that’s just too bad. You never answered my question back at the restaurant when I asked you if you agreed with my mother, but I’m starting to think you don’t have to. Your actions right now are telling me all I need to know.”
“I don’t even know what the fuck that means,” I fire back. “I’ve had one thing after another thrown at me today. My head is pounding and all I want to do is fucking shut down for the night. I don’t want to think
about your mother, or whoever this Yankovich guy is and I don’t want to spend my night analyzing why my uncle is being transferred. I just want to be left alone!”
I want to get fucked up too.
So fucked up that I don’t know my name.
But I leave that part out.
“Then maybe I should leave,” she snaps. “Bruno is still outside, I’m sure he won’t mind driving me home.”
Whether she means to bait me or not, I take it and before either of us can blink, I pin her against the island.
“You’re not going anywhere.”
Fire sparks in her eyes as she juts her chin defiantly.
“I’d like to see you try and stop me,” she spats.
Her nostrils flare and just like that, we’re back to basics—tempting and taunting one another. I don’t know who makes the first move, if it’s her or me, but our mouths fuse together and our tongues take charge of the battle waging between us.
Not breaking our kiss, I grip her hips and lift her onto the kitchen island. Her hands slide up my chest and over my shoulders, pushing my suit jacket down my arms as mine fall to her knees, spreading her legs as wide as her dress allows. Drawing her lower lip between teeth, I tug softly and slide my fingers under the hem of her dress, pushing the material up her silky thighs.
I tear my mouth away from hers and watch her chest rise and fall as she pants and tries to catch her breath.
“Thought you were leaving,” I growl, smoothing my hands up the insides of her thighs.
“I still can,” she counters, breathless. I lick my lips. There’s no way in hell she’s leaving here tonight. In fact, I may never let her go. Her dainty hand wraps around my tie and she tugs forcefully, pulling me between her legs. “But I prefer you fuck me before I go.
“I think we both know you ain’t leaving, Bug. Once we start fucking, we’re not stopping.”
“Got a lot of pent up energy, do you?” she taunts as she releases my tie and starts working the buttons of my dress shirt.
That’s putting it mildly.
“You have no fucking idea,” I hiss, tearing the straps of her dress down her arms. Her breasts pop free and my eyes lower to her hardened nipples that are ripe and ready to be sucked and pinched. She arches her back and I take one perfect bud between my fingers, rolling it softly. A moan escapes her lips and my eyes flit to hers.
“Like that?”
“I’d like it more if you sucked on them.”
Yeah, so would I.
Chapter 26
Violet Cabrera
Dating Rocco was an experience. I mean from the moment we arrived at the upscale Italian restaurant; the staff fawned over him. It was almost as if no other patron mattered but him. They rushed to fix us a table in their private room and as soon as we were seated a silver ice bucket was delivered to our table with a complimentary bottle of the smoothest merlot I’ve ever tasted. The chef came out of the kitchen to introduce himself too and a half hour later we were sampling all sorts of appetizers that weren’t even on the menu.
Everything was delicious—or at least it looked delicious—I didn’t have much of an appetite. My mother’s words were still at the forefront of my mind and even though I was going through my own shit, I could tell there was something off with Rocco too. The banter between us just wasn’t there. But unlike me, he wasn’t afraid to approach the problems and when he asked me what was on my mind, the truth tumbled out of my mouth.
From there a domino effect trickled into our perfect night, complete with a barrage of gangsters interrupting out intimate dinner. At that point I just excused myself, but when I came back, my perfect gentleman of a date had morphed into his alter ego and was choking the living shit out of some Paulie Walnuts wannabe. I’m not kidding—the resemblance to the famed Sopranos character was uncanny.
There was no recovering from all of that and the shit really hit the fan when we got back to Rocco’s house. He was in a bad mood and I know I probably should’ve let him be, but I couldn’t. I had this horrible of sense dread in the pit of my gut and I feared that if I didn’t do something to rein us both back in, we would lose ourselves. We would lose each other.
So I did what I do best—I goaded him and instead of duking it out with words and facing our inevitable truth, our bodies did the sparring. Now, I’ll admit that’s probably not the most mature approach, but tensions were high and we both needed to relieve ourselves from the burdens weighing us down.
Some people go to the gym to work out their shit.
Some go to a therapist.
Rocco and I fuck it out.
He stripped me bare and fucked me with his fingers on the kitchen island until I couldn’t feel my legs and I came loud and hard. But it wasn’t enough. It never is. We moved to the bedroom and before we could fall back on the bed, I fell to my knees and took his cock into my mouth. There was something so gratifying about watching a man so powerful surrender his control. With every stroke of my tongue, he gave me a piece of himself. I couldn’t take my eyes off him—even when his cock hit the back of my throat and tears clouded my vision. It was until he pulled out of my mouth and decorated my tits with his cum that I finally let myself blink. Then he took me in his arms and carried me to his bed.
Apparently, it was my turn to relinquish control. He laid me on top of the duvet and spread my legs wide, settling between them. His mouth trailed up my thighs and his tongue swiped at my slit. It was slow…almost methodical…until her locked my legs around his head. His tongue found my clit and he shoved three fingers deep inside my pussy. I swear to God I saw stars when I came.
Now, fully sheathed, he’s on the verge of delivering me another orgasm and all the things that plagued our night seem to be forgotten. My only wish is for it to remain that way. I’d permanently distance myself from the rest of the world, give up all my dreams, to be at peace with him like this.
“Give me your eyes,” he pants, driving his cock even deeper. His hand moves from the headboard to my face, and he gently turns my head so that our eyes lock. “You look at me when I’m inside you.”
I lift my hips and clench around him. His jaw clenches as his pace quickens and he lowers a hand between us. Toying with my clit, he continues to thrust in and out. Harder. Deeper. My orgasm hits me, and I scream his name, struggling to keep my eyes open and on him while the waves of ecstasy roll over me. He buries his face in my neck and a guttural groan erupts from the back of his throat as he finds his release too. I wrap my arms tightly around him, holding him against my body as he continues to ride out his orgasm.
“Fuck, I don’t ever want to stop,” he says into my neck.
“Then don’t,” I pant. “Let’s stay like this forever.”
He lifts his head, and his eyes search mine, it’s almost as if he’s contemplating if it’s possible.
One can hope.
One can wish.
One can pray.
He lowers his head, touching his lips to mine and kisses me slowly. It’s tender, loving and my complete undoing. Emotion floods me and I hug him even tighter, swallowing the groan that slips from his mouth to mine. I hold back my tears and try to make sense of what I’m feeling as he breaks our kiss and slowly pulls out of me.
That was more than sex.
It was love.
It was commitment.
It was what happens when two people realize they need more than statuses and dreams. It’s the thing people struggle to find their whole lives and when they do, they’re terrified of losing it.
I turn to face him just as he rolls out of bed. My eyes trail to his ass and I watch as he pads to the bathroom to deal with the condom. When he returns, he slips into bed and lays beside me. There are no words and for a moment that terrifies me. Then he reaches for my hand and squeezes it. But he doesn’t look at me. His eyes are trained to the ceiling when he says, “I put a bid on a condo for you today.”
The revelation shocks me, and I quickly sit up.
“I’m sorry�
��what?”
He ignores the question and continues to speak to the ceiling.
“I’ve got this big empty house that only feels like home when you’re in it and still, I put the bid out there because I keep telling myself if I keep you at a safe distance my life won’t bleed into yours.” He pauses and turns to me. “But it’s inevitable, isn’t it? I hate to admit it, but they’re all right. Your mother, Joaquin…” His voice trails and he shakes his head. “Even Johnny, Richie and Bruno. They don’t say it, but I can tell think I’m in over my head and who knows, maybe they’re right.”
I swallow as he draws in a deep breath and sits up. He leans against the headboard and brings our joined hands to his chest.
“My life is a mess, Violet.”
The more he speaks, the more anxious I become. Forget the apartment thing…he sounds like he’s about to end things between us and I am not willing to go down without a fight.
We’re not perfect.
There’s a million red flags and I’m just blowing past them all.
How can I not? How can I let this go when it’s all I’ve ever wanted?
“So is mine,” I blurt. “Somedays I don’t know whether I’m coming or going. I chase a dream I’m not sure I still have because the idea of failing at anything disgusts me. I have a brother who doesn’t pick up the phone and a mother who most days I can’t figure out if she loves me or hates me. Everyone’s life is a mess, Rocco, some people just hide it better than others. But I get what you’re saying. I understand that you’ve got a lot of stress right now, but you chose your path. You didn’t yield to caution, you bulldozed past it and now you’re gonna sit here, after spending most of the night inside of me, and tell me your life is a mess expecting me to what—change how I feel about? Run?”
He shakes his head.
Straightened Out (The Pastore Crime Family Book 1) Page 19
