“If that’s all…” His voice fades and I lift my head.
“Actually, I wanted to ask you a question. Does the name Vladimir Yankovich ring any bells?”
Uncle Vic’s eyebrows knit together.
“The Russian?” he scoffs, dismissing the name with a wave of a hand. “He’s a cunt. Years ago, he tried to make a name for himself. He’s all about drugs so you know how that went. It makes sense with me being in here, that he would try to make another play.”
“Maybe he’s not a cunt no more,” I suggest. “Guys got a big operation according to Mitch.”
“And you’ve got an empire,” he volleys, glaring at me. “Get rid of him.”
I open my mouth to argue, but the words die on my tongue as the guard calls out, “Time’s up Pastore, wrap it up.”
Uncle Vic turns his head slightly, eyeing the correctional officer for a moment before he drags his gaze back to mine.
“Well, this is it, kid,” he says. “There’s never enough time is there?”
That familiar tightness in my throat returns and it threatens to suffocate me. The minute he walks out of this room, I’m a changed man. I’m no longer the acting boss of the Pastore family. I’m the motherfucking don.
Swallowing, I do my best to remain cool, calm, and collected.
“I suppose there’s not,” I reply hoarsely.
“Do me a favor?”
“Of course.”
The legs screech across the linoleum and he pauses, bracing both hands on the edge of the table before he stands.
“One more thing,” he starts, and I lift my eyes to his. “In your rise to power, don’t forget to make a life for yourself. In the end, you’ll regret it. You’ll wish you had more time to love and be loved.”
He winks at me and as he walks away, I realize two of the most powerful men I’ll probably ever know, have given me somewhat of the same advice.
It’s not the power that makes the man.
It’s what he goes home to.
It’s his heart.
Luckily, I found mine in the nick of time.
Chapter 28
Rocco Spinelli
Walking past the barbed wire fence that cages in the federal prison, I reach for my pack of smokes. As I pull a single cigarette out with my teeth, I think about Uncle Vic’s parting words. But I don’t dwell on them, I don’t have a chance because Rienzi is standing beside my car with his usual posse of old timers behind him. I wonder if Uncle Vic expects me to whack these guys too. I’m not against it. In fact, wiping the slate clean and starting anew may be the way to go. That saves me the hassle of looking over my shoulder and trying to decipher who I can trust and who is sharpening the knife to stick in my back.
Tossing the cigarette onto the asphalt, I crush it with the sole of my Italian loafer and fix Rienzi with a glare.
“What are you doing here?” I question.
“We’ve got a problem,” he declares.
That seems to be his favorite phrase or the only one he fucking knows. Makes you wonder if all these so-called problems are even real. I keep my eyes on Rienzi as I unbutton the top two buttons of my dress shirt.
“You going to elaborate, or should I guess what the fuck the problem is?”
“Micky won’t sign the papers,” he replies.
When Uncle Vic’s plan became public knowledge and Rienzi took the role of my acting underboss, he and I were going through the list of people who held outstanding debts to Uncle Vic. Micky was on the list. The guy owns a garden center in Staten Island. It’s a total fucking failure and his books are in the red. But there’s potential in every fucking disaster and that’s exactly why I paid Micky a visit and told he had ten days to pay his debt otherwise he’d have to sign the business over to me. Sure as shit, ten days came and went and the motherfucker didn’t have my money. I couldn’t just push Micky out. I needed a paper trail in case the cops decided to break my balls. So, I got on the phone with my lawyer, David Schwartz, and had him draw up the papers.
All Micky needs to do is sign on the fucking dotted line. His debt gets squashed and I get a legit business out of the deal. Not to mention access to the landfill—a perfect opportunity to get rid of waste, like Rienzi’s body when I’m done with him.
Cracking my knuckles, I brush past him and start for my car. With Bruno driving Violette to and from the Academy, Johnny is acting as my chauffer today. He quickly rushes to open the back door as I pause and glance back at my soon-to-be dead underboss.
“Micky’s going to have to wait until after I meet with my sister,” I say more to myself than to anyone else. Christ, if there’s anything I dread, it’s any kind of meeting with Gina. But I’ve put it off for too long. Come to think of it, as my acting underboss, Rienzi should’ve warned me that she could be in danger. Actually, he should’ve taken the initiative and already have a guard placed on her. And while we’re at it, he should’ve realized I moved Violet in with me and demanded she have security detail too.
“Starting tomorrow I want Johnny guarding my sister at all times,” I tell Rienzi before slicing my eyes to Johnny. It should be noted the poor bastard looks livid. I don’t blame him. He’s going to have his fucking hands full. “You’re gonna have to make yourself scarce until I can get her to agree to a bodyguard.”
“Great,” Johnny mutters. “Not a hard feat for someone who is six- three and two hundred and twenty pounds. She’ll never know I’m there.”
My lips quirk at his dry sense of humor before I drag my focus back to Rienzi, continuing to dish out orders. “And I want Richie shadowing Violet”
His eyes narrow.
“The dancer?”
This motherfucker.
Keep digging your grave.
“My girlfriend.”
Rienzi’s shoulders straighten.
“I didn’t realize—”
I cut him off.
“Of course you didn’t. I like to think if you had, you wouldn’t have called her a fucking whore,” I say pointedly, turning my back to him. I pat Johnny on the shoulder and slide into the backseat of his Mercedes. Once I’m situated, Johnny closes the door and I roll down the tinted window. Rienzi bends to meet my gaze. “I’ll meet you at Mickey’s at six o’clock.”
I don’t give him a chance to respond. Instead, I dismiss him by rolling up the window. Johnny gets behind the wheel and his eyes find mine through the rearview mirror.
“Everything okay, boss?”
Leaning against the plush leather, I pull another cigarette out and quickly light it. I take the first pull and blow out a ring of smoke before meeting his concerned eyes.
“You can’t trust anyone,” I say.
“You can trust me.”
He pops open the console and twists in his seat, handing me my gun.
“It’s locked and loaded.”
Maybe I can trust him.
There’s always one good egg.
~*~
“What the hell are you doing here? Gina hisses, tightening her grip on the door.
Rolling my eyes, I rake my fingers through my messy hair.
“Nice to see you too, sis. Now, let me in or I’ll start a scene and we both know you’re too proud to be the talk of your apartment complex.”
“I’m on my way out,” she argues.
“Not anymore,” I clip, pushing open the door. She huffs out a breath as I stride past her and into the apartment.
“Look, I don’t know how long you’re in town for, but call my office tomorrow and maybe we can catch up before you go back home.” I quirk an eyebrow.
I find it hard to believe she has no idea I’ve been in New York for a while now. After all, my mug was on the front page of the papers for a solid three days. But never mind that—did she just make a civil attempt to ‘catch up’?
“You want me to call your office,” I say, unbuttoning my suit jacket. I shove a hand into my pocket and narrow my eyes. I’m not taking the bait, sis. Not this time. “Look at you, all gro
wn up, thinking you’re holier than thou.” I pause and cock my head to the side as I bite the inside of my cheek. “I wonder if mommy would be proud of the little bitch you became.”
“I’m sure as proud as she’d be knowing you became a low-class thug,” she sneers.
Ah, that’s what I thought.
Gina doesn’t have a shred of decency when it comes to me. All that talk about catching up is just a pathetic attempt to make me leave.
“I’m sure,” I agree. “I didn’t comer here to catch up, lil’ sis, and contrary to popular belief, I didn’t come here to swap insults either. I think it’s safe to say our mother is probably rolling in her grave, displeased with what we’ve both become.”
That strikes a nerve.
“I’ve got nothing to be ashamed of,” she snaps. “I have made a damn good life for myself.”
“Yeah,” I say, tipping my chin. “If fancy fucking clothes and a fat bank account will keep you happy for the rest of your life.” I angle my head and smirk. “You should look into getting a car or something.”
“Fuck you, Rocco. What do you have? A nightclub and a parade of whores who throw themselves at you?”
“I’m not in the nightclub business anymore,” I reveal, leaving out that I’ve also retired from engaging in the parade of whores. I’m not ready to share Violet with Gina.
I sigh and shove my free hand into my other pocket. Lifting my chin, I stare at my sister for a moment.
“You know what mom would hate most? She’d hate that we can’t stand one another.”
She doesn’t have a response to that, and I take her silence as agreeance. After a long pause, she crosses her arms against her chest.
“Why are you here?”
“I’m here because even though I can’t stand you, you’re still my sister and I made a primise to our mother on her death bead that I’d always look out for you.”
It’s as simple as that.
“I’m a big girl, Rocco, and I’ve been looking out for myself for sometime now, but thanks anyway.”
God, she infuriates me.
“For fucks sake Gina, I don’t want to be here anymore than you want me too,” I hiss, pulling my hands from my pockets. In a flash, I close the distance between us and grab her shoulders. If only I could shake some sense into her. “Check your fucking ego and listen to what I’ve got to say.”
“Take your hands off me!”
I drop my hands and shake my head.
“Stubborn as shit you are,” I sneer before taking a step backward. “You turn on the news lately? Maybe grab a fucking newspaper on your way to the office? Or are you too wrapped up in your bubble to pay attention to anything else?” She remains silent and that just tips me over the edge. Blowing out a wrangled breath, I continue, “Uncle Vic is about to start a riot in prison and when he does…” My voice trails as she opens her mouth to interrupt, but I step closer. “Shut it, Gina. For once in your goddamn life listen to what I have to say. When that happens there is a possibility of retaliation, a real fucking strong possibility and everyone associated with the organization will be at risk.”
“Why are you telling me this? I have seen that side of the family in years. I sincerely doubt any of Uncle Vic’s goons even know that I’m a branch on the family tree.”
I nod.
Time to unleash the truth.
God, help me.
“You’re right, no one will connect you to him, but they sure as fuck will connect you to me.”
She quietly stares at me, absorbing my words and connecting the dots.
“You,” she whispers, pausing to swallow. “You’re not just visiting this time are you?”
“No, I’m not.”
“Jesus, Rocco,” she rasps. “What the hell did you do?”
Unable to look her in the eye, I lower my gaze and focus on my pristine loafers. She starts to talk about our mother again and I force my eyes back to hers, cutting her off.
“Mommy hated the mob because they killed our father, but our father was a low-life criminal who deserved everything he got. I’m the asshole who has been carrying humility of his name and I’m sick of being associated with the legacy of shit he left behind.”
There is a long list of hardships associated with inheriting Uncle Vic’s empire, but clearing myself from my father’s misdeeds makes it all worth it.
“So that’s your plan? You take Uncle Vic’s place, become a high-profile criminal, a glamorous mobster, and then what? You say I’m not happy, well, what about you? You’re delusional if you think this ends well. No, I take it back. You’re not delusional, you’re pathetic, because for someone who tries so hard not to follow in his father’s footsteps you’ve slipped right into his shoes.”
I think that’s enough truth for one night. I did what I came to do, I warned her that her life might be in jeopardy and tomorrow Johnny will begin to tail her. My job is done and so is this conversation.
~*~
The stench of fertilizer engulfs me as I enter the garden center with Rienzi and the old timers following behind. I bypass the plants, shovels and rakes, making my way down the narrow hallway that leads to Micky’s office and pause in front of the closed door when I hear him howl in pain.
“Matty and Phil are working him over,” Rienzi explains from behind me.
I take another step and my hand closes around the dirty doorknob. Cringing, I twist it and kick the door open. Bound to the chair behind his desk, Micky lifts his head as he screams in agony. My eyes flit to desk where Matty holds Micky’s hand—or what’s left of it—firmly against the wood.
“Micky,” I greet, stepping inside the room. “You look distressed.”
“They fucking cut three of my fingers off!”
I close the distance between me and the desk and assess the damage.
Christ, what a mess.
Schooling my features, I lift my gaze back to Micky and shrug my shoulders.
“Lucky for you, you got seven more.”
“Fuck you,” he spats.
The instant the words leave his lips, Phil drops the butcher knife to his other hand. Micky wails in agony as I step around him. I shrug off my suit jacket and carefully drape it across the back of an empty chair. Unbuttoning my sleeves, I roll them to my elbows and look back at Phil and Matty.
“That’s enough,” I order.
All eyes turn to me, but I ignore them as I step back around the desk. Bracing my hands on the edge of the desk, I lean forward and meet Micky’s glare.
“Sign the fucking papers, Micky, and I’ll give you back your fingers so you can sew them back on.”
“Take all ten,” he growls. “I ain’t signing shit. Not in the fucking lifetime. My debt was with Vic. He’s gone and I worked too hard to hand over my whole life’s earnings to his little cunt of a nephew.”
I gotta hand it to the old bastard, he’s got balls of steel. In another life, I’d commend him for taking a stand against me. Maybe even applaud him.
But, unfortunately, that’s not an option.
Poor Micky is going to learn the hard way.
I lift my head and my gaze wanders around the room, taking in all the grim faces that wait for my command to kill. However, the words never find their way to my tongue and I jut my chin toward the door, dismissing them.
“Everyone out.”
“But—” Matty starts.
“Out!”
“You heard the man,” Rienzi says.
Everyone slowly starts to file out of the room, except for Rienzi who stays rooted in place.
“You too,” I tell him.
“Boss—”
“Now, Rienzi.”
His eyes dart from me to Micky.
“Wait a minute,” Micky says.
Ignoring him, I keep my eyes trained to Rienzi.
“As you wish,” he croaks hoarsely. “I’ll be right outside if you need anything.”
“Hold it,” Micky shouts as Rienzi turns around. “What the fuck is happeni
ng?”
Rienzi exits the room, closing the door behind him and I turn to Micky.
“Fuck,” he groans.
“Problem?” I ask, raising an eyebrow as I reach behind me. My hand closes over the piece tucked into the waistband of my pants.
“What are you going to do to me?”
“You wouldn’t be asking me that question if you would’ve just held to your end of the deal and signed the papers,” I volley.
“Come on, man,” Micky cries. “I’m the least of your fucking problems.”
The man is spot on.
He’s a pissant, but he’s about to become an example. It’s the first lesson I’m teaching and not receiving.
I bring the gun around and pull back the safety. Nonchalantly, I lift it and aim it right at him.
One and done.
That’s what Uncle Vic always said.
Sorry big guy, those rules don’t apply here.
Not today.
“Shit,” Micky hisses frantically. “Look, let’s talk—"
My finger closes around the trigger and I stare into his eyes as bullet after bullet whizzes through the air. His eyes go wide with fear and he screams just as the first one pierces his temple. Another punctures the spot right between his eyes. Blood splatters and his head falls forward, slamming against the desk.
Straightened Out (The Pastore Crime Family Book 1) Page 21
