“It’s not the same,” I argue. “How am I going to live the rest of my life, never being able to hear him call me Gracie, never being able to look him in the eye and see our whole life reflected in those eyes?” I shake my head before glancing over my shoulder and staring at Gina.
“How am I going to tell our girls their father is dying? How am I going to be strong enough for them?”
“I’ll help you, Bert will help too and so will Ma. You’re not alone, Grace. We’re crazy and maybe a little eccentric but we’re family and we all love Adrianna and Nikki…” she pauses, “We love you too, Grace.”
I spin around, dropping my hands to my sides and lean my back against the counter.
“I have to tell the girls,” I say finally.
As a parent we try our best to shelter our children, even when they become adults, we can’t help ourselves and still we try to protect them. I can’t protect, I can’t shield my daughters from losing their father but I will be their rock, their strength when they’re too weak with grief.
And when their hearts start to mend, then and only then will I grieve.
Alone I will mourn my love, my life. My Victor.
Chapter Eight
Dragging the comb through my gray hair, I make sure not a strand is out of place. Smoothing down the front of my jumpsuit, I flash back to a time in my life when I used to fit the most expensive cufflinks to my silk shirt. Some might call me vain, even eccentric, but in my world, appearances are everything. It's that first moment when you meet someone, when they size you up with their eyes and decide your importance to them. You are either someone they want to know or someone they’ll forget.
I was nineteen years old when I sat at a table with the five most lethal men in the mafia. Each of them ruled one of the five most prominent crime families in New York City. I was just a kid, another street thug looking for the easy way out. I wasn’t the first young guy looking to take the oath they were selling and I wouldn’t be the last. But I walked into that warehouse with confidence and a demeanor like they only saw when they stared in the mirror. I was the youth who had an old soul and enough swagger to demand they notice me.
I wasn’t someone you forgot.
I was Victor fucking Pastore, and I would be the man ruling their streets long after they took their final breath.
Me.
I would be the boss.
The man in a designer suit that men feared and civilians gravitated to.
Victor Pastore the mobster—the fucking legend.
And for most of my life that is who I was. I was the man you wanted to know, the guy you wanted in your corner and it didn’t matter that I was a criminal. I lied, robbed, and killed to get to the top, but to the public I could do no wrong—I was a fucking god.
Even here, locked up, I’m somebody. I’m the guy with juice, the man you come to in the yard when someone is trying to shake you down for your commissary.
I went from running New York to ruling a federal prison. Everyone is in my pocket, from the COs to the warden, they all answer to me. The feds want to think they took me off the streets, cleaned up the city and freed it from the mob, but that isn’t so.
There was no elaborate case against me that took years to build. I was a man on a mission to save what I had destroyed—my family. Not the one I ruled but the one I created with my wife, Grace. I was too busy building an empire to realize I was losing the people that mattered most to me. The flashy lifestyle they were accustomed to became more of a burden than something glorified, and as everything spiraled out of control, my daughters both threatened to fall victims to the mob, each of their lives compromised.
I had a choice to make.
My empire or their lives.
I confessed to every crime I committed, every hit I ordered, and gave my family one final gift—sparing them the life I brought them all into as a judge sentenced me to spend the rest of my existence in a cell.
They are free of my sins, my crimes and my organization.
Free from me.
My eyes wander to the photograph of my daughters taped to the wall of my cell. Their smiling faces stare back at me—those faces are the legacy of Victor Pastore—the husband and father.
“Vic, you have a visitor,” the guard calls, forcing me to tear my eyes from the photograph and glance over my shoulder at him. I watch as he unlocks my cell, sliding it open and stepping aside.
“Thank you,” I say, stepping out of my confinements and pat him on the shoulder. The inmates stare at me as he escorts me down the cell block. They call out to me, “You the man, Vic. You the man.”
Those words used to make me feel something but they’re lackluster now, just words. A man is nothing without his woman or his family. Without them a man becomes lost in the bitterness.
They buzz me into the visitor’s room, my eyes immediately dart around, searching for one of the men I summoned here. The clock is ticking for me and it’s time to put all the final touches on the plans I’ve worked hard to create. In a few short weeks I’ll be transferred down south where the ultimate enemy is, the G-Man, the man I vowed to bring to his death.
One last hit.
And it can go either way.
My life or his.
There are ends I need to tie and people to say goodbye to.
The end is near, the curtain will close and all that will be left is the name that made headlines and the legacy he left behind.
I spot the suit, threads of silk, colored in a deep charcoal and tailored to fit the man.
I taught him well.
He lifts his head, leans back in the metal chair as he takes in his surroundings. His green eyes finally pausing when they met mine. He pushes back his chair and rises to his full height to greet me. I noticed he wasn’t wearing a tie and the top button of his dress shirt was unbuttoned, his collar was popped, we’d have to talk about that.
“Uncle Vic,” he greets, stepping around the table to extend his hand to me. The guard stares at my nephew’s hand before turning his back and allowing the gesture. I slide my hand into his and pat his cheek with my free hand.
“Rocco,” I say, shaking his hand. “Thank you for coming.”
I tip my chin toward the chair as I drop my hand from his.
“Sit,” I order, watching him do as he was told.
Rocco was Grace’s sister, Anna’s son, her eldest child and the one who struggled most of his youth between right and wrong. His father, Rocco Spinelli Sr., was a drug trafficker and when his kids were young, he was deported back to Italy. Anna took Rocco and Gina, her daughter, to Italy afterwards to live, wound up returning five years later after her husband was murdered in a drug deal gone south.
Anna died seven years ago after a long battle with breast cancer and her son came to me, looking for a job. He despised what his father stood for, hated the fact drugs and greed were associated with his name, deciding he wanted to change the way people perceived Rocco Spinelli Junior.
I gave him a job within the organization and he worked his way up to becoming the soldier in charge of the trade business. Rocco was in charge of the docks, controlling the Longshoremen’s Association and the local union contracts I had in my pocket. He reminded me a lot of myself, thirsty for power and eager to make a name for himself.
I schooled him on the values and code that the Pastore family abided by. We weren’t about drugs, and no innocent children would overdose on our watch. We kept the streets as clean as possible, shutting down any dealers that threatened to sell their product on our territory. After he mastered that I sent him down to Miami Florida and put him in charge of my interests there. I owned three night clubs down there and business was thriving. Miami was flooded with drugs but they didn’t touch my clubs and that was all Rocco’s doing. He kept things clean and profitable.
“Anthony should be here any minute,” I began, folding my hands neatly on top of the table. “How did everything go with the men?”
“Everyone thought the Pastore family was dead. Th
ey were just about ready to disburse your territory amongst the five families when I walked in and introduced myself,” he informs me. “The boss of the Pastore crime family.”
Smiling, I imagine the stunned faces of every mob boss rivaling against my organization, looking to take over my territory. I made it clear a long time ago, I wasn’t someone to be underestimated.
I stare back at Rocco—the future of my empire.
We’d never die.
Never end.
Rocco Spinelli would carry the legacy of Victor Pastore—the gangster. My empire would continue to reign even after I was buried.
“Did you square away everything in Miami?”
“Joaquin DeLeo will take my place, controlling the clubs and small business ventures I have down there. As for New York, I’m pulling Rienzi off the docks like we discussed, and I will appoint him as my underboss. We’ll be small for a while as soldiers and enforcers climb the ranks but I’m not worried. You’re sure Parrish and his club will have my back until I can strengthen the organization?”
“Son, you know better than to question me,” I chastise, turning my head as my son-in-law appears in the room. Anthony stood out amongst everyone in the room and although his appearance differed from Rocco’s, wearing a pair of sweatpants and fitted t-shirt that stretched across every muscle he worked hard at strengthening, there was no denying he was a force to be reckoned with. He used to be the most lethal man in my organization, the one who did most of my dirty work, allowing my hands to remain clean and his covered in blood.
He traded in his title as my enforcer to be my daughter’s husband, and though the mob runs in his veins, something he won’t ever truly escape, he wakes every day and attempts to be everything I never was. He is a husband that comes home night after night and a father who tucks his children into bed and reads them a bedtime story.
Anthony narrows his eyes and pins them onto Rocco as he makes his way toward us.
“Anthony, so glad you could join us,” I greet, waving my hand to the empty seat beside Rocco. “Have a seat.”
“What the fuck is this, Vic?”
“Relax,” I soothe. “That’s why you’re here, for me to explain.”
“Bianci, always a pleasure,” Rocco sneers, his gaze never wavering under Anthony’s scrutiny.
He’s perfect.
Anthony pulls out the chair and sinks into it, crossing his arms against his chest, covering the Xonerated logo branded to his shirt.
“You said I was here because you had a message for Jack,” he started, tipping his chin toward Rocco. “He have anything to do with that?”
“He is the message you will bring to Jack Parrish’s doorstep,” I explain, cocking my head to the side as I stare back at him.
“What?”
I opened my mouth but Rocco leaned forward, tapping his hand against the edge of the table, beckoning Anthony’s attention.
“Let me clarify for you. You will bring me to the Satan’s Knights compound and introduce me to my new ally as I am now the boss of the Pastore family.”
Anthony’s eyes divert back to me.
“You’re shitting me, right?”
“Problem?” Rocco challenges.
“Yeah, motherfucker, there’s a problem,” Anthony hisses. “What the fuck is going on, Vic? I thought this was done, I thought the organization was null and void.”
“You thought wrong,” Rocco declares.
“I’m not talking to you, motherfucker,” Anthony barks, slamming his fist against the table.
“You better control yourself, Bianci,” Rocco warns.
“Enough,” I interrupt. “Anthony, Rocco has already sat down with the five families. It’s done. He will control all aspects of the organization. You really didn’t think I would sit back and watch people pick apart my empire; just let them have at it, did you? I thought you knew me better than that,” I accuse.
“I’m not understanding, Vic,” Anthony says, gritting his teeth as he runs his fingers through his slicked back hair. “After you went away, Jimmy became the acting boss,” he started, pointing a finger at Rocco, “Where was he?”
“I knew before everyone, before I even turned myself in that Jimmy had gone against me, that he was working with the G-Man even before Val’s death. After the shoot-out at Temptations, when Adrianna pulled that trigger, I had to make changes. My family couldn’t go on suffering for my crimes. Then Nikki was kidnapped by Deke Rogers and Mikey was shot and nearly killed. I went to Rocco and told him I was turning myself in. I told him what Jimmy had done, that he had a hand in killing my underboss and that I had to still get the G-Man.” I pause, taking in the shocked expression on his face. Ah, you got to love the element of surprise.
“It was all part of the plan, Anthony. I went to Rocco before they cuffed me in Florida and after he took his oath I turned myself in. I let Jimmy dig his hole deeper and deeper, bided my time and Rocco’s, giving him an opportunity to know my organization like the back of his hand. It’s time for him to reign now, especially with me being transferred to the G-Man.”
Anthony remained silent.
“You’re going to take Rocco to Jack, make sure the alliance we have with the club carries over with Rocco as the boss. Rocco will run the family with the same values and earn Jack’s respect just like I did. Now, I’ve given Jack and the club control over some of my interests but other than that, Rocco will run things from now on. Jack knows Rocco is in the business but he doesn’t know he’s taking over my organization and that he is now the boss of the Pastore family. The Pastore family isn’t going under like everyone assumed it would.”
“This is bullshit,” Anthony seethes.
“Why don’t you say it, man? You’re only grief with Vic’s decision is that he chose me instead of you,” Rocco accuses.
Anthony snaps his head and glares at Rocco.
“Know what the fuck you’re talking about before you speak. It was my choice to leave this life, mine and mine alone.”
“Right, and you got the out that nobody gets. You got to walk away and claim a life for yourself. You got a fucking family, man, a beautiful family…you don’t need to be in my shoes,” Rocco says. “I don’t have what you do. I’ve got no one that stands a chance at getting hurt by the choices I make. The only life I’m responsible for is my own.”
Anthony balls his fists as he digests Rocco’s words for a moment before turning his gaze back to me.
“You’re slick, Vic. Always have been and always will be I suppose,” he mutters.
“And don’t you forget it,” I tell him, leaning back in my chair. “Which leads me to the next order of business, I didn’t forget about you or Michael for that matter. —You’ll always need protection and the Satan’s Knights can only do so much. The club has their own enemies they have to worry about and can’t always be relied upon to take care of what’s mine. Rocco will provide protection to both of you as well as your families for a legit place within the organization,” I reveal.
“Adrianna will kill me if I go back, Vic. I can’t do that to her, I won’t do that to her and I won’t do that to my kids—”
“I’m not offering you your old place back. I’d never do that,” I interrupt. “Someone will have to run the contracts for the docks and I want that someone to be you. I’ve set Michael up to be the foreman in the local union, Rocco will make sure the union is covered and all jobs they bid on they’ll get.”
“So, we’ll still be in the fold and earn the respect and benefits of being made men without having to kill anyone?” he asks incredulously, anger dripping off of each word.
“So you’ll be protected,” I correct, leaning forward and pinning him with a stare. “I’m making sure my family is taken care of because when I die I won’t be here to protect any of you.”
Anthony narrows his eyes, staring back at me skeptically.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
“I’ve told you all you need to know. Now, Jack’s waiting for
you to introduce him to his new ally…you know better than to keep the Bulldog waiting,” I reprimand.
I push back my chair, standing before signaling for the guard to take me back to my cell.
“Give my daughter a kiss and tell those two babies of yours their grandpa loves them,” I rasp before looking to my nephew. “Button your collar and buy yourself a tie goddamn it. Appearances are everything.”
My legacy will live on in the lives of the two men staring at my back as I walk away from them. One will carry my family and the other my empire.
I’ll die but my name will always live on.
Chapter Nine
Inspecting it for any rough edges, I run my hand over the freshly sanded table making sure Bosco had taken my order seriously when I demanded him to sand and prime this damn thing. This table was as much a part of our club as I was. It had been through hell and back just like everyone who ever sat around it. My predecessor, Cain, and his old man, Pops, built this table with their own hands and it has held up through war, death and the exchange of power. As long as I hold this gavel this fucking table will stand tall, and should the day come when I retire from this life, Blackie better be prepared to have his sanding papers ready.
I pull out the chair at the head of the table, taking my rightful seat, and lean my back against the worn chair as I reach for my pack of cigarettes.
I have to quit.
I bring the cigarette to my lips and fish through my pockets for a light.
Tomorrow I’ll quit or the day after that.
I light the Marlboro and take a nice, long drag.
I’ll quit smoking before the kid is born for sure. I better or Reina will have my balls.
I scowl at the clock on the wall, noting these fucks are five minutes late for church. The door slams open in that moment and the circus comes barreling through.
“What part of ‘church in five minutes’ did you bitches not comprehend?” I growl, blowing out a ring of smoke.
I watch my men take their seats, Blackie sits at my left and next to him is Riggs—the next seat stands empty as we keep it in place for our fallen brother, Bones. Wolf and Pipe park their asses across from my vice president and the self-proclaimed Tiger. The club’s new blood fill the seats at the other end of the table.
The Tempted Series: Collectors Edition Page 163
