What happened to secrets and protecting what’s yours?
I guess all that went out the fucking window in the last twelve hours.
“You’re coming back to New York with me.” He pauses for a moment, rolling his neck from side to side before fixing me with a stern look. “I want you to understand something, dear nephew… you are not a choice, you’re my last fucking resort. You are what happens when a dying man loves his children more than anything in this fucking world. You are what happens when a powerful man sacrifices everything he’s built so long after he’s gone, his daughters can live happily and without fearing the consequences of their father’s lifestyle.”
My throat tightens as those words penetrate.
“You are what the underworld gets when all the greats are gone. By this time on Monday, you will be a made man.”
I’ve longed to hear those word, to be given a chance to prove myself to the men who spit on my name. This is my time. My fucking chance to be more than my old man ever was. I should still be rejoicing, but it’s hard to celebrate anything with a delivery like that. Dread churns in my gut as I comb my fingers through my hair and wait for his next blow.
“Do I think you deserve the honor? No,” he continues, his tone stern and to the point. “And if I don’t think you do, you best believe every man from here to Chicago won’t either, but as long as I’m alive, they’ll deal with it.”
As long as he’s alive—he’s got one foot in the grave and he’s basically just told me I’m a dead man and all because he’s making me a made man.
“And when you’re not? You’ve got stage four cancer. How much time does that give me before I wind up like my old man?”
Death doesn’t fucking scare me, it’s what comes afterward that has me doubting I want any of this anymore. My father might’ve been nothing but a disgrace, but he had people who mourned him. A wife who buried him. A daughter who cried at his grave and a son who hated him for burdening him with his sins—I don’t even have that.
“That depends on you,” he says evenly.
I tug at the ends of my hair and my eyes lock with his.
You can’t draw blood from a stone.
What more do I have to give?
“What do you want from me?”
“I want you to be the man your father never was.” He leans forward. “I want the world to know Rocco Spinelli as they knew Victor Pastore. I want them to fear you first and love you last.” He pauses. “Do you see where this is going, yet?”
No, my head is spinning. Usually when a guy gets made there is a party in his honor, I’m getting a funeral instead.
“It starts with inducting you into the family, but it ends with this.” He holds up his hand and points to the diamond crest ring on his pinky finger. Yesterday he was touching his wedding band, tonight he touches the ring that men bow to. It makes you wonder which holds more power.
“You can’t be serious,” I mutter, as it all starts to click. I wanted to be made… straightened out. I wanted my own crew and to earn a piece of the pie. I didn’t want the whole fucking kingdom. “What about Anthony? What about Jimmy fucking Gold? Why isn’t he here? He’s the underboss.”
“I’m leaving Anthony in charge of the only thing that matters.”
“But he—” He’s the only one fucking capable.
“He’s out, Rocco,” Uncle Vic grinds out. “No matter what happens. If I drop dead tomorrow, he is out. Do you understand me? This world does not touch that man.”
I don’t know who is more unhinged, him or I.
He turns to Joaquin.
“Joaquin.”
I follow my uncle’s gaze and stare at the man who has been at my side through thick and thin. He can’t be made and I can’t do this shit without him. I’ll be killed before Uncle Vic draws his last breath.
“Nothing touches Anthony, I got it,” Joaquin assures him.
That seems to please him, and he turns his attention back to me.
“I told you a man fights for what is important until he draws his last breath, well I got a couple of months and my fight begins with me turning myself in to the authorities.”
Okay, he’s officially gone off the deep end.
The cancer is eating away at his common sense—fuck his lungs.
“This is crazy,” I hiss.
“This is what you do when your daughter shoots a man and kills him.” What the fuck? I turn to Joaquin, expecting him to kick me under the table or elbow me—any fucking sign that tells me I have a clue as to what he’s talking about. But while I’ve been perfecting fucking anything that walks and desecrating my liver, he’s perfected his poker face and remains completely impassive.
“Now, pull yourself together, boy, and pay attention. Once I’m taken in, you’re going to need to relocate to New York permanently. My crew will keep things moving on the streets and I’ll be running things from inside for as long as I can, that gives us time to prepare you. You will shadow Artie Donofrio and visit me twice a week in jail, that’s where you’ll get your education.”
Prepare me.
Artie Donofrio—I don’t even know who the fuck that is.
“What about Temptations and the properties here?” I ask, reminding him I’m just the night club manager and the man who collects his rents. The new-age Ricky Ricardo—minus the bongos. Not the guy he should be handing over everything to, trusting I’ll keep it together.
He brings his attention back to Joaquin.
“You will oversee Miami for the time being.” Seeming to remember the envelope his bodyguard brought him, he lifts it and hands it to Joaquin.
“What’s this?”
“That’s a birth certificate and a bloodwork report that states your mother is Sicilian. Her maiden name is Riccardi and your grandfather was born in Sardinia. They changed their surname when they came over here to flee the ties they had to the Beluzzi family.”
The head of the Beluzzi family, Umberto Gallo, is the man who ordered the hit that killed my father.
Interesting.
“None of that’s true,” Joaquin stammers.
“Wrong. From this day forward, that’s the only fucking truth you know.” He looks back at me. “That envelope holds your ammunition to change the rules, but keep in mind, the mob doesn’t like change. It runs on the Sicilian values of our ancestors. That being said, society and politics aren’t the same. Guiliani did a number on us and the Albanians are moving in, they’re taking over and without change, the Italian mafia is going to die. Drugs are going to flood the streets and every common criminal who knocks off a bank is going to think they’re connected. Pizzerias from Brooklyn to Staten Island will be fronts for those cocksuckers and they’ll get the unions too. The longshoremen will be theirs and trade will be gone. For fuck’s sake, they got reality shows on this shit now. Be the change, Rocco.”
Change the dynamic of the mob—he really wants me dead.
“They’re not going to like it and you’re gonna catch a lot of heat. Might even catch a bullet or two, but you do what you gotta do because having this guy at your side will keep you alive. Joaquin is the only way you survive this. Now, there’s one more thing… one more gift I’m going to give you.”
I’ve seen him give lavish gifts to his wife—fur coats, diamond rings, a weekend in Venice. Apparently, he’s lost his way because these gifts suck.
“Oh, yeah? What’s that?” I mumble.
I suppose it can’t get any worse.
“Jack Parrish.”
I meet his gaze, narrowing my eyes.
“Who?”
“You’ll meet him,” he assures, his lips curling into a wicked grin. “God, he’s going to fucking hate you.”
Wonderful.
Fuck this Parrish guy.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“Rocco, look at me.” I reluctantly drag my eyes back to him. “He’s going to hate you, but he’s going to have your back and that’s fucking golden. It’s a bridge you
don’t ever fucking burn, and don’t you forget that.”
“Parrish is the messiah, I get it.”
“Oh, son, you have no fucking idea.” A look of nostalgia fills his face and he clears his throat before bringing his eyes back to mine. “Now, are we clear because I’d like to get back to the cut of beef on my plate?”
How the fuck can he eat after all that? More importantly—where’s the fucking waiter. I need a drink.
“Victor, about last night…” Joaquin starts.
Yeah, poor guy is in a state of shock too.
Last night was a trip to Disney World.
“What about it?” Uncle Vic asks, picking up his utensils. The man drags his knife through his steak with ease—like he didn’t just flip my whole fucking life upside down.
“Well, I guess I’m concerned that Pablo’s men are going to retaliate against the hit.”
Considering Joaquin’s concern, Uncle Vic takes a bite of his steak and I shake my head.
Enough is enough—he can’t be this nonchalant about everything. I grip the edge of the table and am about to push back my chair when behind me the door opens.
“Finally, a fucking waiter,” I mutter. I grab my empty glass and am about to turn around when I hear a familiar voice.
“Shit,” Violet hisses.
I spin around as Joaquin shoots up out of his seat.
“For fuck’s sake, I told you to stay put!” Joaquin hollers. He crosses the room and grabs her arm as she tries to balance herself on those heels. Apparently, Bug had no problem finding someone to keep her glass full.
“I’m sorry, my sister seems to be unable to follow instructions,” Joaquin hisses.
“I’m not a fucking child,” Violet spats, pulling her arm free of his hold.
Gritting his teeth, he grabs her again and excuses himself as he pushes her out of the room. My eyes linger long after the door closes and Uncle Vic clears his throat.
“I know she’s the one you were protecting,” he says. “You can’t afford any problems with Joaquin and she’s far too young…too immature…for this lifestyle. Do yourself a favor and forget her.”
Easy for him to say.
She isn’t under his skin.
“Rocco!”
At the sound of Violet calling my name, I push out of my chair. My uncle arches an eyebrow but I fix him with a glare. For the first time I don’t pretend to have it all together. I take a fucking stand against him.
“I can’t,” I say evenly.
More importantly, I don’t want to.
It’s a good thing too, because the moment I turn around, I’m greeted with the distinct sound of gunfire.
Chapter 9
Rocco Spinelli
Violet rushes into the room and barely crosses the threshold before I hear the pop, pop, pop of several guns going off. At the sound of the gunfire, one of Uncle Vic’s bodyguards grabs him and ushers him out of the room, into the kitchen. Springing into action myself, I order her to get under the table and reach for my gun. She doesn’t move, she just stands there, staring at the doorway in a state of shock.
“Now, Violet! Get the fuck under the table and don’t fucking move!” I shout, pulling back the safety on my gun.
She screams.
She cries.
She begs God to protect her brother.
For me to help him.
For no one to die.
Then she falls to her knees and sobs.
“Joaquin…”
“Will fucking die if I don’t get out there and help him,” I grind out. “Now get under the damn table!”
That seems to get her ass in gear, and I watch her crawl on her hands and knees under the table. Once she’s completely out of sight, I charge into the hallway, my gun cocked and my finger on the trigger. Uncle Vic’s other guard follows closely and as soon as we hit the hallway we start shooting.
One bullet.
Two.
I shoot and shoot until my clip is empty, then I bend and pull another gun from the holster around my leg. The scent of gunpowder fills my nostrils and my eyes strain to focus against the cloud of smoke as I pull the trigger repeatedly. I don’t even know what the fuck I’m shooting at, but I don’t fucking stop until there is blood splattered on the walls and bodies lining every inch of the hallway.
When the gunfire finally starts to die, I hear a guttural scream rip from the back of Joaquin’s throat. My gut clenches and my first thought is that he’s been hit, but as the smoke begins to clear, I take in the carnage and find Joaquin on his knees, covered in blood, cradling Pilar’s body.
Before I can make any sense of how she got caught up in all of this or why she was even here in the first place, I hear Violet scream from the other room. I lower my gun and run back into the private room. Making my way to the table, I crouch down and lift the tablecloth. My eyes lock with hers and a sob slips past her lips as she quickly crawls toward me. Cupping her cheeks, I take in the tears that stream her face and the fear in her eyes. Bending my head, I press my lips to her forehead and gather her in my arms.
My lips touch her ear and I whisper, “It’s okay, it’s all over. I’ve got you, Bug.”
She pulls back and lifts her chin. Her lips tremble as she cries, “My brother…”
“He’s alive,” I say hoarsely. I have no idea if she even knows about Pilar, much less that her brother was in love with her, but she’s about to find out because any minute now this place is going to be full of cops and if I don’t get us out of here quickly, we’re all going to be fucked.
Drawing in a ragged breath, I brush the blonde hair away from Violet’s face and cradle her face in my hands.
“I need you to listen to me, Bug. We need to get out of here and we need to move quick.” I pause, taking in the horror-filled expression that fills her face and I bite back a curse, knowing the second she steps into that hallway and sees her brother holding Pilar, she’s going to be traumatized. That there will be no coming back from that. No fucking recovery.
I pull her to her feet and roughly comb my fingers through my hair, trying to decide what to do. The clock ticks and lives hang in the balance of my decision.
“I’m going to need you to close your eyes, can you do that for me? Just close your eyes and trust that I got you.”
She stares at me for a moment, her body trembling as she jerks her chin. I take her hand in mine and wait for her to close her eyes. To trust me. Once she does, I pull her close and lead her into the hallway. Turning her body into mine, I wrap my arms around her and press her head against my chest.
“Keep your eyes closed,” I murmur against her hair. My eyes stretch across the hallway, landing on Joaquin who remains in the same exact position as I left him.
The bodyguard turns to me, informing me he cut all the surveillance cameras but warns me that we need to get out of here, that the cops are on their way.
“Joaquin,” I call, my voice hoarse. “Brother, you have to let her go. We have to get out of here.” Violet moves in my arms, but I tighten my hold on her, shielding her from the sight in front of us.
Joaquin bends his head, pressing his lips to Pilar’s and I look away.
“They killed her, Rocco,” he rasps.
I bring my eyes back to him and swallow.
“I’m sorry, brother.”
“They fucking killed her,” he shouts, lifting his eyes to mine. “Look at her.”
“Joaquin…”
“Please, just look at her!” I tear my eyes away from him and glance at Pilar’s lifeless body.
Christ.
Her eyes are still fucking open.
Suddenly, Violet pulls out of my arms and turns around. I mutter a curse as she gasps.
“Who…” she sobs, unable to finish her sentence.
“Get her out of here!” Joaquin shouts, repositioning Pilar in his arms. I pull Violet behind me and step forward.
“I can’t leave you,” I growl. “You need to lay her down and we have to get out of h
ere. The car is out back, take Violet and go. I’ll grab the guns and make sure the owner of the restaurant gets his story right.”
“I won’t leave her,” he sneers.
“If you don’t fucking leave her, you’re going to wind up like her. Do you really want your sister to see that?”
Those words—paired with the sound of Violet’s cries—seem to penetrate his thick skull and his gaze falls back to Pilar. He bends his head and presses another kiss to her lips before he brings his hand around from the back of her head and with a gentleness one wouldn’t expect from him, he closes her eyes and lays her on the floor.
I don’t give him a chance to change his mind as I charge for him. Pulling him to his feet, I push him toward his sister. Once I get them both out of the restaurant and into the car, I make my way back inside the restaurant to take care of the guns. I pay the owner of the restaurant to destroy the surveillance tapes and threaten to kill his entire family if he doesn’t cooperate and tell the cops that there was no meeting. As far as he is concerned, we were there to celebrate Violet’s birthday when those cocksuckers came into the restaurant with their guns blazing and killed Pilar. Anything that happened after was self-defense. End of story.
And just like that, there’s another tally under my name.
Chapter 10
Violet Cabrera
One minute I was standing in the hallway pissed at my brother and Rocco for keeping me waiting, the next I’m taking cover under a table, watching Joaquin and Rocco shoot to kill. I stared at my brother holding that woman’s lifeless body in his arms and after Rocco forced us into the back of his car, I watched him cry. I took him in my arms but I’m not even certain he knew it was me who held him. Then he was gone. I went to chase after him, but that’s when Rocco emerged from the restaurant, ordering us both to get back in the car. Joaquin wasn’t having it, though. He wouldn’t leave that woman alone. It didn’t matter that she was dead, or that he might get arrested, he was going to hold her for as long as he could.
I don’t know what caused Rocco to give in to him, but he let him go back inside the restaurant. I remember screaming. I remember crying. And lastly, I remember Rocco taking me in his arms and carrying me back to the car. He climbed into the backseat and held me as I cried.
Straightened Out (The Pastore Crime Family Book 1) Page 7