The destruction of an empire.
The death of a man.
The ruination of a family.
The end of Victor and Grace.
The buzzer rang, dragging me away from my thoughts and forcing me back to the reality of what we had become. I spot him immediately, sitting in the far left corner of the packed visitor’s room in the federal penitentiary.
This is our life now.
We’re doing a life sentence.
He’s paying for his crimes behind bars and I’m paying for them in an empty bed.
His head is bowed as he stares down at his hands that are neatly folded on the table. I freeze in my tracks, taking a moment to stare at the man I so deeply love despite his flaws. A sad smile spreads across my lips as I take in his appearance, noticing his hair has grayed even more so than the last time I saw him. He aged well, his features the same as they were when we first met, only now there are faint lines on his face that tell his life story. He’s still the most handsome man I ever laid eyes on.
I was transfixed back to that night when our world crumbled, staring adoringly at my husband, unbeknownst to him, I studied him through the eyes of the rest of the world.
It was opening night and Temptations’ capacity seemed to be at its limit. Everywhere you turned people were smiling, laughing or dancing.
The music blaring from the impressive sound system faded away and was replaced by Vic’s laughter. It was easy to see why people were drawn toward his larger-than-life personality. He owned the room. The people surrounding us hung onto his every word but when he turned around and stared into my eyes as he wrapped his arm around me, he was just Vic, the man beneath the designer suit.
Success.
It was the number one word in Victor’s vocabulary. He did nothing half-assed, always gave one hundred percent, and this club was no exception. From the marble floors to the over-the-top sound system, my husband didn’t skimp on one tiny detail. The extreme flashiness was what people had come to expect from Victor.
He boisterously laughed at a joke Jimmy was telling, turned to me and the laughter died in his eyes, replaced with something foreign yet familiar…love and affection. He bent his head, pressing his lips to mine; I closed my eyes feeling nostalgic as one kiss reminded me of the thirty-five years of kisses we shared.
“I love you, Gracie,” he murmured, pulling back from my lips staring into my eyes as the back of his hand caressed my cheek.
I wish I had of taken a photograph of him, of us, and the last time we were together when everything was just as it was when we were young.
Before the mob.
Before the suit.
Before I lost Victor to a life full of crime.
He lifts his head, turning it slightly and our eyes lock.
Nostalgic.
“Behind every great man is an even greater woman who made him this way. You’re my greatness, Grace, and I want you by my side forever…say you’ll marry me.”
Tragic.
“It’s time, Gracie. I’m turning myself in.”
Bittersweet.
“It doesn’t matter that I’m here and you’re there…you’ll always be my love, Gracie.”
I walk toward him watching as he rises to greet me, stepping around the table to pull my chair out. While most inmates aren’t allowed to touch their visitors, Victor seems to be the exception to the rule. Openly wrapping his arms around me he squeezes me tight like I’m his salvation. I relish in his touch.
Several moments pass before he breaks our embrace and motions for me to take a seat, pushing my chair under the table once I do.
Always a gentleman.
His fingertips graze my shoulder before he walks back to his seat and stares back at me.
“My Gracie,” he whispers, smiling faintly as he reaches for my hand.
It doesn’t get easier.
Every visit is another knife to my heart.
And when I leave here I know I’ll feel empty inside and wish I never came because seeing him like this, knowing all we have is an hour surrounded by strangers and a few stolen touches, is my damnation.
But then I tell myself if I don’t have these moments, I have none, and I need to cherish them just as I cherished every moment we shared in our life together.
“How are you?” he rasps. “How are my girls?”
I reach into my pocket and pull out the few photos I was allowed to bring him and place them on the table between us. Releasing my hand, he lifts the photos, handling them with such care, like they are a fine piece of china.
“Oh God,” he breathes. “Is this…” His voice trails off as he turns the photo around to face me.
I smile warmly, knowing very well how much he needs my smile at this moment.
“That’s your granddaughter, Victoria Grace,” I reveal, introducing him to Adrianna and Anthony’s daughter. The little girl I held in my arms minutes after she was born. The same girl Vic will never come face to face with.
“She’s beautiful,” he says, turning the picture back and staring at it in awe.
“She is,” I agree. “She weighed seven pounds, three ounces, just like Adrianna did when she was born,” I continue. “Both Anthony and I were in the room when she gave birth. I swear, Victor, I have never seen anything more beautiful, and I don’t mean the birth but all the love surrounding it. It happened so quickly, well not really, she was in labor for nearly twenty hours, but when that little girl was ready to make her grand entrance it was beautiful chaos. Adrianna was crying, the poor thing was exhausted, but Anthony grabbed her hands, held them tight and forced her to look at him…” I pause, taking a minute to recall the moment myself before lifting my eyes back to Vic’s and noting that he is hanging on my every word.
These were the moments we should have been sharing together. Instead, I have to create them with words and Vic has to experience the birth of our granddaughter through my eyes.
“Adrianna focused on Anthony, kept her eyes locked with his as she pushed and not a minute later their baby girl’s cries filled the room,” I whisper. “It was precious.”
“I bet it was,” he breathes, placing the photo of Victoria on the table before lifting the next one. “Luca is getting so big,” he marvels, laughing at the photo of our grandson with a backward Yankee cap, pointing to his shirt that read ‘Don’t even think about dating my sister’. “Anthony’s training him young,” he jokes, showing me the photograph.
“You’re not kidding,” I confirm.
“He’s a good father,” he says huskily, taking a deep breath. “A real good father.”
He placed Luca’s photo next to his sister’s and lifted the next.
“Look at her smile,” he whispers as he studied our daughter, Nikki’s, picture. I had taken it right after Michael proposed to her. I’m not sure she had even said yes before the flash went off.
Victor lifted his gaze to mine.
“Was she surprised?”
“She was shocked. I believe her first words were ‘get the fuck out of here’ and then she said yes,” I wink at him, sharing a knowing look that our daughter was a spitfire. “And then she cried.”
“Why?”
“Because Michael told…” I pause, blinking away the tears that suddenly fill my eyes as I recall my daughter breaking down after Michael revealed he had visited with Victor. “…he told her they had your blessing and he had asked you for her hand in marriage.”
He smiled widely as he wiped at his own eyes.
“You’ll walk her down the aisle won’t you?”
“Yes,” I promise.
He nodded.
“Get her whatever dress she wants. I don’t care what it costs, you make sure she has everything she wants. If you need extra money you go to Jack Parrish, he’ll give you whatever you need.”
“Okay, Vic,” I reply softly, watching as he looks away for a minute.
“You know I’m happy,” he whispers. “I am,” he assures me, turning around so I can
look him in the eye. “I’m happy because I know that my two daughters will be taken care of, that they have men in their lives that will truly do anything to keep them happy and will love them like they deserve to be loved.”
“Yes, we’re very fortunate that our daughters have found happiness.”
“There is one girl I’m worried about though,” he confesses. “You.”
“I’m fine, Victor,” I admonish.
“No you’re not and it’s my fault. I promised to take care of you and love you all the days of my life. I vowed to share a life with you and left you to live it alone. I love you, Gracie, and I’ll never go back on that promise I made when I said I’d love you until death do us part.”
“I love you too, Victor,” I say quietly, reaching across the table to take hold of both his hands. “And our life may not have gone as we planned but I don’t regret a single thing.”
“I regret not being home as much as I should have been. I regret not enjoying the little things I took for granted, like tripping over your slippers on the way out the door or when I’d walk in and find you sleeping on the couch with a book tucked under your nose. I miss the little things, Gracie. I miss watching you sing on Sunday mornings while you made me meatballs. I really miss your meatballs,” he quips, winking at me before reaching across the table to wipe away my tears with his fingers.
“Life is too short for regrets, Vic, and while we may only have these visits now, we’ll have eternity together,” I vow.
“Grace,” he starts, dropping his hand from my face as he draws in a harsh breath.
“I mean it, Victor, I believe that with my whole heart. You have to believe it too because these visits aren’t the last of us,” I exaggerate.
“Gracie, they’re moving me again,” he says regretfully.
“What?” I swallow. “Where?”
“Down south,” he answers. “The lawyer will fill you in on all the details,” he adds as his eyes do a quick sweep of the room. “It’s the last leg of the plan.”
“Oh for heaven’s sake,” I hiss. “To hell with the plan!”
“Lower your voice,” he pleads.
“No, Victor, I will not. Look at you, this is it, do you realize that? You keep digging your hole and for what? Some sick vendetta?”
“I gave my word.”
“You gave your word to me thirty years ago.”
“Gracie, you’re right this is it…look at me. You see where I am? There is nothing left. I love you, as God as my witness I love you with my whole heart but I’m being transferred, and it’s for the best.”
“How can you say that? How can you tell me you love me and choose this life over that love time and time again?”
“It’s not like that.”
“Sure it is,” I hiss.
“Gracie…I’m dying.”
Have you ever heard someone speak but felt like you were dreaming and the words were a nightmare? You wish to wake up, you beg for it, but it doesn’t happen. You think it’s your subconscious forcing you to live through the pain and anguish of the words but it’s not and then you realize you’re living not dreaming.
The knife twists.
The hope diminishes.
And the life sentence becomes shorter.
Chapter Two
I left New York after the murder of my father, never believing I’d drag my ass back to the concrete jungle—I never wanted to. Then my mother was in a bad car accident and Victor Pastore showed up just in time to hold my hand as I pulled the plug on the life support. At the time I detested the man, blamed him for my father’s death and even my mother’s. If my old man didn’t die protecting Victor, we never would’ve moved away and she wouldn’t have been on that highway when a truck crashed into her car.
He brought me back to the streets I grew up on, the same streets he and my father ran together for nearly two decades. I never planned on sticking around and only came back to bury my mother beside my father. After the dirt settled over my parents, Victor propositioned me, trying to ease his conscience and offered me a legit job running one of his new nightclubs, Temptations.
I knew jack shit about running a night club. I was a carpenter, a man who worked with his hands and wore construction boots. I wasn’t cut from the same cloth as my father or Vic. Designer suits weren’t my thing and ties were just a noose around my neck. But then I laid eyes on Nikki, Vic’s youngest daughter, the girl who had called me Mikey ever since she was an awkward teenager with braces and frizzy hair. Actually, she called me Mikey before that, when she was just a kid following me and her sister around like a shadow.
There was nothing fucking awkward about the chain-smoking sexpot with perfectly straight teeth and lips that teased a man even when her mouth was closed. She no longer wore pigtails and fancy dresses that her mother forced upon her. She wore clothes that hugged her body, showing off her narrow waist, an ass you wanted to sink your teeth into and breasts you wanted to lay your head on. Her legs, let’s not talk about her legs and how every time I stared at them I wanted to wrap them around my waist. Fuck that, I wanted them around my neck. She had traded her ballet shoes for stilettos. I swear every pair of shoes she owns scream ‘come fuck me’.
I’m cool with that.
Since I’m the one fucking her and those sexy shoes are digging into my back night after night she wraps her legs around me.
Yeah, you guessed it, I took Vic up on his offer for the sole purpose of getting to know the girl I left behind and the woman she had become. She had a boyfriend at the time, some douchebag named Rico, who at first glance I knew he was a no good motherfucker. I had no proof though, and Nikki needed to learn that shit for herself. She needed to be the one to realize the scum that Rico was. So I did my thing, flirted with the girl I wanted, got under her skin and made her realize I wasn’t going anywhere.
The whole time I was making moves on Victor’s daughter, he and his goons were training me to be America’s Next Gangster. Well, not really, I mean they weren’t training me to whack someone. Anthony took me to some shooting range owned by a bunch of bikers and taught me how to fire a gun. The thing was I didn’t need anyone to teach me, I had my father’s blood running through my veins and that shit came as natural as breathing. I was a sure shot, just like my old man. I bet he’d be proud.
Victor wanted me to protect myself, so the piece I started carrying was just a precaution, a weapon I’d only fire if someone tried to fuck with me now that I was working for him.
Along with the loaded gun, they fitted me for the custom designer suits he and my father donned back in the day. I was a reflection of both Victor and Val, and my Timberland boots would not make the cut.
As the transformation continued, Nikki’s relationship crumbled and our friendship changed. She became my girl without becoming my girl if that makes any sense. She didn’t know it at the time, but after the night she and I hit the club scene, I realized who she belonged to.
It was the grand opening of Temptations, Nikki’s twenty-first birthday and my first night as the disco dancing gangster when everything changed.
What’s a grand celebration without a fucking shootout?
Not a Pastore function that’s for sure.
It came to light that Rico was working Nikki the whole time, a ploy to get close to Victor and avenge some fucking shit. It was time to put my training to use and protect Nikki, shooting at anything that got in my way from getting her the fuck out of the war zone my new job had become.
When I got us out of the club, the president of the motorcycle club that owned the gun range was waiting for us. Jack Parrish and Victor Pastore worked together on several occasions, creating an alliance that benefited the streets they both loved.
Victor eventually showed up at the safe house, informing us that his organization was at war and no one was safe. He sent us to Florida, handed me Nikki’s life and told me to keep her safe. He didn’t mention he was sending me to the fucking Golden Girls. I discovered that shit when I pu
lled into the fucking retirement community and Vic’s sister greeted me wearing a goddamn negligee and his mother tried to shoot me with a rifle.
Even now, well over a year later, I’m standing on top of my roof, nailing down the shingles and I’m still haunted by those lunatics. Lifting my shirt up to wipe the sweat from my forehead, their voices ring in my ears.
“I swear to God, Bert, you drive like a snail on a Percocet. Get me the hell out of this car,” Gina’s voice taunts.
“I floored it on the Belt Parkway,” Bert, Gina’s seventy-year-old boy-toy argues.
“Forty miles per hour is not flooring it,” Gina shouts.
I must’ve been in the sun for too long because I hear a car door slam shut, like they weren’t miles away in the sunshine state.
“Ma, we’re here. Ma! Oh for Christ’s sake, plug in your hearing aid.”
“Grab my gun,” Red shouts. Big Red, Gina and Vic’s four foot eleven mother with fire engine red hair.
“You let her take her gun? What does she need a gun for?” Bert asks incredulously.
“You’re on our soil, boy,” Red argues. “You need to be prepared for a drive-by. Grab the gun! Shit, we forgot the cannoli’s.”
“The house looks different,” Gina comments. “Oh, hot damn! Look who it is!”
No.
No fucking way.
Come on!
I lean over the edge of the roof and I’m pretty sure my eyes fucking explode in their sockets as they land on the fucking circus parked in my driveway.
Gina’s beehive hairdo was extra fucking high, teased two feet in the air as she bats her fake eyelashes and waves up at me. I guess I should be grateful the fucking lady wasn’t wearing a bra and bloomers like the last time I saw her. Red was waving too—waving a gun.
Bert, that poor bastard was unloading the fucking car. Unloading the fucking car!
This must be what having a stroke feels like.
“Nikki,” I shout, pulling at my hair. I move to back away from the edge, desperate to erase the image of ‘Sophia and Dorothy Petrillo’ from my brain but my jeans catch on one of the nails I hadn’t yet hammered down. I tug my leg free, lose my balance and nearly falling off the fucking roof. In a last ditch effort to save my ass, I grab onto the gutter.
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