I want to argue with him. I want to tell him I don’t have any secrets. That I don’t have a single weakness, but I can’t. Everyone has secrets, we all have things we like to keep to ourselves. Things we don’t want to share with the rest of the world because once we do, we lose them.
As soon as I saw Violet on that stage, I had one primal thought…I didn’t want to share her. I wanted her to dance for me and only me.
Until now, I didn’t want to believe it. I didn’t want to think it. I pushed her out of my head whenever I could, told myself it was just one night, and that I had only been affected by her because I was at my lowest. I was grieving. Feeling sorry for myself. Lonely—so fucking lonely.
“Whoever she is, cut her loose,” he says, and I lift my gaze to his.
“It’s not like that,” I reply hoarsely.
“You sure about that? Because you’re fifty thousand dollars is a pretty big dent for someone you don’t have a claim on.”
I don’t respond, mainly because anything I say will be an admission of guilt. He stares at me for another beat before folding his hands under his chin. “You’re a mess, Rocco, a real fucking disaster, but by some miracle of God, you passed my test.”
Still reeling from the fact Violet was deep under my skin, my brows pinch together, and I lift my chin. What the fuck is this guy talking about now?
“What test?”
Just when you think you have the man figured out, he changes the rules of the game reminding you that he’s the boss.
This world isn’t a man’s world.
It’s his fucking world.
Chapter 5
Rocco Spinelli
Dead on my feet, I step off the elevator and make my way to Joaquin’s penthouse apartment. I’m about to knock on the door when it opens and a woman storms out, nearly knocking me on my ass. Bracing a hand against the wall, I catch my balance as Joaquin rushes after her.
For fuck’s sake.
My mind is still reeling from the conversation I had with my uncle and I think I may still be somewhat drunk, never mind it’s too early in the morning for any of this shit.
I stare at Joaquin as the doors to the elevator close and roll my eyes.
He’s a merciless killer on the streets, but the man is a pussy when it comes to the woman who just took off in the elevator. My uncle’s voice rings in my ear and I bite the inside of my cheek as I continue to watch my right hand. Pilar Lopez is undoubtedly Joaquin’s weakness. His biggest secret. It doesn’t matter the girl is all sorts of fucked up, whatever she’s selling, Joaquin is buying and he’s buying in bulk.
It’s pathetic.
“Are you just going to stand there, staring at the elevator doors?” I ask, shaking my head. The motion makes my head spin and I take a moment to try and figure how many hours I’ve been awake.
Too long.
Suddenly, Joaquin spins around and glares at me.
Wonderful.
More hell.
“If you had paid attention to anything but your dick, you’d know her leaving me was a pivotal moment,” he seethes.
What he considers a pivotal moment, I consider a blessing. I don’t tell him that, though. Eventually, when he pulls his head out of her cunt, he’ll realize she’s not good for him. Until then we can entertain the Latin soap opera.
“Leaving you?” I scoff, entering the penthouse. “It’s Pilar, that girl hangs on you like a fungus.” He follows me inside and slams the door. Ignoring his tantrum, I meander to the bar and frown when I note there isn’t much of a selection. “I give it twenty-four hours before she’s at the club, looking for your dick,” I continue as I reach for the bourbon.
Vodka, scotch, and bourbon—some diet I’ve got.
But nothing chases a hangover better than another drink.
Turning to Joaquin, I raise my glass.
“Now put some fucking clothes on, motherfucker. I’m about to flip your world upside down and I prefer to do it without your junk staring me in the face.”
He hesitates for a moment before finally disappearing into his bedroom. I knock back my drink, draining the glass.
“That’s good,” I mutter, licking my lips. “Have another? Why, thank you, I think I will.”
As I refill my glass again Joaquin enters the living room. I set the decanter on the bar and tip my chin to the row of crystal glasses beside it.
“You should probably pour yourself a drink,” I advise.
“It’s eight o’clock in the morning,” he growls.
Shrugging my shoulders, I lift the glass to my lips. “It’s five o’clock somewhere.” I pause. “On second thought, don’t drink.” He’s already licking his wounds over Pilar and I need his head screwed on straight. “One of us should have a clear head, and seeing as I haven’t slept in, oh, forty-eight hours, I’m going to elect you to be that person.”
Let’s not mention, I’m currently seeing two of him.
“Look, I’m not in the mood—”
I cut him off, lowering my glass. It doesn’t matter if he’s in the mood to hear what I have to say, he needs to know.
“Uncle Vic is dying,” I blurt.
As soon as those four words leave my lips, I cringe. After my uncle went on a tangent about trust and made me dig into my actions regarding Violet, he revealed the reason behind his surprise visit. Cutting my eyes to the amber liquid sloshing around in the glass, I try for a little more finesse as I elaborate, “Stage four cancer.”
It still doesn’t seem real.
I thought he was pulling my leg, that telling me he was dying was part of the test he kept singing my praises about. He looked fine, the epitome of a gentleman. Dressed to the nines, not a hair out of place… a vision of health.
Appearances, man.
They’re the biggest misconception of all.
“No one knows and apparently, he has no intention of telling anyone,” I continue, shaking my head slightly. I think that surprised me more than the fact he was dying. He’s a man who prides himself on family. When he wasn’t cutting people at the knees with his sharp tongue, or wreaking havoc on the streets, he’s home, loving on his family.
“What about Grace?” Joaquin questions and I picture my aunt. If there was ever a woman meant to ride the waves of the mob, it was my mother’s sister. She took hit after hit without batting an eyelash. Raised her two daughters in the shadows of my uncle’s criminal empire and never once complained. I guess that’s what happens when you love unconditionally.
I shake my head.
She’s going to be devastated.
“Adrianna and Nikki?” Joaquin asks.
Fuck.
His daughters.
I didn’t even think what this would do to them.
Anthony Bianci, Adrianna’s on again off again lover and Uncle Vic’s former enforcer, better be bulking up because his arms are going to need to be huge to shoulder all the carnage Vic’s death is about to leave behind.
Sighing, I glance at Joaquin.
“What part of no one don’t you understand?” Draining my glass, I cross the room and lower myself onto the couch. I rub my temples as Captain-Not-So-Obvious tries to make sense of what I’ve just told him.