“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.