Chapter 12
Rocco Spinelli
Making my way through the shipping yard, I bypass the massive containers. In New York, my uncle has control over everything that comes and leaves in the containers, but here a guy like Pablo moves his drugs in them. The product is hidden inside household items and carted overseas. No one blinks an eye.
Just as I reach the pier, I recall everything Joaquin said before I left. At the time I told myself he didn’t really mean any of it, but there is some truth to his accusations. Uncle Vic put Pablo in our path to test me. He may have assumed I’d fail, but he knew Joaquin wouldn’t. No one was going to get away with selling drugs in Temptations and the second we struck, we declared war.
On Pablo and the men who control these piers.
On every motherfucking drug dealer in Miami.
My uncle might be an expert on power struggles in New York, but he doesn’t know jack shit about how things work around here. The mob doesn’t rule the streets here, the cartel does. And now, I’m starting to fear that I’m leaving Joaquin in the middle of a war, one he’s going to have to fight himself because I’ll be too busy pretending to be Al Capone.
Spotting Uncle Vic and the two bodyguards from earlier, I tell Manny to stay put and keep an eye out for any suspicious activity. I don’t think I was tailed, but I’m also a little preoccupied tonight. You know—murders, drug lords, naked ballerinas—they all take their toll and knock a man off his game.
“You’re late,” Uncle Vic calls the second his eyes land on me.
“By two fucking minutes,” I seethe. “Cut me some slack, Uncle Vic, my hands have been kind of full tonight.”
He unbuttons his suit jacket and reaches into the inside pocket, pulling out a cigar. It’s the middle of the night and the guy still looks like he’s ready to grace the cover of GQ magazine. How the fuck is that even possible?
“What happened?” he questions as he inspects the cigar.
Sure I heard him wrong, I stare at him for a beat. Either the cancer has spread to his brain or the man is just a sick fuck.
“You were there,” I remind him. “You know what fucking happened.”
He lifts his eyes to me.
“Are you getting loud with me?”
That’s it.
I’ve officially reached my breaking point. Fuck being calm, cool, and collected. It’s obviously got me nowhere.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake. You know what—I’ve had enough of this shit,” I shout. “I don’t give a fuck if you think I’m incompetent. So, I don’t have my shit together, at least I don’t fuck with innocent lives. Pilar is dead, something you’d know if you had bothered to stick around but you’re not the type to get your hands dirty so you sneak out the back door like a fucking phantom.”
Anticipating a verbal lashing for disrespecting him, I brace myself. He doesn’t deliver, though, and for some reason that angers me even more.
Totally unfazed, he says, “Pilar.”
“Yeah, Pilar,” I grind out. “If you did your homework, you’d know that Joaquin was deeply involved with her.”
He shoves the cigar between his lips and fishes a lighter from his pocket. Taking a puff, he looks at me thoughtfully.
“How did you handle it?”
I have no idea what he’s referring to.
“You’re going to have to be a little more specific, I’ve got a lot of balls in the air.”
Too many.
“Well…” His voice trails as he takes another puff of the cigar, blowing the smoke directly in my face. I start to cough as he continues to carry on. “If what you say is true, I’m going to assume Joaquin wasn’t in the frame of mind to handle the aftermath, so tell me, Rocco, what did you do?”
“Is this another fucking test or perhaps a lesson in Mob 101? You really got a knack for this shit.” The guy should’ve been a professor instead of a gangster—imagine that.
“I asked you a question.”
Blowing out an exasperated breath, I angrily comb my fingers through my hair. Nothing shakes this man. Not a fucking thing.
“I cut the surveillance tapes in the restaurant, bought the owner, and cleared the guns. Then I took Violet back to my place and sent Omar to get Joaquin. The cops think Pablo’s guys came into the restaurant and opened gunfire, Pilar and Joaquin were just out to dinner and got stuck in the crossfire. There was no mention of you.”
Seemingly satisfied, he nods his head and takes another puff of the cigar.
“Where is Joaquin now?”
“Back at my place. The next couple of days are going to be rough—”
“The next couple of days are going to be business as usual. Did you forget the conversation we had earlier this evening? Your ass is getting on a plane tomorrow morning and you’re coming back to New York. We have a sit down in Queens tomorrow night. That’s where I’m going to introduce you to a couple of guys—”
It’s my turn to cut him off. I knew he was serious about me leaving, but I thought I had some time. A couple of days at least. That would be enough time to help Joaquin make funeral arrangements and get Violet on a plane back home.
“Hold up. I can’t leave tomorrow.”
“Sure you can and you will.”
Fuck that.
“Uncle Vic, Joaquin is in no frame of mind to handle things here and I got his sister…” My voice trails as he lifts an amused eyebrow.
Leaving Joaquin to deal with the ramifications of Pablo’s death is one thing. He knows when Uncle Vic says jump, I have no choice but to say how high. He’ll understand that much, but I gave my word that I’d take care of Violet. That I’d get her back home safe and sound before all hell imploded.
I won’t piss on my word.
Not this time.
Not when it comes to her.
The amusement leaves Uncle Vic’s face and he narrows his eyes at me.
“What about her?” he questions.
“What the hell am I supposed to do with her?”
“I don’t give a fuck what you do with the girl. Now, Joaquin has a bigger set of balls than you, he’ll man up. You just be on that fucking plane.”
“Look, there’s got to be somebody else. What about Jimmy Gold? Isn’t he your underboss? This is his fucking gig, not mine.”
“Jimmy Gold is rotting away in jail with half his body burned,” Uncle Vic seethes. “If you paid attention to anything but your dick, you’d know that. Now, get your fucking head out of your ass. If there was someone else, I wouldn’t be wasting my time with you.”
“You’re not hearing me.”
“No, Rocco, you’re not hearing me. Be at the airport at six in the morning.”
~*~
Opening the door to my apartment, I feel around the wall for the light switch and flick it on before kicking the door shut. Startled, Omar jumps up from the couch looking disoriented. Must be nice to fall asleep. I don’t remember the last time I got a full night’s rest.
“Where’s Joaquin?” I ask, tossing my keys on the console table.
He glances at his watch before jutting his thumb over his shoulder toward the hallway.