Page 694 of The Tempted

He lifts his head, leans back in the metal chair as he takes in his surroundings. His green eyes finally pausing when they met mine. He pushes back his chair and rises to his full height to greet me. I noticed he wasn’t wearing a tie and the top button of his dress shirt was unbuttoned, his collar was popped, we’d have to talk about that.

“Uncle Vic,” he greets, stepping around the table to extend his hand to me. The guard stares at my nephew’s hand before turning his back and allowing the gesture. I slide my hand into his and pat his cheek with my free hand.

“Rocco,” I say, shaking his hand. “Thank you for coming.”

I tip my chin toward the chair as I drop my hand from his.

“Sit,” I order, watching him do as he was told.

Rocco was Grace’s sister, Anna’s son, her eldest child and the one who struggled most of his youth between right and wrong. His father, Rocco Spinelli Sr., was a drug trafficker and when his kids were young, he was deported back to Italy. Anna took Rocco and Gina, her daughter, to Italy afterwards to live, wound up returning five years later after her husband was murdered in a drug deal gone south.

Anna died seven years ago after a long battle with breast cancer and her son came to me, looking for a job. He despised what his father stood for, hated the fact drugs and greed were associated with his name, deciding he wanted to change the way people perceived Rocco Spinelli Junior.

I gave him a job within the organization and he worked his way up to becoming the soldier in charge of the trade business. Rocco was in charge of the docks, controlling the Longshoremen’s Association and the local union contracts I had in my pocket. He reminded me a lot of myself, thirsty for power and eager to make a name for himself.

I schooled him on the values and code that the Pastore family abided by. We weren’t about drugs, and no innocent children would overdose on our watch. We kept the streets as clean as possible, shutting down any dealers that threatened to sell their product on our territory. After he mastered that I sent him down to Miami Florida and put him in charge of my interests there. I owned three night clubs down there and business was thriving. Miami was flooded with drugs but they didn’t touch my clubs and that was all Rocco’s doing. He kept things clean and profitable.

“Anthony should be here any minute,” I began, folding my hands neatly on top of the table. “How did everything go with the men?”

“Everyone thought the Pastore family was dead. They were just about ready to disburse your territory amongst the five families when I walked in and introduced myself,” he informs me. “The boss of the Pastore crime family.”

Smiling, I imagine the stunned faces of every mob boss rivaling against my organization, looking to take over my territory. I made it clear a long time ago, I wasn’t someone to be underestimated.

I stare back at Rocco—the future of my empire.

We’d never die.

Never end.

Rocco Spinelli would carry the legacy of Victor Pastore—the gangster. My empire would continue to reign even after I was buried.

“Did you square away everything in Miami?”

“Joaquin DeLeo will take my place, controlling the clubs and small business ventures I have down there. As for New York, I’m pulling Rienzi off the docks like we discussed, and I will appoint him as my underboss. We’ll be small for a while as soldiers and enforcers climb the ranks but I’m not worried. You’re sure Parrish and his club will have my back until I can strengthen the organization?”

“Son, you know better than to question me,” I chastise, turning my head as my son-in-law appears in the room. Anthony stood out amongst everyone in the room and although his appearance differed from Rocco’s, wearing a pair of sweatpants and fitted t-shirt that stretched across every muscle he worked hard at strengthening, there was no denying he was a force to be reckoned with. He used to be the most lethal man in my organization, the one who did most of my dirty work, allowing my hands to remain clean and his covered in blood.

He traded in his title as my enforcer to be my daughter’s husband, and though the mob runs in his veins, something he won’t ever truly escape, he wakes every day and attempts to be everything I never was. He is a husband that comes home night after night and a father who tucks his children into bed and reads them a bedtime story.

Anthony narrows his eyes and pins them onto Rocco as he makes his way toward us.

“Anthony, so glad you could join us,” I greet, waving my hand to the empty seat beside Rocco. “Have a seat.”

“What the fuck is this, Vic?”

“Relax,” I soothe. “That’s why you’re here, for me to explain.”

“Bianci, always a pleasure,” Rocco sneers, his gaze never wavering under Anthony’s scrutiny.

He’s perfect.

Anthony pulls out the chair and sinks into it, crossing his arms against his chest, covering the Xonerated logo branded to his shirt.

“You said I was here because you had a message for Jack,” he started, tipping his chin toward Rocco. “He have anything to do with that?”

“He is the message you will bring to Jack Parrish’s doorstep,” I explain, cocking my head to the side as I stare back at him.

“What?”

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