Page 14 of Straightened Out

A man of my word, I never told Joaquin about my night with his sister, a decision I’m still struggling with months later. I was fucked up that night—no surprise there—and I made a promise to Violet when my loyalty should’ve been with the man who made it his life mission to keep me grounded. The shitty thing is, I’d probably do it again. All of it… right down to the part where I made her promise to call me if she couldn’t get in touch with her brother.

Shit.

What if that’s the reason she’s calling?

Closing the distance between us, Joaquin snatches the phone from my hand and sends his sister’s call to voicemail.

“She’s only calling you because I declined her call,” he seethes, handing me back the phone. Drawing my eyebrows together, I stare at him for a beat, trying to mask my anger. See, if he knew his mother took a loan from a sleezy motherfucker like Mitch and his little sister was taking her clothes off to pay that debt, he might be inclined to answer the fucking phone when she calls him.

“Why?” I press.

His eyes narrow into tiny slits and he clenches his tattooed fists.

“What do you mean why?” he growls, losing his patience with me. “Did you not hear anything I fucking said since I entered this room? I don’t have time to entertain Violet right now and she’s only calling me to give her flight information.”

The color drains from my face at his revelation and my chest tightens. I force myself to focus on him and not the memories that taunt me every night since I dropped her on her mother’s stoop.

“Her flight information,” I repeat, forcing a swallow.

“God, you are such a fucking mess,” he hisses, scrubbing a hand down his face. “I told you, my mother is sending her and a few of her friends here for the weekend to celebrate her birthday.”

My eyes widen. There’s no fucking way he told me that. Had I known Violet was planning a visit, I would’ve moved heaven and earth to make sure it didn’t happen. And what’s this shit about Flora sending her—the woman doesn’t have a pot to piss in.

Those memories I’ve been trying to push out of my head surface and a vision of Violet dancing around a stripper pole with her bare tits on display flashes before my eyes.

Christ.

She can’t fucking come here.

I barely survived that night. I had to sleep in the fucking chair because I didn’t trust myself and when we parted the next morning, I felt like I was leaving things unfinished between us. And by unfinished, I mean I was kicking myself because I’d never know how it feels to bury myself deep inside of her.

A knock sounds on the door, pulling me away from my thoughts. Before I can ask who it is, the door opens and my uncle struts into my office like the fucking powerhouse he is. Dressed in a custom-tailored suit, with his gray hair perfectly styled, he’s earned the title of the Dapper Don.

I straighten my shoulders and plaster a phony smile on my face.

Just keep faking it until you make it, Spinelli.

“Uncle Vic,” I say, smoothing a hand over my wrinkled jacket. I step around Joaquin and spread my arms wide. “To what do we owe the pleasure of this surprise?” I ask, pulling him into an embrace. I kiss one cheek then the other—a big fucking show of respect.

“You stink,” he sneers, pushing me away. His eyes narrow as he takes me in. “And where the hell is your fucking tie?”

There was a time in my life when words like that would have wounded me, but through the years I’ve learned to take my uncle’s criticism with a grain of salt. Nobody is good enough for him. I could be decked in Armani with a shiny Rolex on my wrist and he’d find a speck of lint on my collar.

“It’s around here somewhere,” I reply, flashing him a smile. “Let me fix you a drink,” I offer and quickly make my way to the rolling bar. My phone vibrates inside my pants again and I nearly knock over the crystal decanter. Behind me, my uncle mutters a curse before greeting Joaquin. As the two of them exchange pleasantries, I take a quick peek at my phone and shoot off a text to Violet.

Me: Can’t talk now. Are you okay?

Before she can respond to the text, my uncle clears his throat and I pocket the phone. I grab the glass of scotch and turn to face him.

“I wish you would’ve told me you were coming, Uncle Vic. I would’ve picked you up from the airport, or at the very least sent Joaquin for you.”

I extend the glass to him, but he doesn’t take it.

“Let’s cut the bullshit, okay, Rocco? I’ve been around a long fucking time and if you think for one second I don’t see right through you, you’re sadly mistaken.” The fake as shit smile falls from my face as his gaze cuts to Joaquin. “Joaquin, please see yourself out, I need to speak with my nephew in private.”

Well, shit.

Lifting the glass to my lips, I down the scotch myself. No reason to let a perfectly good drink go to waste, especially when it appears that my uncle is here to hand me my ass.

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