Page 17 of Straightened Out

“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.

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