Page 29 of Straightened Out

“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.

“I can’t,” I say evenly.

More importantly, I don’t want to.

It’s a good thing too, because the moment I turn around, I’m greeted with the distinct sound of gunfire.

Chapter 9

Rocco Spinelli

Violet rushes into the room and barely crosses the threshold before I hear thepop, pop, popof several guns going off. At the sound of the gunfire, one of Uncle Vic’s bodyguards grabs him and ushers him out of the room, into the kitchen. Springing into action myself, I order her to get under the table and reach for my gun. She doesn’t move, she just stands there, staring at the doorway in a state of shock.

“Now, Violet! Get the fuck under the table and don’t fucking move!” I shout, pulling back the safety on my gun.

She screams.

She cries.

She begs God to protect her brother.

For me to help him.

For no one to die.

Then she falls to her knees and sobs.

“Joaquin…”

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