Page 78 of Straightened Out

I cut her off.

“I’m sorry, back up. What do you mean this guy approached her?”

“It was before she took the loan from Mitch,” she explains. At the mention of Mitch, it clicks—that’s where I heard the name. The night I found Violet dancing at Delilah’s, he named Yankovich as the cause for why his business was failing. According to Mitch, Yankovich had opened up a club and was taking all his cliental.

“He showed my mother pictures of things Joaquin had done and told her that if she didn’t cooperate by setting up a meeting between the two of them, Joaquin would end of up dead or in jail.”

I’m having a hard time wrapping my head around all this, especially since Flora could’ve told me all of this herself. Instead she called her daughter a mess. But that’s beside the point. This is the second time I’m hearing the name Yankovich. I don’t know who the fuck he is or what his agenda may be, but you can bet the house I’m going to find out and then I’m going to end him.

I’m still harping on this illusive motherfucker, when Violet goes on to tell me how Flora neutralized the situation and the repercussions of her actions. She finishes with how her mother is concerned that rivals of my organization will come after her next and instead of being fearful, she looks insulted that Flora doubts her ability to handle herself.

“She doesn’t know what happened in Miami,” she continues to rant. “I mean, I may have freaked out a little bit, but I think I handled myself just fine. Sure, I have the occasional moment every now and then, but I push past it.” She breaks from her tirade and narrows her eyes before going on. “You’re quiet. Why are you quiet? Don’t tell me you think she’s right. C’mon, Rocco, I would never sell you out like that. If someone approached me—”

“If someone approached you, you’d be at their mercy,” I say leveling her with a look. I can pretend like it’s not going to happen, that I have everything under control, but the possibility is great.

Pushing my plate away, I lift my gaze back to Violet.

“Are you saying you agree with her?” she questions, her eyes flickering with both shock and annoyance. Before I can answer question, the waiter approaches.

“I’m sorry Mr. Spinelli, I know you asked for a private room and not to be disturbed but there is a man here, demanding to see you.”

Well, well, well, would you look at that—something money can’t buy. Peace and privacy. I tear my eyes away from Violet and turn to the waiter just as the door to the private dining room opens and Rienzi charges in with three soldiers, Carming DeLeo, Dino Romano, and Sammy Bellow, behind him. All of whom are in their late fifties. They tip their chins simultaneously, a show of respect, but I don’t doubt for one second that they can’t stand the sight of me. To be fair, I don’t blame them.

Uncle Vic pulled the wool over their eyes too. When word got out on the street that Uncle Vic was turning himself in, everyone in the family started gunning for power, hoping they’d be appointed the new boss of the Pastore organization. After all, they did their time, some of them did it on the streets, others did it in a cell. No one expected the don’s newly made nephew to take the reigns once the big guy left for the big house.

For the most part they’ve made peace with their capo’s decision—or at least they pretend to. As long as Uncle Vic is still breathing, none of them will object or make a move. But when the man is in the ground, all bets are off. If I let these wiseguys walk all over me now, I’ll end up like Paul Castellano or worse, my father.

I keep my eyes on Rienzi as I swirl the red wine around in the glass.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I sneer, plucking the bottle of wine from the bucket. The waiter moves to take it from my hand and refill my glass, but I wave him off.

“A situation has developed,” Rienzi growls. “Something you’d know if you answered your goddamn phone.”

“You should really watch the way you talk to me,” I say pointedly, as I knock back the merlot. Violet twists the napkin in her hand as she nervously looks from Rienzi to me. “It’s fine,” I tell her. “He works for me, isn’t that right, Rienzi?”

Rienzi doesn’t respond, but before I can press him any further, Violet pushes back her chair.

“I think now is a good time for me to head to the ladie’s room. I’ll pretend to powder my nose while you deal with this,” she says, referencing Rienzi and company. Understanding there is a reason for this impromptu visit, I don’t object. Instead, I signal for Johnny to follow her. We don’t exactly have a great track record leaving Violet to herself in restaurant when there is conflict.

Once she’s out of view, I turn back to Rienzi.

“This better be good.”

“Your uncle is being transferred to a penitentiary in North Carolina the day after tomorrow,” he spats, and I immediately straighten in my chair.

“Bullshit,” I declare. If it were true, I’d know before him. Uncle Vic would’ve called or at the very least he would have had his lawyer call me to inform me.

“He called you six times to tell you, but you decided not to answer your phone for the better part of the day,” Rienzi fires back, shaking his head. “I don’t know why Victor has so much faith in you, but you are going to be the ruination of this family. In case you didn’t connect the dots yet, Spinelli, the fact his transfer was pushed up is not a good sign. There’s a war brewing on the streets and you’re too busy wining and dining some fucking whore.”

I’m on my feet in a flash. The chair topples over as my hands wrap around Rienzi’s neck. He can spew all the insults he wants at me, but Violet is off fucking limits. I spin us around and slam him on top of the table. The ravioli goes flying, as does the wine glasses.

“You might want to rephrase that last part,” I grind out, tightening my hold on his neck. Dino rushes to my side and starts to pull me off Rienzi, but I don’t relent. I’m a man at his breaking point.

“Rocco, son, he’s turning blue,” Dino shouts.

Good.

Let him gasp.

---