Page 15 of Straightened Out

Joaquin looks at me and gives me a curt nod.

“I’m off. There’s something personal I need to tend to.” I want to believe he’s off to handle the Violet situation, but I’m sure that’s not the case.

“I’ll catch up with you later,” I say.

Once he’s gone, Uncle Vic rounds my desk and takes a seat in the leather armchair. It’s

another power play on his behalf and a move that reminds me who exactly is in charge around here.

Newsflash—it ain’t me.

“Sit,” he orders, pointing to the chair opposite of him. I’m not about to argue with the man, so

I do as I’m told and take a seat. Just as I park my ass in the chair, my phone vibrates again.

Fucking hell.

“You’re probably wondering why I’m here,” Uncle Vic starts, folding his hands on the

desk. Considering what transpired on the very spot, I should probably offer my dear uncle a Lysol wipe.

Shit. Where the fuck did I put that thong?

“The truth is, I had no intention of paying you a visit after that stint in New York two months ago,” he continues, and I forget all about the missing scrap of lace. Mildly confused, I draw my brows together.

“What are you talking about? I took care of things with Mitch just like you asked me to.”

He eyes me skeptically as he leans his back against the leather chair.

“Is that right?” he marvels. “Because I specifically remember ordering you to end that motherfucker if he didn’t have my money.” He cocks his head to the side, arching an eyebrow as he silently dares me to disagree.

Reaching behind me, I cup the back of my neck.

If this guy has taught me anything, it’s to admit to nothing.

Take it to your grave.

“He paid,” I say evenly.

Suddenly, he inches forward and slams his fist against the desk. I don’t flinch, I don’t even blink. I simply wait for him to tear me to shreds like I’ve witnessed him do to countless others. It doesn’t matter that I’m his nephew, no one gets a pardon in Victor Pastore’s kingdom.

“Don’t fucking lie to me, Rocco,” he fires back. “There’s no fucking way that low-life piece of shit had fifty grand in his safe. For some odd reason, you’re protecting him, and I want to know why.”

“I’m not protecting anyone,” I argue. The lie slips past my lips so easily, I almost believe it myself.

Well, I’m not protecting Mitch, that’s for damn sure.

My mind instantly wanders back to Violet and I drag in a sharp breath, recalling the way she looked wearing my clothes. The way she sat on that bed and looked at me like I was something instead of nothing.

Two months—two fucking months have passed, and the girl is still fucking haunting me. Consuming every thought.

It’s wrong to think of her when I’m going to bed or when I’m with another woman, but it’s a catastrophic mistake to have her on my mind while discussing business with my uncle. It’s fucking criminal to have her be at the forefront of the lies I’m spewing to him too. But worst of all, it’s a sign of a weakness.

“I need to be able to trust you,” Uncle Vic sneers, his gray eyes narrowing into tiny slits as he curls his fists on top of the desk.

Though they are deserved, those words pack a punch and aren’t easily ignored. It’s not like he’s criticizing my clothes, he’s doubting my character. My loyalty. I may have had a temporary moment of weakness, but I’ve given this man my fucking life and all he’s done in return is put me down and tell me I’m not good enough. Another man might be able to shrug it off, but I don’t look at Victor Pastore and see a boss. I look at him and see the man who stepped up when my own piece of shit father failed me and my sister.

“If you don’t trust me by now then what the fuck am I doing here?” I ask hoarsely.

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