Page 28 of Straightened Out

Prepare me.

Artie Donofrio—I don’t even know who the fuck that is.

“What about Temptations and the properties here?” I ask, reminding him I’m just the night club manager and the man who collects his rents. The new-age Ricky Ricardo—minus the bongos. Not the guy he should be handing over everything to, trusting I’ll keep it together.

He brings his attention back to Joaquin.

“You will oversee Miami for the time being.” Seeming to remember the envelope his bodyguard brought him, he lifts it and hands it to Joaquin.

“What’s this?”

“That’s a birth certificate and a bloodwork report that states your mother is Sicilian. Her maiden name is Riccardi and your grandfather was born in Sardinia. They changed their surname when they came over here to flee the ties they had to the Beluzzi family.”

The head of the Beluzzi family, Umberto Gallo, is the man who ordered the hit that killed my father.

Interesting.

“None of that’s true,” Joaquin stammers.

“Wrong. From this day forward, that’s the only fucking truth you know.” He looks back at me. “That envelope holds your ammunition to change the rules, but keep in mind, the mob doesn’t like change. It runs on the Sicilian values of our ancestors. That being said, society and politics aren’t the same. Guiliani did a number on us and the Albanians are moving in, they’re taking over and without change, the Italian mafia is going to die. Drugs are going to flood the streets and every common criminal who knocks off a bank is going to think they’re connected. Pizzerias from Brooklyn to Staten Island will be fronts for those cocksuckers and they’ll get the unions too. The longshoremen will be theirs and trade will be gone. For fuck’s sake, they got reality shows on this shit now. Be the change, Rocco.”

Change the dynamic of the mob—he really wants me dead.

“They’re not going to like it and you’re gonna catch a lot of heat. Might even catch a bullet or two, but you do what you gotta do because having this guy at your side will keep you alive. Joaquin is the only way you survive this. Now, there’s one more thing… one more gift I’m going to give you.”

I’ve seen him give lavish gifts to his wife—fur coats, diamond rings, a weekend in Venice. Apparently, he’s lost his way because these gifts suck.

“Oh, yeah? What’s that?” I mumble.

I suppose it can’t get any worse.

“Jack Parrish.”

I meet his gaze, narrowing my eyes.

“Who?”

“You’ll meet him,” he assures, his lips curling into a wicked grin. “God, he’s going to fucking hate you.”

Wonderful.

Fuck this Parrish guy.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“Rocco, look at me.” I reluctantly drag my eyes back to him. “He’s going to hate you, but he’s going to have your back and that’s fucking golden. It’s a bridge you don’t ever fucking burn, and don’t you forget that.”

“Parrish is the messiah, I get it.”

“Oh, son, you have no fucking idea.” A look of nostalgia fills his face and he clears his throat before bringing his eyes back to mine. “Now, are we clear because I’d like to get back to the cut of beef on my plate?”

How the fuck can he eat after all that? More importantly—where’s the fucking waiter. I need a drink.

“Victor, about last night…” Joaquin starts.

Yeah, poor guy is in a state of shock too.

Last night was a trip to Disney World.

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