Page 85 of Straightened Out

“Does Joaquin know?”

“I think he suspects something, but I haven’t come clean with him.”

“You can’t afford any problems with him right now,” Uncle Vic warns as he leans closer. “As much as I like the girl and think she might be a good fit for you, if Joaquin pushes a choice on you, you’re going to have to cut her loose.”

I open my mouth to tell argue, to tell him the only way I’m cutting Violet from my life is if she isn’t safe, but he holds up a hand to silence me.

“In the meantime, you’re going to want to put a guard on her at all times. Same goes for your sister. Have you cleared the air with her yet or are you waiting for her to a catch a bullet before you do that?”

Christ.

“Way to guilt a man,” I hiss.

“I don’t know how many times you have to be told. You still got love for your sister whether you want to admit it or not. Keep her close. If not for me, then for your mother.” He pauses to make the sign of the cross. “God rest her soul.”

I bend my head and silently make the sign of the cross too. Forget rolling in her grave, my mother would fucking haunt me if I ever let anything happen to Gina. My eyes cut back to Uncle Vic’s.

“I plan on going to pay her a visit when I get out of here.”

“Good, that’s good,” he praises, drumming his fingers against the table.

“If we’re done discussing all the woman in my life, maybe we can move to the part where you tell me what the fuck is going on. I don’t like being kept in the dark.”

I wait for him to lecture me on my outburst, but to my surprise he gets right to business—a sure sign that our time is truly up.

The first matter we discuss is the hit he’s orchestrating once he’s officially transferred and what it means for me on the streets. He wasn’t kidding about putting men in place to protect but Violet and Gina. He’s expecting a blood bath.

He also advices me to get rid of Rienzi which surprises me, but according to him, Rienzi can’t be trusted. As soon as Joaquin’s plane hits the tarmac, Rienzi is gone. It’s just a matter of who pulls the trigger.

When I get my chance to talk, I bring him up to speed on everything that’s gone down since we last spoke. I tell him how I checked in on his wife and how Anthony hates my guts for taking a job he feels should’ve gone to him. We cover the docks and the longstanding relationship the Pastore family has with the Longshoremen’s Association. Lastly. we discuss is the Satan’s Knights motorcycle club. Of all the fucking surprises my uncle has thrown at me, his devotion to the leather clad hooligans definitely takes the cake. I don’t know what the fuck is so special about Jack Parrish and his club. He’s a fucking lunatic for one, and he has made it perfectly clear that he wants absolutely nothing to do with me. But the devil worshipping nutcase is all aces in Uncle Vic’s book. It’s almost comical, they’re complete opposites and yet you can tell each man has respect and admiration for the other. I, on the other hand, think Jack is a dick and I can’t wait for the day I don’t have to deal with him, but I made a promise to my uncle and so long as he’s breathing I’ll play nice with Parrish.

“If that’s all…” His voice fades and I lift my head.

“Actually, I wanted to ask you a question. Does the name Vladimir Yankovich ring any bells?”

Uncle Vic’s eyebrows knit together.

“The Russian?” he scoffs, dismissing the name with a wave of a hand. “He’s a cunt. Years ago, he tried to make a name for himself. He’s all about drugs so you know how that went. It makes sense with me being in here, that he would try to make another play.”

“Maybe he’s not a cunt no more,” I suggest. “Guys got a big operation according to Mitch.”

“And you’ve got an empire,” he volleys, glaring at me. “Get rid of him.”

I open my mouth to argue, but the words die on my tongue as the guard calls out, “Time’s up Pastore, wrap it up.”

Uncle Vic turns his head slightly, eyeing the correctional officer for a moment before he drags his gaze back to mine.

“Well, this is it, kid,” he says. “There’s never enough time is there?”

That familiar tightness in my throat returns and it threatens to suffocate me. The minute he walks out of this room, I’m a changed man. I’m no longer the acting boss of the Pastore family. I’m the motherfucking don.

Swallowing, I do my best to remain cool, calm, and collected.

“I suppose there’s not,” I reply hoarsely.

“Do me a favor?”

“Of course.”

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