“What do you mean why? Did you not hear anything I fucking said since I entered this room? I don’t have time toentertain Violet right now and she’s only calling to give me her flight information.”
“Her flight information,” he repeats.
“God, you are such a fucking mess,” I hiss, scrubbing a hand over my face. “I told you, my mother is sending her and a few of her friends here for the weekend to celebrate her birthday.”
“Fuck you, Joaquin, you never mentioned Vi was coming,” he growls, roughly pushing his fingers through his hair for the umpteenth time. “You need to call your mother and tell her to cancel the flights.”
It’s not lost on me that he’s more concerned over the knowledge Violet is coming for a visit than he is knowing Victor is here checking on him. My eyes narrow and I open my mouth to question why he gives a fuck, but I don’t get to the chance because a knock sounds on the door and two seconds later Victor appears.
“Uncle Vic,” Rocco greets, staring over my head. I watch as a grin breaks out across his face and he smooths a hand over his suit jacket. “To what do we owe the pleasure of this surprise?”
Stepping around me, he properly tends to the don by spreading his arms and enveloping the man in a strong embrace, kissing both cheeks before pulling away. I turn to do the same, but Victor doesn’t even realize I’m in the room, he’s too focused on glaring at his nephew.
“You stink,” he observes. “And where the hell is your fucking tie?”
“It’s around here somewhere,” Rocco says, all too calm, cool, and collected. “Let me fix you a drink,” he offers as he makes his way to the rolling bar in the corner of the office. Victor watches him tinker with the crystal decanter for a moment before shaking his head and bringing his gaze to me.
“Joaquin,” he acknowledges. “Always good to see you, son.”
His eyes rake over me, taking me in from head to toe, and I silently curse myself for not taking the time to put on a tie.
“The pleasure is all mine, sir,” I say as I lean forward, kissing both cheeks. He pulls back and cups my shoulder.
“At least you look presentable,” he praises. “This one smells like he spent half the night in a brothel.”
“I wish you would’ve told me you were coming, Uncle Vic. I would’ve picked you up from the airport,” Rocco says as he hands him a glass of scotch. “Or at the very least sent Joaquin for you.”
I hate everything about that sentence and not just because it implies I am at his beck and call, but also because it rolls so easily off his tongue. It makes me wonder if he’s even grateful for a damn thing I’ve done . . . all the sacrifices I’ve made and all the times I’ve put myself on the line to protect him.
“Let’s cut the bullshit, okay, Rocco? I’ve been around a long fucking time and if you think for one second I don’t see right through you, you’re sadly mistaking.” His eyes dart to me. “Joaquin, please see yourself out, I need to speak with my nephew in private.”
I hate that even more.
It’s another dismissal.
Another kick in the fucking face.
A reminder I’m disposable.
“Of course,” I say, shoving my hands into my pockets. Lifting my gaze to Rocco, I give him a curt nod. “I’m off. There’s something personal I need to tend to.”
“I’ll catch up with you later,” Rocco replies and just like that, I’m dismissed.
Ignoring the sting, I tell myself I’m acting foolish, that I have no right to be offended. I accepted my fate a long time ago. Made my bed and now I’ve got to lie in it. Besides, Pilar needs me andlike everything else in my life, she has taken a backseat to the mob for too long.
I see myself out of the office and head straight down to the main level. I don’t bother to check on Pablo’s status, nor do I tell any of the staff I’m leaving for the night. I’m disposable after all, therefore, they can all manage just fine without the Puerto Rican.
Instead of the front door, I leave through the back and spot the sleek town car waiting for me at the curb. Aside from the money and the supped-up penthouse apartment with a view of the water, a personal driver is another perk to having sold my soul to the mafia.
It’s a short drive seeing as my apartment is conveniently located a couple blocks from the club. When we first started this gig, I didn’t feel comfortable having a driver and often walked to and from work. That shit died though, and I got used to having my ass driven the few blocks. It especially came in handy when Pilar was around. I’d sneak her out the back door with me and spend the short ride kissing her neck and stroking the inside of her thighs, teasing her mercilessly.
Tonight, seeing her sprawled across one of the leather booths completely unconscious opened my eyes to a lot of things. Mainly, how hopelessly in love with her I am. But I also realized how much I regret having pushed her to do what she did. It’s a guilt I’ll have to live with for the rest of my life, one that I’m sure will eat at me like a fucking cancer.
The car comes to a stop in front of my building and I get out. Desperate to get to Pilar, I bypass the doorman and make my way toward the bank of elevators. My phone rings again . . . and again, I ignore it. In fact, I shut the fucking thing off completely. I don’t recall a time in which I’ve ever done that before. I’m always waiting for a call, ready to make a move. I’m a fucking puppet to anyone who holds the strings.
The doors open to the top floor and I unlock the door to the penthouse. Miguel immediately pushes off the leather sectional.
“Where is she?” I ask, tossing my jacket on the back of the couch.
