Chapter 6
JOAQUIN
“Violet,” Rocco murmurs, quickly lowering the gun. I divert my eyes to my sister, watching as she slowly peels her hands away from her face. Swallowing, she stares wide-eyed between me and Rocco, her gaze lingering on the gun still in his hand.
“Put that shit away,” I growl, reaching out to pull her into the apartment. Snapping out of his trancelike state, he tucks the gun back into his jacket pocket. Violet doesn’t move away from the door once I close it and for a moment, I wonder if my twenty-year-old sister is in a state of shock.
Being eight years younger than us, Violet was just a kid when Rocco and I started running wild on the streets of Brooklyn.
I don’t even know if she remembers his father getting deported or when he and his family moved to Italy.
I don’t think either of us paid her too much attention when Rocco returned from Italy either.
She was an annoying teenager who got in our way until she wasn’t.
It was like I blinked and suddenly, my little sister who snuck out of the house to follow me and Rocco was a young woman auditioning for the New York Academy of Ballet.
There was no ignoring her anymore, she was destined for bright lights and stages across the world.
“Vi, what are you doing here? Why didn’t you call me?”
Her gaze snaps to me and the shock flees her face as she narrows her eyes.
“Why didn’t I call you? I’ve been calling the both of you for two days,” she snarls, glaring between the both of us.
“I guess you’ve been too busy shooting shit to answer me, though.
” She looks at Rocco. “I’ve never had a gun pointed at me before.
You really know how to welcome people,” she mutters, rolling her eyes.
“Glad you enjoyed it, Bug,” he quips, flashing her a smile. I almost laugh at his use of the nickname he gave her years ago, but then I notice the way his eyes rake over her.
“Don’t call me that,” she snaps.
“You never used to mind,” he reminds her.
“I’m not twelve anymore, Rocco.”
“Yeah, I noticed.”
Asserting my body between them like a shield, I glance from Violet to Rocco. The cocky fuck remains impassive, shoving his hands into his pockets nonchalantly like I didn’t just witness him eye fuck the shit out of my sister.
“What’s going on here?”
“What are you talking about?” he replies, stealing another glance at Violet. The fucker actually has the audacity to wink at her. I step to him, getting in his face.
“I’ll kill you,” I warn.
“Relax,” he chuckles. “I’m just busting your balls, besides . . . ” his voice trails as he turns so she can’t hear him. “It’s Violet, man. I’d never fuck with your sister.”
“I can hear you idiots,” Violet calls from behind me. Turning around to face her, I watch as she plops down on the couch and kicks up her legs. “And just to be clear,” she continues, looking at Rocco. “You’re not my type.”
“Right, you’re into men in tights these days.”
“Don’t knock it,” she chastises. “There’s nothing wrong with men in tights. They hug everything, leaving very little to the imagination and no room for surprises. There’s nothing worse than a guy hyping up his dick and lowering his pants to reveal one of those mini hot dogs you get at a buffet.”
“Sort of like when a girl stuffs her training bra with tissues and coincidentally gets caught in the rain,” Rocco retorts.
Violet’s cheeks flush as she stares daggers at him.
“Again, I was twelve,” she grinds out. “Since you’re so full of yourself, I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”
“Careful, Bug, I may have just promised your brother I wouldn’t touch you, but I never said I wasn’t down for a little game of show and tell.”
“Damn,” she says, snapping her fingers. “I knew I should’ve stopped at the airport gift shop and bought that magnifying glass in the window.”
I must have missed the memo where my sister got a smart mouth and started playing with dick.
“Who are you?” I question, shaking my head.
“Aww, you missed me, big brother. That’s cute. Now, which one of you is going to go downstairs and get my bags? By the way, I used your Uber account to call for a car since neither of you could pick me up from the airport.”
Rocco comes up beside me, keeping his eyes fixated on my wild child sister.
“What are we going to do with her?” he asks low enough that only I can hear him.
“Fuck if I know,” I mutter. “Hey, Vi, weren’t you supposed to bring some friends with you?”
“They bailed on me,” she says, staring at her manicured nails. “So, I’m sliding into my twenties with the two of you. Better make it fun, guys.”
The good thing about Violet’s visit is— oh, who the fuck am I kidding, there is nothing good about her being here. Don’t get me wrong, I love my sister and I hate that we’re not as close as we used to be, that I’ve missed so much of her life, but she couldn’t have shown up at a worse time.
There was no explaining any of that to her, though.
She didn’t know about Pilar and while she probably surmised I was not a fucking club promoter, I couldn’t come out and tell her I had to have a sit down with Victor, or that I was regrouping from murdering a man the night before.
To be honest, I’m not sure she would’ve cared.
Violet had a one-track mind and all she seemed to care about was partying it up. That and busting Rocco’s balls.
“Why are we here again?” she questions, sliding onto the barstool.
Ignoring the question, I look toward the hostess station, hoping to catch a glimpse of Pilar.
Of course, Victor would pick the restaurant she worked at for his sit down.
Now, not only did I have to worry about running into her, but I had to deal with my sister too.
I didn’t feel comfortable leaving her out of my sight, especially when I’m not sure Pablo’s guys aren’t going to try to retaliate— something I plan to further discuss with Victor when he gets here.
“Well, if you’re not going to answer me, the least you can do is buy me a drink.”
“You’re not twenty-one.”
“If you think I came to Miami on my birthday to be sober, you’re a fool. A handsome fool, but still a fool,” she says as she reaches over and squeezes my cheek.
Peeling her fingers away from my face, I signal for the bartender.
“What are you drinking?”
“Hmm . . . a dirty martini . . . extra dirty.”
“Just the way I like things.”
I turn at the sound of Rocco’s voice and watch as he steps behind Violet’s stool, his eyes leisurely trailing over her bare back. Caught, he shrugs his shoulders as if to say, I’m only looking. Right, and as soon as I leave here, I’m going to go to Saint Bernadette’s to confess my sins.
“Where did you come from?” Violet questions as she takes Rocco in from head to toe. I wonder if it’s too late to fit her for a chastity belt— those things still exist, right?
He smiles at her briefly before sliding into the space next to where she sits and orders her a dirty martini and a shot of bourbon for him and me.
“How about you worry about your dress instead?”
“What’s wrong with my dress?”
“Half of it is missing,” I growl.
“Don’t be lame,” she replies, rolling her eyes. “It’s bad enough I have to sit here and twiddle my thumbs while you two have some fancy dinner. I don’t understand why I couldn’t just go to the club.”
“One, the club isn’t open yet, and two, I don’t fucking trust you,” I tell her, taking my own glass from the bar. “I suppose we should toast you.”
“Yes,” she says, plucking an olive from the little sword dangling out of her martini glass. “Go on, boys, tell me how much you love me and how wonderful it is to have me in your lives.”
Rocco smirks.
“They’re inflating your ego at that dancing school, Bug,” Rocco comments.
“It’s the New York Academy of Ballet,” she corrects, curling her lip. “Not a dancing school.”
Rocco’s eyes meet mine and he raises an eyebrow.
“Isn’t that the same shit?”
One would think.
But I know better than to say that out loud.
Violet smacks his bicep.
“It is so not the same thing and to be clear, they don’t inflate my ego.
It’s quite the opposite.” Setting her glass on top of the bar, she spins around to face him.
“I’m constantly told I’m not good enough, that I don’t have what it takes to make it onto the stage.
I’m five pounds heavier than every girl in my class, and my hips lock entirely too much.
My frame needs work and . . . ” her voice trails as she glances over her shoulder to look at me. My jaw tightens as I set my glass down.
“And what?”
“Nothing,” she says with a shake of her head. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”
“Bug,” Rocco calls softly.
“I told you not to call me that.”
“Yeah, that’s not going to happen. If you hate the school so much, why are you still there?”
“I never said I hate the school. They’re only hard on me because they’ve taught the best and if I want to be in their company, I need to do better .
. . be better. I will be on that stage,” she says, determination flaring in her blue eyes as she takes her glass off the bar and raises it.
“And you two assholes better be in the front row with flowers, cheering me on.”
A smile ticks the corners of my lips.
That’s the girl I remember.
The one full of dreams and will.
This sex-crazed, half-dressed alter ego is nothing compared to that girl.
Swallowing, I raise my glass.
“To the determined ballerina I have the privilege of calling my sister, may all your dreams come true.”
A smile spreads across her face as she clinks her glass against mine. Before she can take a sip, I press a kiss to her cheek.
“Proud of you, Vi,” I murmur.
“Happy Birthday, Bug,” Rocco adds.
And just like that, I’m forgotten.
She turns to look at him and he winks at her before finishing off his drink.
“We’ll celebrate at the club,” he promises, setting his empty glass on top of the bar. I bite my tongue, letting the sharp threat that sits on the tip of it die and I signal for the bartender. Handing her my credit card, I tell her to keep a tab open for Violet.
Rocco clears his throat.
“He’s here,” he says, looking down at his phone.
“Who?” Violet asks.
“No one,” I reply. “We won’t be long. Stay out of trouble and don’t move from this fucking chair.”
“You know, I was just starting to like you again.”
“I mean it, Vi. Stay put.”
“Fine, but don’t be long. I want to dance.”
Shaking my head, I follow Rocco away from the bar, down a narrow hallway that leads to the back of the restaurant and a room reserved for private parties.
“How much trouble do you think she can get into in the time it takes for Victor to eat a porterhouse?” I question.
Rocco’s lips quirk as we reach the room. He pauses, turning to me.
“You don’t want to hear this, but I’m gonna say it anyway so maybe you get used to the idea . . . I’m gonna marry her.”
“The hell you are.”
“You’ll see.”