by Bethany-Kris
“Sure.”
John waved for the bartender, and asked for a water. Once he had the glass in front of him, he used it as a distraction to keep his attention focused rather than looking at Darren Calabrese. The longer he was near one of the Calabrese men, the more his old bitterness and rage grew.
It had never really gone away.
Not since he learned the truth about why their two families didn’t have a lot to do with each other. He had been, oh, thirteen or so at the time when his father finally told him everything.
John thought he was a Marcello through and through.
Their blood ran through his veins.
The truth was dirtier—his father, the product of an affair with a goomah, had been the son of a murdered man. His biological grandfather, Johnathan Grovatti. And his great-grandfather, the former boss of one of New York’s most powerful crime families, had been taken out because of greed, and nothing more.
By a bunch of Calabrese bastards.
John was still a Marcello, sure. In thought and mind, in body and spirit, he was every inch a fucking Marcello man. He spoke like them, lived like them, and was them.
But he knew now that he also had Grovatti blood keeping him alive. A whole family that had been wiped out without a thought or care.
So was the way of their life.
Or it was supposed to be.
That kind of shit was hard to let go.
So, when Darren spoke about a friendship between them, and good business, it made John’s fucking skin crawl. It took every ounce of effort he had, all of his control, not to reach over and choke the life out of the cocksucker.
“What do you think, John?” Darren asked. “Is the deal up to spec with you?”
John had barely been listening.
He just wanted this first meeting over with.
Andino thought the next one would be easier, and so on. Well, John had a whole week to get used to the idea of working with someone from the Calabrese family, and he was still just as disgusted as he had been.
“Actually, it kind of seems like the Calabrese side of things might be getting a longer end of the stick,” John said, “if you know what I mean.”
Darren chuckled. “Come on, now. It’s our warehouse, and most of our streets. Sure, the crew on the Marcello side does a lot of the work with the delivery and distribution of the shit, but—”
“I take it this deal was something to keep your business relevant,” John interjected, cocking a brow before he took a sip of his water. “Am I right?”
“More money is always a good thing.”
“Those streets—Dante handed them over to your family in a deal a few years ago at the Commission meeting, right?”
Darren nodded tightly. “Yeah, and we were owed them, considering the mess that went down between the guys.”
“Except they’re hard streets to work because your people don’t have shit there. It was all built up by Andino’s guys. I know because I used to work those streets with my cousin before I got locked up.”
“Your point, John?”
John flashed a cocky grin. “Nothing, really. Just making it clear why it’s like that. Even if the territory seems like it’s yours, it’s nothing without a Marcello crew backing it.”
Darren sucked in a deep breath.
John smirked inwardly.
It was never good to make problems with someone whom you needed to do business with for the unforeseeable future. However, in this case, John absolutely wanted it clear that between him and Darren, he would always be the fucker coming out on top.
It was what it was.
That was just what Marcellos did.
“Good talk,” John said, standing from the stool. “I’ll be around the warehouse to chat with the guys, if you want to drop by. I’ll leave my number with the girl at the front so you can, uh, give me a call when we have to do this nonsense again, Darren.”
John stuffed his hands in the pockets of his slacks, and headed for the exit of the business. He didn’t make it halfway across the floor before a much larger and more important Calabrese man stepped in his path.
Matteo.
The boss.
And … Siena’s father.
“Well, well, if it isn’t Johnathan Marcello,” Matteo boomed.
Damn, the man was loud.
John gave a laugh, and tried not to let it show his irritation. He shook the boss’s hand because fuck him, even if the boss was one he despised, he couldn’t be rude. It was not the Cosa Nostra way.
Made men did not shun bosses.
“I heard through the grapevine that you’re taking over Andino’s business now that he’s … stepping up, shall we say,” Matteo said.
The man was as wide as a table.
Tall as a fucking tree.
Rings adorned all of his fingers.
His wealth, and his status?
It came from the blood running through John.
“Guess so,” John said.
“Funny,” Matteo murmured, “I always thought you were the second generation of the Marcello boys that would be stepping up, John. What happened to that, huh?”
The man reached out and patted John’s cheek.
Inwardly, his blood boiled.
The touch was affectionate, and even … friendly. Like a family member might do.
John hated it, but managed to stay calm on the outside. “I don’t think anybody thought anything about who was going where in the family, and I like where I am.”
Matteo nodded. “Mmhmm, I bet, John.”
“Is what it is, boss.”
That word burned his tongue.
He said it anyway.
“Well, to have good vibes between our families, and this new arrangement with you and Darren, I think you should come over and have dinner.”
John stilled. “I beg your pardon?”
“Dinner,” Matteo repeated. “At my home with my family. It’s the proper thing to do. Deals are best made over good food, John.”
Not in the Marcello family.
Business was not had at the dinner table. Still, the rules his life were governed by banged around in his head.
Never shun a boss. Never, John. Even if he is not your boss.
John swallowed his pride, and the disgust weighing heavily on his tongue. Now, it just weighed down his stomach. “Sure, dinner. You let me know when, boss.”
Matteo clapped John on the shoulder, and then moved on.
It was a strange encounter for more reasons than one, but mostly because John knew bosses didn’t have their hands directly in the pot of business. They oversaw a lot, and directed people as to the business. They didn’t, however, step right in.
It was almost like Matteo had been waiting for him.
John glanced at the beefy, tall Calabrese Don as he headed for the bar of the restaurant. Then, he turned back to leave the place.
He needed to get out of there.
The sight of someone far more beautiful coming in through the doors stopped him straight up. She was lost in the tablet she held in one hand, and the earbuds in her ears. Her hair was a bit longer, and darker like she might have gotten it tinted a bit. The knee-length dress and ankle-high boots she wore were far more conservative than the clothes he had taken off her that night.
Fuck.
He could still kind of taste the salt of her skin on the back of his tongue when he looked at her. He could hear those pretty little sounds she made in bed when she was underneath him, and begging for more.
Like music, really.
John slipped up because sex was supposed to be a no-go until his therapist gave the okay, but damn, Siena had been worth that. He was still a little bit tripped up on her considering he still hadn’t found any female worth looking at since the day he saw her on the bus.
Fuck his life for being like this.
And then, Siena looked up—sea-blue gaze and still perfect.
John stared back.
EIGHT
&nb
sp; “Johnathan.”
Siena didn’t miss how John subtly winced when she used his full name with a tone as sharp as glass.
Good.
He’d slept with her, and then fucked off like a coward before she could even wake up the next morning. All she got after that from him was nothing but radio silence. For three whole months. Who did that kind of thing to people?
This man, apparently.
She had done well trying to let go of that anger and hurt over the last while, but fuck him because now it was bubbling up all over again. At just the sight of him, looking so damn good in a fitted suit and a half grin, she was pissed. Like he didn’t have a care in the world. All tall, dark, and handsome without even trying.
He probably didn’t even know what he had done to her, and how much it stung. Maybe she was just one of many.
Siena resolved herself never to let it happen again. She attempted to move past Johnathan, but he stood too close to a table on one side, and people were eating at another table on his right. She had to slide in beside him, which only made her rub against him. His familiar spicy scent—like sex, man, and deliciousness—filled her lungs with one breath.
Fuck.
“Siena, wait,” Johnathan said.
His hand came up to touch her shoulder. She stiffened; instantly frozen in place like a statue by his gentle fingertips sliding along the line of her shoulder. His touch grazed the exposed patch of skin where the neckline of her dress was open, and a shiver raced over her flesh.
Fuck.
Again.
Siena looked up at him, and all she saw was dark hazel staring back. “What?”
Her one word came out a hell of a lot quieter than she intended it to. She wished it had been that same sharp tone she first greeted him with.
No, instead he got her breathy and confused question.
Jesus Christ.
“Do you have a minute?” Johnathan asked.
Siena hardened her jaw, and schooled her features. “Not particularly.”
And not for you.
“After work, then? I assume that’s what you’re doing.”
He assumed right, but that didn’t mean she was giving in. Or that she was going to make time for him.
“I’m kind of busy,” she told him.
Johnathan nodded once. “Yeah, me, too.”
“I bet.”
He winced again.
Her sharp tone had found itself again.
Siena could see her father sitting at the bar with her brother. She was stuck between wondering why her father was even at the restaurant—he rarely showed up when she worked at one of her brother’s places—and the fact that both men were very obviously staring. They made no effort to hide it.
Matteo and Darren had their gazes glued on Siena and Johnathan like they had found the most interesting show, and couldn’t tear their eyes away.
It was unsettling.
She went back to Johnathan.
“Listen, Johnathan,” she said, falling back to his full name, “I really am busy, and I have to get to work if I plan on getting out of here before dark.”
Johnathan didn’t look like he wanted to move at all. In fact, the two of them stayed locked in a staring contest, and his fingertips grazed her throat momentarily before he dropped his hand altogether. She thought there was something new to be seen in his eyes—usually she found a lost, wild glint there. Now, she saw something else.
A silent request, maybe.
A demand, possibly.
Siena didn’t know.
She had learned through three months of silence that she really couldn’t afford to find out much about Johnathan at all. Not when things like her feelings were in play, and he didn’t seem to mind hurting them.
A weak woman she was not.
He would not make her one.
Still, Johnathan didn’t move. He didn’t say anything, either, but she could see he wanted to. He was holding back—maybe for himself, or for her. She didn’t know, and she didn’t really care, either.
“Excuse me,” she said.
It came out like a whisper this time.
Soft, unsure, and barely there at all.
Johnathan still heard it because he finally stepped aside a little more to let her pass. Behind her, she heard him say, “I’m sure I’ll see you around, Siena.”
Doubtful.
She didn’t answer him back, though.
She didn’t even look over her shoulder.
Siena made a left before the bar to head for the back offices. Books to scrub and cook, after all. Her work never ended, and her life only seemed to revolve around what business her father or brothers needed her to do next.
Matteo calling her name stopped her. “Come sit with me, Siena.”
She glanced at her father, and then at Darren who pushed off the stool behind him. The two men shared a quiet word as she made her way over. Darren left their father’s side just as Siena came to stand beside Matteo.
“Pinot Noir—the dark red,” Matteo told the man behind the bar. He looked to her. “That’s the one you like, isn’t it?”
“Usually,” Siena said. “Not when I’m working, though.”
It was not good to mix alcohol and numbers. Especially not when those numbers were fraudulent, but had to look better than real when the IRS looked at them.
Matteo laughed. “Oh, take a break once in a while, Siena. It’s good for the soul. You can’t work all the time.”
What?
She only worked as much as she did because that’s all they wanted her to do. They didn’t give her any choice.
Siena said none of that, and instead, took the glass of red wine when the bartender offered it. She took one small sip, but kept her nose down in the glass as she swallowed. It gave her the chance to smell the wine, and ignore her father at the same time.
Heady fruits and the sting of alcohol filled her lungs, and coated her tongue. She wasn’t a big drinker to begin with, but wine was the only thing she could stand to imbibe when she had to.
Red wine, specifically.
“Siena,” Matteo murmured.
Damn.
“Yeah, Dad?”
She looked at him, but he was staring back across the restaurant. At the same exact spot where she had been standing with Johnathan only moments before. He was no longer there, or inside the restaurant at all, it seemed.
Thank God for small miracles.
Her heart was already a mess.
“Do you care to tell me what that was about between you and Johnathan Marcello?” Matteo asked.
“Not particularly.”
“I’m sorry.” Matteo chuckled. “I posed that question like you had a choice—you don’t, Siena. Start talking.”
“It’s nothing, Dad.”
“Is, or was nothing?”
“Both,” she returned, and then took a much larger drink of wine. “There’s nothing to tell. We met up a couple of times randomly on the street around where I get my books, and once on the city bus.”
“And that’s all?” Matteo pressed.
No.
She was not about to tell him that she slept with Johnathan. He was her father, not a fucking friend. The only reason she got away with occasionally having a boyfriend was because Matteo needed to keep Siena happy to a certain extent.
He needed her work with numbers. He needed her bookkeeping skills, and her understanding of how to cook his fucking books. A little bit of freedom in this life could go a long damn way.
Or so she had learned …
“Yeah, that’s all,” she said, shrugging.
“He looked very uncomfortable when you wouldn’t indulge his conversation,” her father added after a moment.
“Perhaps that was because I didn’t want to talk to him, Dad.”
Siena knew that wasn’t the right thing to say, but she hadn’t been able to hold it back. Maybe if she got that out of the way, her father would back down on whatever he was trying to get at.
Unlikely.
“You know how I expect you to act around other men in this life, Siena. You’re to treat them with the respect you give me, or your brothers. Should you run in to Johnathan again, I expect you to be your pleasant, sweet self. The good girl I know you can be, huh?”
Her father cupped her cheek, and patted it gently. A wave of bitter irritation swelled at the action.
She shoved it deep down.
What else could she do?
“I’ll try, Dad,” she said, offering nothing else.
Matteo smiled. “There is no trying. Not in this circumstance.”
“All right.”
The words felt like glass in her mouth.
Matteo chuckled deeply. “Oh, and we’re having a dinner next week. I expect you to be there.”
Even better …
“Dad made this seem like it was supposed to be a big dinner,” Siena said as she eyed the placements on the table. There were only six. Just enough for her parents, brothers, her, and one other person. “This isn’t a big dinner at all, Ma.”
Coraline rolled her eyes. “I think he means it’s supposed to be an important dinner—a big deal, if you will.”
“Why?”
Her mother didn’t answer, but Siena’s attention was distracted by her father and brothers roaring through the dining room. Their laughter carried through the space, and then followed them into the hall. The laughter echoed back, and muffled as the men headed into another room.
Siena turned back to her mother. “Again, why is this a big deal?”
And why the hell did she have to be there for it?
Coraline finished placing the cloth napkins on top of the plates, and gave Siena a look that scolded her. The kind of look she used to give her as a child when Siena was being too loud or whatever else.
“You know how this works—you’re not new to this life, Siena,” her mother said. “You don’t get to ask questions. You follow the rules, and nothing else. Now, go find something to do, and get out of my hair.”
Yep.
Just like a child.
Frankly, Siena didn’t mind this time. It gave her the chance to get away from her mother who just kept redoing every little thing that Siena set out on the table, anyway.
She headed for the back of the house, and slipped in the sunroom. The space was fully enclosed, but had large windows that overlooked the backyard, and a door to exit out of should someone want to go outside. It was heated in the winter, and the potted plants in all the corners and on shelves gave the space an earthy smell.