John + Siena: The Complete Duet

by Bethany-Kris

  Siena’s hands slammed into the floor right above John’s head as he yanked her down onto his mouth. He was right—she was fucking soaked.

  Tart, hot, and slick.

  Her arousal flooded his tongue as she finished her orgasm. He wanted to feel her coming again, though. Feel her shaking, and get her skin heating up under his touch all over again. His tongue struck out against her clit over and over.

  Relentless. Fast. Unforgiving.

  Siena trembled and shook as he ate her pussy until she came a second time.

  “Again,” he heard her whisper above him.

  John kissed the hood of her clit, and looked up to find her watching him. “Whatever you want, babe.”

  John ticked his finger over his shoulder, and Pink followed behind at his boss’s unspoken request. The enforcer was good like that. All the while, John continued chatting on the phone with the fucker giving him the most trouble at the moment.

  “You mean to tell me there’s nothing you can do at this point?” John asked.

  “My hands are tied,” Arthur Lorde said. “Unless you come up with something tangible enough to put reasonable doubt on the table, Andino is stuck where he is.”

  “The fact nothing ties him to the bomb—”

  “It is now wide knowledge he is running the Marcello organization, Johnathan. He was there, in a business with men he was known to be having issues with, and they died. It is not a stretch for them to put two and two together to get four.”

  “Except you’re talking a lot of circumstantial shit right now.”

  “They’re putting things together.”

  “You agreed to help clear—”

  “He did not say he was going to bomb a fucking restaurant in the middle of broad daylight in Brooklyn!”

  The fucking bastard on the other end of the phone was lucky that John had been taking his mood stabilizers for a few days. Had they had this conversation a while ago when John’s rationale was all but gone, he would have made a quick trip across town to break the motherfucker’s teeth out of his head.

  “Something tangible, you said?” John asked.

  “Enough to cast a bigger shadow for reasonable doubt, at the very least. I need something more. Give me that, and this will go away.”

  “It’ll be in your hands by tonight.”

  John hung up the phone without as much as a goodbye, or a fuck you.

  Pink had stepped in front of his boss, and grabbed the door handle of a rundown warehouse in the heart of lower Brooklyn. He pulled it open, and let John walk into the dank-smelling, dark space.

  John pointed to the side. “Go turn on the light, and then get your camera ready. Put the bag of shit aside, too.”

  “Got it, boss.”

  The second John spoke, the mumblings started from within the darkness. A sorrowful, terrified yammering that instantly made John’s irritation spike a little bit higher. He shoved it down, and rubbed his hands together as he took a couple of steps into the darkness.

  “No, no, please … no,” it continued on.

  John sighed. “Hurry, Pink. It’s been a while since he’s seen any kind of light.”

  “Gotta find the fucking switch, boss—oh, there it is.”

  Instantly, the warehouse was lit up by huge overhead lights that were almost as bright as the goddamn sun. It even made John squint a bit, and he knew what was coming. In the middle of the warehouse, sitting in a pool of his own piss, excrement, vomit, and water that had been thrown on him occasionally was the Capo from the hospital.

  The same man who had dared to speak out against John when he could have just as easily stepped back into his place. He was sure the Capo thought John just planned to kill him, but nothing was ever that simple.

  At the bright lights overhead—the first time the man had seen any kind of light since that day a week ago—the Capo withered away from the brightness. He still wore his soiled clothing he had been brought in with, although, now also with the added accessories of chains that kept him locked in a spread eagle position on the warehouse floor.

  In that pile.

  Shit. Piss. Vomit. Water.

  It was undignified, really.

  Well, he had called John a disgrace. John just figured the Capo would appreciate a better understanding of what it felt like to have his dignity taken away altogether. The man had not been touched. Not beaten, or otherwise.

  Not yet.

  “Jesus, just kill me,” he mumbled from the floor.

  “Stop being dramatic, Roy,” John murmured. “It’s just a little light.”

  That probably felt like needles stabbing into the man’s eyes.

  “Why won’t you just kill me?”

  “This is better—more amusing,” John supplied. “I was curious how much I could take away from you before you finally broke. I refused you light, food, and other than the warehouse, you have no real shelter. I took away your voice, as you can no longer communicate with anyone who will listen, or anyone who cares to. I removed your dignity the first time you pissed yourself, and I took your honor when you begged to be killed. Welcome to the land of the disgraced, Roy. We’re a very pleasant bunch. I assure you.”

  “You’re … you are …”

  “Come on, find a noun or even an adjective to use. Pick one.”

  The man stammered on more.

  John only nodded to himself.

  Almost over.

  Stepping back a few paces, John bent down to dig through the bag Pink had set aside. He pulled out a few items—a knife, ice pick, and two small handguns. John much preferred something a little heavier when it came to guns. An Eagle was perfect, but these would do the trick.

  Keeping the items hidden at his back, John moved closer to Roy again. “I will let you clean up, and give you clothes. You will sit in a chair, and say exactly what you are told to say. And should you disobey, or fight, I will start with the ice pick. It will remove your ability to walk when I break it through your kneecaps before I start removing the tips of your fingers with a knife. Do you understand?”

  Wild, terrified eyes stared back at John from the floor.

  He only smiled.

  “Wh-what?” Roy stammered.

  “You will do as you are told, or for the unforeseeable future, this will be your life now. Darkness, humiliation, and pain. I won’t kill you, no, but I will have someone come in everyday to remind you of why you should have simply listened to me in the first place. I will feed you just enough to keep you alive, and then make you wish you would die every single day for the rest of your life. You can choose allowing your wife to get your remains back a battered, unrecognizable mess, or something far easier to understand.”

  Roy gaped.

  “Do you understand?” John asked, bringing the ice pick out to swing it back and forth. “Well?”

  Weak men were predictable.

  Roy was a weak man.

  “Y-yes, I understand.”

  Just a little longer, Andi.

  SEVENTEEN

  “Do you want the good news first, or the good news last?” John asked.

  Siena grinned. “Well, where does the bad news fit in?”

  “That’s the thing—there is no bad news.”

  Her laughter drew the attention of the other guests eating with them at the restaurant table, but John paid his family no mind.

  “Just tell me,” Siena said.

  “Ginevra is coming back to the city this weekend—Greta and Giulia will be the first to greet her.”

  For a split second, Siena thought her heart had stopped. But no, the beats just took a chance to recharge before picking up an even faster pace.

  “Really?”

  The girls would be ecstatic.

  They had been asking … and asking more.

  Siena didn’t know what to tell them.

  “Really,” John said.

  Not even thinking about it, she leaned over to give him a quick kiss. She planned to pull away just as fast—no need to give eve
rybody else a show, but John held her there for an extra beat in time.

  “Since you’re sharing news, what do you have on Andino?”

  Siena frowned when John’s attention drifted away from her momentarily to deal with the men who had filed into the restaurant moments before. His uncles, and his father, each took a seat at the table.

  “Good morning to all of you, too,” Siena said.

  John shot her a sly smile. The rest of them had the decency to at least look a little bit sheepish.

  “Our apologies,” Lucian said, shrugging. “John is not very good at keeping people updated, and so, we have to chase him around to find out things we need to know. Isn’t that right, John?”

  John gave his father a look. “I update you all when there are things to report.”

  “Are there things to report?” Dante asked.

  The quietest of the three men—Giovanni, Andino’s father—rested back in the chair with a passive expression. It was almost like he didn’t want to give off the aura of hope, lest karma come around and see it, only to knock him back down again. Still, the conversation held his attention, and he didn’t look away once.

  “Good news,” John assured.

  “How good?” Dante pressed.

  “You really didn’t think I would get this handled for Andino, did you?”

  The three men quieted as they passed looks between one another. Siena cleared her throat, feeling just enough awkwardness to want to move to another table, maybe. John hadn’t asked her to do that, though, so she stayed.

  Finally, Giovanni spoke first. “We absolutely thought you could—”

  “And would,” Dante added.

  “—get this done for Andino,” Giovanni finished. “What we were concerned about was the fact you chose to keep us out of the loop, and went forward with your plans alone. That’s not how this family works. We have always been a unit working together.”

  “Except that’s not how I have to work,” John replied.

  Lucian grinned at his son. “And they know that now, too, John. Really. Changes like that take some adjustment, though. I think all things considered, they did pretty well stepping back as much as they could, and giving you faith.”

  John’s jaw ticked—to Siena, a sure sign that his emotional currents were flip flopping back and forth. He was good at hiding when his high to low swings came on strong from others, but he still felt them. She couldn’t imagine how hard that must be for him on a daily basis. The kind of struggle unique to him in his circle as no one else could possibly understand what it was like for him.

  But his family was learning.

  It seemed like they were getting it.

  Finally.

  Progress was progress. Whether John wanted to admit it or not, that progress would mean the world to him at the end of the day. He often alienated himself from his family, and his history with them kept him at arm’s length a lot of the time.

  Siena wanted to change that for him. He so loved his family, and they loved him. Look at all they had done for him.

  “I think you will find,” Dante said, leaning back in the chair, “that this business will be far more accommodating to you, John, once these changes become permanent.”

  “Which changes are those?” John asked.

  Because there were a lot, Siena knew.

  John had a good point.

  “You controlling your own faction, and answering to yourself,” Dante continued. “Andino—someone you trust and are close with—running his own faction, and answering to himself. I think, in ways, you will also … help Andino in a way.”

  Giovanni looked to Dante. “How do you figure?”

  Lucian laughed. “I think I might know.”

  “Go for it, then,” Dante urged with a flick of his hand.

  “John is the only person Andino wouldn’t go to war with. Consider how Andino is, Gio … you know it, and we all know it. His concern and care for others is fickle. He’s just as quick to remove his loyalty from someone, as he is to promise it if it suits him. He is a good boss, but he is also a volatile one, too. You’ve seen his games—he manipulates, and he does whatever he needs to in order to get what he wants.”

  “Except with me,” John murmured.

  The men’s gazes drifted to John again.

  “Except with you,” Lucian agreed. “With Dante’s daughter marrying into the Donati family at the end of next month, you taking over the Calabrese faction, and Andino heading the Marcellos … we are unlikely to ever see another war between the three Cosa Nostra families controlling this city. That’s unheard of.”

  Giovanni chuckled. “Everything our father always wanted, in a way.”

  “It only took three generations to get there,” Dante added with a smirk.

  “You know, I haven’t officially taken over the Calabrese family,” John said.

  Siena decided maybe then she should get up, and go to the bathroom. Or something to get away from the conversation. It wasn’t as though any of the men made her feel unwelcomed, but her upbringing had taught her that this was not the sort of thing women were allowed to be a part of.

  “I’m just going to go—”

  “You can stay where you are,” John said, giving her a look.

  “It’s business, and you know women don’t entertain business, John.”

  “They do in this family,” Dante said, “or they have started taking an interest over the years. You’re fine to sit.”

  “See,” John pointed out.

  Fine.

  “It’s a matter of semantics,” Lucian said, “as they know who their new boss is, and what’s expected of them.”

  “Sure, but I still have to make a show of it, too. Drive the point home.”

  “We could help with that,” Giovanni offered, grinning, “if you would like us to.”

  “How so?” John asked.

  Before any of them could answer John’s question, the restaurant door blew open, and with it, bringing cold late-October wind. Siena didn’t recognize the disheveled looking man wearing a trench coat, and glaring, but the other men at the table seemed to. Their postures stiffened as the man came closer to their spot.

  “Detective,” John greeted.

  “I don’t know what you fucking did, but this isn’t over,” the man hissed.

  “Now, Rosencauld—”

  “Who did you pay, huh?” the detective spat out. “Who did you blackmail, or threaten? How did you do it?”

  John only smiled up at the man from the side, and never once showed concern or irritation at the intrusion. “I didn’t need to do anything. The evidence was on our side.”

  “Evidence like this?”

  The man threw a tablet down on the table, and a video was already playing. On the screen, Siena saw a man she recognized—a Capo from the Calabrese family, although she had never had a real conversation with the man. The same Capo who had spoken against John outside of the hospital the day she pulled the plug on Darren’s life support.

  He stumbled through his words on the video, tears filled his frightened eyes, though he sat straight and proud on a chair. Darkness rested behind him, and nothing else.

  He admitted to the bombing, and to setting it up. He admitted to killing both Siena’s brothers, and to encouraging the feud between the families to worsen the peace in the city. He admitted where evidence could be found to connect him to everything he confessed. And then he killed himself with the gun sitting in his lap by swallowing a bullet.

  Rosencauld pointed a shaking finger at John. “This isn’t over.”

  John laughed. “Oh, it’s been over for a while, detective. Have a good day.”

  The lesson was clear.

  Don’t fuck with the Marcellos.

  “Andino will be out soon,” John said after the man left. “Very soon.”

  Siena carefully maneuvered between the men sitting around the table. It was not her first time being in this spectacularly large home—the Marcello mansion—but she bet it
was probably the first time for a lot of the Calabrese made men.

  The fact they couldn’t stop staring, wide-eyed and enraptured by the blatant show of wealth in status covering every inch, gave credence to their amazement. A few of the men had nodded to her in polite greeting as they were directed inside the home for the meeting, but more than a few wouldn’t even look her in the eye.

  It was going to take time.

  They would give respect.

  That was just how Cosa Nostra, and made men worked. They did not have to like the situation they currently found themselves in, or even agree with the new boss in charge. They did, however, have to offer respect at every turn.

  It was that, or their life.

  For most, it was an easy choice.

  “Thank you,” the last Capo at the table said when Siena set his glass of vodka down beside him.

  “You’re welcome.”

  She gave him a smile, but little else. She didn’t linger to chat, either, instead heading for the front of the dining room where John had asked her to sit once she was done. She hadn’t needed to be present for the meeting—probably shouldn’t have been, anyway—but he asked for her to be there.

  Siena didn’t know how to refuse John.

  Not really.

  Still, she wasn’t there to entertain the Calabrese men, or make nice with any of them, either. She was simply there for John, and so he could make his point clear with these people about where they now stood, where he positioned himself against them, and even Siena’s place in the family.

  As his.

  All semantics.

  Theatrics of the mafia.

  It was what it was.

  Sitting on a chair that was not pulled into the table, but set far enough back to make it clear Siena was not joining the men, she only took her attention away from their conversations when John came into the room. Despite the room being full of people waiting on him, he only looked at her.

  Coming to stand at her side, his fingers drifted through her loose waves, and he quickly dropped a kiss to the top of her head. At home, in private, John dressed for comfort, or whatever he was doing that day.