Loyalty (John + Siena Book 1)

by Bethany-Kris

  Old newspapers. Old news.

  It was still as clear as day.

  The intention was obvious.

  Marco Grovatti, one of the headlines read, killed in his home.

  Another one … another headline… Johnathan Grovatti, son of murdered mob boss, attends father’s funeral with wife.

  Young Calabrese Capo suspected of murdering former boss.

  Carl Calabrese takes over Grovatti family.

  Over and over again.

  Headline after headline.

  Newspaper clipping after newspaper clipping. All sent to John. Apparently, by his own family, if she had understood him correctly.

  All that bad blood between their families was suddenly staring Siena right in the face. She didn’t know what to do. Go upstairs to John, or stay stuck in her fear?

  She knew one thing for sure, though.

  John still needed help.

  • • •

  “Andino.”

  Andino turned from the man he was currently going over paperwork with, and his gaze found Siena standing just a few feet away. The restaurant bustled with patrons, and employees. It was closing in on dinner time, and the place seemed filled to the brim.

  “Siena?”

  She brushed her sweaty palms off on her tweed coat. Her heart raced. At that moment, her nerves were out of control. She felt like she was going to puke. Every single part of her screamed that this was wrong, and bad. She shouldn’t be here. She shouldn’t be doing this.

  Not to John.

  But she had to.

  “How did you find me?” Andino asked.

  Siena took a deep breath. “I heard John mention something on the phone to someone. He said he might come see you later. He mentioned this restaurant.”

  “John hasn’t been here. Not today.”

  “He probably forgot. He’s been doing that a lot lately.”

  Andino frowned. “What, forgetting things?”

  “That’s one.”

  He cleared his throat, and nodded once to the man at his side. “Give us a few minutes. Find a table, and I’ll come see you when I’m done.”

  Then, to Siena, he said, “Let’s go to my office.”

  Siena didn’t say anything, simply followed behind Andino. He strolled through a busy kitchen, and bypassed the bustling employees. Once inside the office, he closed the door behind them. He didn’t take a seat at the big desk, but he offered a chair to Siena.

  She shook her head. “I just … kind of feel better standing right now.”

  “All right.”

  “I think John needs help.”

  In a blink, Andino shoulders dropped. It was a subtle action, and someone else might not have even seen it. His face gave away nothing. There, he was still cold, and emotionless.

  “Help how?” Andino asked.

  “Today, he got something. This morning, I mean. A file, I guess. He said it was from—or the guy was from your family. An enforcer.” Siena hoped her rambling made sense because she had been dealing with more than enough, and this was just one more thing to add to her pile at the moment. “He threw the file, and had a fit. Broke things, and then he left. I’ve been trying to call him. He’s not taking his meds.”

  “Slow the hell down,” Andino said. “One thing at a time.”

  Siena was shaking. Her fingers trembled, and her shoulders felt heavy. She stuffed her hands in the pockets of her coat, trying to hide her nerves. Anxiety was most definitely not her best friend.

  Not in this circumstance.

  “I think John’s manic,” she said.

  Andino sucked in a sharp breath. “Manic.”

  “Yeah.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “Why are you so calm right now?” Siena asked. “Doesn’t knowing that he’s manic bother you?”

  Andino cocked an eyebrow. “This is how I am, and how I need to be. Now, what makes you think that?”

  “Things he’s doing. Things he’s done. Today. Yesterday. Everything.”

  “And you said he’s not taking his meds?”

  Siena shrugged. “No, I don’t think so.”

  “I don’t deal with maybes when it comes to John.”

  “Definitely not taking his meds the way he should be,” she said.

  “And this file that was delivered to him,” Andino said. “What was in it?”

  “Things about his great-grandfather. The one that was murdered by my grandfather.”

  Andino folded his arms over his chest. “And you’re sure it was delivered by a Marcello man?”

  “An enforcer. That’s what John said.”

  “Why come to me?”

  All over again, Siena’s nerves made themselves known. She wanted to be anywhere but there. She couldn’t betray John, and yet here she was, doing exactly that. She no longer had a choice.

  “They might take him away from me,” she said.

  Andino quieted for a long time. He simply stared at her, and said nothing. It only made Siena’s nerves worse, but she figured in that moment, the truth was better than lying. She knew how much John cared about Andino, and how much he trusted him. Whenever John spoke about his cousin, it was with great respect and a genuine fondness. Something she had never heard John use when he talked about anyone else. Except for maybe his mother.

  “His mother told me things at the dinner on Sunday,” Siena said, “about his mania. Things that he does, and how to recognize it. She explained the way he acts, and what might cause it.”

  “Which can sometimes be the smallest of things,” Andino added.

  Siena nodded. “Yeah, but it made me stop, and pay attention. Things I was overlooking before, or whatever else. Maybe this is partly my fault, and I don’t want them—they already don’t like me—to blame me for this, and take him from me. Would they do that? I don’t know, and I don’t want to risk it.”

  “And so you came to me.”

  “Yes.”

  “You said he left?”

  “In a fit,” she confirmed. “He was really upset, and he wouldn’t even talk. I don’t know where he went, and he won’t answer my calls.”

  Andino let out a harsh sigh. “Well, the most important thing to do is find him, get him calm, and then get him settled enough to actually talk.”

  “I don’t know how to do that,” Siena said.

  “It’s not an easy thing to do with John, and you kind of learn how to do it over time. You came to me, Siena, and that’s the best you can do. That was the right thing to do.”

  “Is it?”

  “Sure. Why would you think differently?”

  “Because it feels like I betrayed him.”

  “Trust me,” Andino said, “when this all blows over, the last thing John will ever think you did is betray him. It’s quite clear where your loyalty is, woman.”

  What did that even mean?

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  “JOHN!”

  John heard his cousin’s shout from behind him, but continued walking. His mind was entirely focused on one thing, and one thing only. He was just a few steps away from getting some answers. Or at least, something that would get him closer to finding out who exactly in his family had sent him that file.

  Days later, and he was still looking for answers.

  He’d been on the move for hours. Too many—he lost count. His phone wouldn’t stop ringing in his pocket. Buzzing and buzzing, and only irritating him more. He ignored it every time it rang.

  He only knew it was the next day because the sun was out, and nightfall had already left him behind. Not that he spent it sleeping because he didn’t. He hadn’t even gone back home after he left.

  Not once.

  “John,” Andino called again, “wait up.”

  Once again, John ignored his cousin. He grabbed the handle on the pool hall’s front door, and swung it wide open. The smell of liquor, and walls that spent years being coated in smoke from cigarettes and cigars smacked him in the face. Nobody could smoke in
the place now, of course, but that smell just didn’t wash out. Sometimes, it couldn’t even be painted out.

  “Jesus, John,” Andino growled, “what the hell is wrong with you?”

  His cousin was right behind him, but John’s eyes were scanning the crowd. Men playing pool at the tables, and gathered patrons at the bar paying for drinks. It was only a little past noon, and already, it looked like quite a few of them were drunk.

  Good, this would make things a lot easier for John.

  Andino’s hand clapped John on the shoulder, but he brushed the touch off. He heard his cousin saying his name, and trying to talk to him, but he just had other things on his mind. Other shit to do.

  Other fuckers to take care of.

  Quickly, John found the fucker he was looking for. A short, chubby twenty something year old at the farthest pool table across the hall. Drake was his name. Or something like that. A foot soldier in a crew belonging to the same Capo of the enforcer who had delivered the file to John the day before.

  “John, will you talk to me for a goddamn second?”

  “In a minute, Andino,” John said.

  He didn’t think to ask his cousin how he had found him, or why he was looking for him. Those were details, and at the moment, they were not the details John needed to know.

  John headed across the pool hall, his strides long and heavy. He recognized a face or two, and a couple even called out his name with a wave. A greeting he otherwise would have returned, but at the moment, he just didn’t give a fuck. He was not here for them, and he had no interest in speaking to them. They would not help his cause.

  Drake didn’t see him coming. He was too busy bent over the pool table, aiming for his next shot. A winning shot, if he had made it. The five hundred dollars sitting on the edge of the pool table told John that the guy wanted to make that shot.

  The guy didn’t get to take the shot.

  John grabbed Drake by the back of his shirt, and yanked hard. In one swift motion, John flipped the guy over, and smashed his back into the next pool table. Drake let out a shout, one filled with pain, but John only smiled at the sound.

  A couple of the guy’s friends stepped forward, but Andino moved in fast. He always had John’s back. Ride or die, no matter what. His cousin was there, doing what he needed to do. Even if he didn’t know why John was doing what he was doing.

  “Hey, Drake,” John said smiling coldly. “Looks like you and me need to have a fucking chat.”

  Drake’s brown eyes widened, and words stumbled from his mouth. “About what?”

  John chuckled. “Guess you’re going to find out, cocksucker.”

  Uncaring about the people watching or those closing in around him, John kept a firm hold on Drake as he dragged him across the pool hall. Someone from behind the bar, a face John didn’t recognize, stepped out like he was going to help the guy. John just pointed a single finger at the man.

  “Fucking try it,” John dared.

  The guy held up his hands in surrender, and it only made John laugh. His face was recognizable. He’d been here before, but not to do this. Nonetheless, they knew who the fuck he was, and what he could do. They knew his last name, and what it meant in this city.

  Nobody wanted to get fucking messed up with that mess.

  Nobody wanted to get messed up with the Marcellos.

  Soon, John had Drake out of the pool hall. The cold February air whipped around them. John didn’t feel anything at all. Seemed he couldn’t feel anything, lately. When he did feel something, it was just a mess. He couldn’t process it. It was too much, and he didn’t want to deal with it.

  Drake didn’t fight too much as John dragged him behind the pool hall. A dirty alleyway filled with dumpsters, and moldy cardboard boxes. It stunk like death. It looked like some animals had been chewing on shit, and digging through garbage.

  Rats, likely.

  New York was filled with rats in more ways than one.

  John tossed Drake to the ground, uncaring that the guy landed in filth and wetness. Standing over him, John bent down to make sure Drake got a good look at his eyes. He needed to look somebody right in the face when he wanted to know if they were lying to him or not.

  “Who the fuck gave you the file?” John asked.

  Drake blinked rapidly. “The-the—”

  “The file, you stupid fuck. Who gave it to you?”

  “I-I can’t remember.”

  John let out of scoff and rolled his eyes out words. “You can’t fucking remember something that happened within the past couple of days? You can’t remember who put a giant red file in your goddamn hand? Maybe if I cut your fucking hand off, it’ll jog your damn memories, asshole. How about that?”

  “Well, I …”

  The guy started to scramble back on the ground. His hands dragged through the wetness, and his clothes were now covered in the dirt and filth. He looked like he wanted to be anywhere but there. Like he needed to get the fuck away from John, and fast.

  He was right. His instincts were on point. He did need to get away from John, but it was too fucking late.

  “Who gave you the file?” John asked again. “One last time to tell me who gave it to you, and told you to give it to Kent.”

  Drake stumbled over his words again, trying to come up with some fucking excuse. He mumbled a name. Tim, or some other generic bullshit. There were a million fucking Tims in the city.

  “Tim who?” John asked.

  “Tim-Tim-Tim …”

  Fuck this shit.

  John pulled out the gun hidden inside his jacket, took a step forward, and beat Drake in the head with it. Once, and then twice. Again and again until the man’s face was a bloody fucking mess. The rage that swelled through John was addictive. Finally, an emotion he understood, and one that was not so overwhelming because he knew exactly what to do with it.

  John blinked, and in the next second, Drake was dead on the ground. His face was smashed in, and bloody. No breath left his lips.

  “Jesus Christ, John.”

  He’d forgotten about his cousin. Andino hadn’t forgotten about him, it seemed.

  John stepped back, and straightened. In a flash, Andino had taken John’s gun out of his hand and kept it out of reach. John took another step back, and then another. Andino kept looking at him in that way of his.

  “John,” Andino said, “look at me.”

  He did, but he didn’t like the sight looking back at him.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Andino asked. “Coming here like that, making a fucking public scene, and dragging him out of there where anybody could see you do it, John? And now somebody’s going to come back here, and find his dead body. Guess who they’re going to call. Guess who’s going to take the rap for it, John. You. Where’s your judgement—you didn’t know this was a bad idea?”

  John blinked, and his fists curled in tight balls at his sides. “I’m trying to get some fucking information.”

  “About the file?”

  “How did you know about the file?”

  Andino glanced away. “Not important, but is that what it is?”

  “It is fucking important. Was it you?”

  Disbelief stared John right in the face.

  “Do you seriously think it was me?” Andino asked.

  No.

  Still …

  “Somebody from our family sent me that file. They want me to know—they think I forgot what the Calabrese did to my family.”

  “John, listen to yourself.”

  This was all bad.

  All of it.

  His brain raced, and his heart thundered.

  “John, where are you going?”

  He didn’t answer his cousin. He was already at the mouth of the alleyway, and stepping out onto the street when Andino yelled for him again.

  Behind him, he could hear Andino making a call.

  “Yeah, I got a mess that needs cleaned.” Andino rattled off an address. “No, don’t let the boss know and don’t tel
l my father, either. This is for me. Let’s keep it on the low.”

  John was already gone.

  • • •

  John slipped through a restaurant that shouldn’t be familiar to him because of who owned it, and yet it still was. He visited the business a couple of times a week just to spend time with Siena, but before her, he wouldn’t have stepped foot near the place.

  She was already waiting for him at a table. Standing, too. He could see concern in her eyes, but he didn’t know why.

  She outstretched her arms to him, and he took the embrace. Dropping one kiss to her forehead, and then a second faster one to her lips. Her sweet little smile made his grin grow.

  “You didn’t answer my calls,” she said.

  John shrugged. “Busy.”

  “For three days?”

  He didn’t like where this line of questioning was going, so his best defense was to simply ignore it. Apparently, she had been one of the people who kept blowing up his phone non-stop.

  “Everything’s fine,” he told her.

  “I didn’t ask,” Siena said.

  John gave her a look, and then took a seat at the table. “You going to sit, or what?”

  Siena did take a seat at the table, but she still had that look in her eyes. She was searching for something in him, but he didn’t know what to tell her. He didn’t know what the fuck she was looking for.

  “I thought we were going to that show last night,” she said. “An early Valentine’s gift.”

  Shit.

  “I forgot,” John said.

  He tried to wave it off, but he could tell she didn’t want to let it go. He knew what talking would do. Talking would only lead to a fight. The last thing he wanted to do was fight with Siena.

  Not now.

  Not ever.

  “I’ll make it up to you,” he promised.

  Siena frowned. “And how are you going to do that?”

  “Give me a little bit to figure it out.”

  “Maybe we don’t have a little bit.”

  John heard her, but he was already waving to the waiter.

  “Our usual,” he called out.

  The waiter nodded, and headed for the kitchen.