Loyalty (John + Siena Book 1)
Page 31
Leonard ticked a finger in John’s direction. “Well done, John.”
“My turn?”
“Your turn.”
• • •
Siena’s gaze was only on John as she entered the facility after being checked in by one of the nurses. The white dress she wore made him think she looked like some kind of angel gracing his life.
Funny.
She had always been like that for him.
A saving grace.
Right up until the end.
The rules of the facility were clear when it came to patients and visitors. Hugs were okay, but any romantic displays were not appropriate or encouraged. Patients were there to get healthy, not go on a date.
Even knowing it might be a mark against him, or another long chat with Leonard about walking the right lines, John grabbed hold of Siena the second she was close enough for him to do it. He dragged her close, wrapped his arms around her, and kissed her hard.
The way her lips curved into a sweet smile sent his racing heart slowing down to a more settled tempo. All those nerves finally drifted away. She was still his peace, it seemed. His one place of calm inside a continuous storm of chaos.
He had been worrying nonstop since he found out she was coming. He knew in that second that his worries had been for nothing.
“John,” she whispered.
He kissed her nose. And then her eyelids. Finally, her mouth again.
Someone cleared their throat nearby.
The warning was clear.
John ignored it.
Siena cupped his face with her hands, and she drew him in close again. Not to kiss, but just to stare in his eyes for a moment.
“You look better,” she said.
He laughed.
Damn.
It felt so fucking good to laugh.
“I feel better,” he admitted.
She smiled.
A bright, beautiful smile.
Lighting up his life just like that.
John had a million and one questions for Siena, but the nurse that was closing in said he needed to put a bit of distance between them. It’d be a fucking shame if they took her away from him before he even really had her again.
“Come sit down with me?”
Siena nodded. “Of course.”
The visiting area was not closed to just the indoor areas. They were allowed to go outside, but the heavy snow falling down didn’t look particular warm today.
Siena took a seat next to John on the white leather couch. Her fingers found his, and wove tight.
He had done so much in a very short period of time. He had done so much to her.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
Siena peered over at him. “Never do that, John.”
“What?”
“Apologize for being you. I never want you to do that with me.”
“You do understand everything that happened, and what I did, right?”
“I know.”
“So—”
“John,” she said, leaning in close so all he saw was her, beauty, and life. “You know I love you, don’t you?”
Yeah, he knew.
“How could I not, now?”
Siena nodded. “I always will.”
“I’m still sorry.”
Not for killing her father, but for everything that came before.
Matteo got what he deserved.
Simple as that.
Siena patted his cheek. “Let’s talk about anything other than all of that. I don’t have much time. It was hard enough just to get the time away to be here, John.”
“Yeah, about that.”
“What?”
“How?”
He had been told—during the one visit from Andino—that Siena was being heavily controlled by her brothers. His cousin hadn’t explained much more, only that he had a line of contact occasionally.
Siena smiled slyly. “I took up yoga. It gives me an hour or two a couple of times a week to get away. I sneak out the back.”
“How tight of leash do they have you on?”
Her brothers, he meant.
Siena frowned. “So tight it’s killing me.”
He appreciated her honesty, but … fuck.
“It’s okay,” she added quickly. “It’s not forever.”
He didn’t know how.
He didn’t know anything that was happening beyond these walls. His father and Andino made sure to keep him in a place where he was simply dealing with himself, and nothing else. John knew they were making the right choice in that regard.
If he didn’t take care of himself first, then bad shit happened.
And what happened leading up to this moment could never happen again. Or, he was going to try his hardest to make sure it didn’t happen again to this severity.
“How bad is it?” he dared to ask. “The streets, I mean. The families.”
He didn’t know if she would tell him.
He wouldn’t blame or push her if she didn’t.
Siena’s eyes drifted down to their connected hands. “It’s bad.”
“How bad?”
“It’s war, John.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS & A NOTE
One of my first memories as a young child (about four or five) was of one of my mother’s manic episodes. One memory of many. One episode of many. These never lessened—they were never managed with medications or otherwise. Her choice. And herein lies the difference between my experiences with this disorder, and how I chose to approach it in this book.
And I always thought that someday, I wanted to go there in writing. So, I finally have. Mental illness needs a voice, too. The louder the voices—the more voices in a chorus—the less stigmatized it becomes. The more likely people are to come forward, and admit they too are one of many who have felt silenced because of judgement, shame, or otherwise.
The more people get the help they need.
From disorders like bipolar, to depression, anxiety, eating disorders, addiction and more … pretending it doesn’t exist helps no one.
Thank you to the man who saw my need and silent screams for help, and gave me the strength to find my voice. The voice I needed so I could carry these words on to more people. In life, in writing, and with myself.
To my editor, Eli, and her husband, Mark, I know it’s been a rough go this last while for you two, but I love you so much. Thank you for everything you do for me, and for being my biggest supporter and fan.
To Shonda L. who was the sensitivity reader of mine I brought in on this book … thank you, hon. And you are so amazing. You’re only going to get more amazing. Give your Ace a hug for me. I hope she knows how lucky she is to have a mom like you.
Many thanks to Mignon for the covers for this series. To Tracy for proofing. And London for putting a buzz in my ear to get me to write these books a little faster, and listening to me rant. Also, Sasha … even though I know life is rough right now on your side of the world, you still think about me. That means the world, love.
To my readers—more to come, loves. Thank you for being on this journey with me.
To my spouse, and my four boys … another one down. Thank you for being mine.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Bethany-Kris is a Canadian author, lover of much, and mother to four young sons, one cat, and three dogs. A small town in Eastern Canada where she was born and raised is where she has always called home. With her boys under her feet, a snuggling cat, barking dogs, and a spouse calling over his shoulder, she is nearly always writing something ... when she can find the time.
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OTHER BOOKS
John + Siena
Loyalty
Disgrace (coming soon)
Cross + Cat
herine
Always
Revere
Unruly
Guzzi Duet
Unraveled, Book One
Entangled, Book Two
DeLuca Duet
Waste of Worth: Part One
Worth of Waste: Part Two
Standalone Titles
Effortless
Inflict
Donati Bloodlines
Thin Lies
Thin Lines
Thin Lives
Behind the Bloodlines
The Complete Trilogy
Filthy Marcellos
Antony
Lucian
Giovanni
Dante
Legacy
A Very Marcello Christmas
The Complete Collection
Seasons of Betrayal
Where the Sun Hides
Where the Snow Falls
Where the Wind Whispers
Gun Moll Trilogy
Gun Moll
Gangster Moll
Madame Moll
The Chicago War
Deathless & Divided
Reckless & Ruined
Scarless & Sacred
Breathless & Bloodstained
The Complete Series
The Russian Guns
The Arrangement
The Life
The Score
Demyan & Ana
Shattered
The Jersey Vignettes
Find more on Bethany-Kris’s website at www.bethanykris.com.
Copyright © 2018 by Bethany-Kris. All Rights Reserved.
WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted material is illegal and punishable by law. No parts of this work may be reproduced, copied, used, or printed without expressed written consent from the publisher/author. Exceptions are made for brief excerpts used in reviews.
eISBN 13: 978-1-988197-52-4
Editor: Elizabeth Peters
Proofreaders: Tracy A.
Sensitivity Reader: Shonda L.
Cover Design © Mignon Mykel from Oh, So Novel
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, organizations, corporations, locales and so forth are a product of the author’s imagination, or if real, used fictitiously. Any resemblance to a person, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.