by Bethany-Kris
“Hello?”
“Haven?”
Andino’s voice made her smile.
“Hey, I’m about five minutes or so away.”
“Shit,” Andino mumbled.
All over again, that heaviness was back.
“What is it?” she asked.
“I had to leave—something came up with my cousin, John. His dad called me. He took off, and he’s in a bad place. Remember when I told you that he got mixed up in some bad people?”
Haven’s jaw felt stiff even as she said, “Yeah, I remember.”
“Well, it’s worse now.”
“So, you’re not even at your—”
“No, I’m a couple of blocks away right now.”
Jesus Christ.
Haven didn’t want to be angry. It might have even been a little irrational—she was willing to admit that. Still, she hoped maybe tonight could have been a turning point for her and Andino. She wasn’t sure that it would be, now.
“Just don’t go anywhere,” Andino said quickly. “Wait for me, please.”
Haven glanced out the window at the passing street. “I want to, Andino. I really do, but I’m not sure I should anymore. And it’s more than tonight—it’s a lot of things. So, maybe I need you to give me a reason why I should wait for you, okay? Because between us, I’m the one who goes the distance. I give; you take. It can’t keep being like that.”
“You should wait because I love you, and I would like the chance to tell you.”
His declaration came out fast, sure, and true.
Haven still couldn’t help but wonder … would it matter in the end? After everything was said and done, would I love you be enough for both of them?
Right now, it was.
“I’ll wait,” she whispered.
“Okay. I’ll see you then, my girl.”
The call hung up with a click at the same time the cabbie pulled to a stop in front of Andino’s restaurant. The place was as dark as night, and obviously closed, but that wasn’t the first thing to catch Haven’s attention.
No, the first thing was the woman looking in the windows. Haven recognized her, but barely.
Siena Calabrese.
The woman Andino’s cousin had gotten mixed up; the woman who came from bad people. Although, the one-time Haven had met Siena, she thought the girl was sweet, and kind. There wasn’t very damn much that was bad about her.
“Thanks,” Haven said to the cabbie, paying him quickly and stepping out of the vehicle. She was quick to cross the sidewalk, and climb the steps of the restaurant’s entrance. “Siena?”
Siena spun around fast to face her—panic stared back from the woman. That screamed bad news to Haven.
“What are you doing here?” Haven asked.
“Where is Andino?”
Nice way to greet someone.
“He was here working in the office,” Haven said. “But he got called out a while ago.”
“Where is he now?”
Haven looked away, knowing she probably shouldn’t tell this woman very much, even if she didn’t have a lot to tell. Not because she personally thought Siena couldn’t be trusted, but because she didn’t know if Andino felt the woman could be trusted.
Therein lied the difference.
“Why?” Haven asked.
Siena’s jaw stiffened, and her gaze hardened as she looked Haven over. “Let me guess, you’re not supposed to trust me either, right?”
“Well—”
“I don’t have time for this,” Siena snapped, moving for the stairs. “John is in trouble.”
“John?”
Siena hesitated in her next step, and looked back at Haven. “Yeah, John.”
Haven could tell just by the way the woman said John’s name, and the thick panic in her eyes that she loved the man. She was terrified, for reasons Haven didn’t know, but she could see the love.
And Andino …
Well, he cared a lot about John, too.
“Andino is a couple of blocks away,” Haven said. “I guess John’s father called. He took off.”
That panic in Siena’s eyes only increased, a lot like the shrillness in her tone when she asked, “John did?”
“Yeah. Earlier.”
Siena spun around to face Haven. “Please, tell them John is at my father’s home.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because if you don’t, Andino will never forgive you when they finally get John’s body back from my family.”
Siena spoke the words so surely that there was no question whether or not she was lying. Haven turned into a statue of ice right there on the stairs. A heavy realization slammed down on her, and while she had known, this made it all the more real.
Here was Andino’s life.
Criminals.
Fear.
Bad people.
Siena took the stairs two at a time, and called over her shoulder at the same time. “I can’t chase them. I have to help John instead.”
Oh, God.
“Don’t make me regret this, okay?” Haven called back.
Siena only laughed.
Bleak, and bitter.
Haven knew the feeling well.
TWENTY-ONE
“Fuck,” Lucian snarled harshly.
The man was two seconds away from smashing his phone against the steering wheel of the car—Andino could tell. That might not end well for them, especially if John ended up deciding it was his father that he wanted to call.
Slim chance, given John took off on his father earlier, but still. It wasn’t a risk Andino was willing to take, either.
“Try not to break the phone,” Andino muttered.
His uncle shot him a look that burned. He didn’t blame Lucian for his mood, or attitude. This whole day—maybe even the week, frankly—had just gone to shit with one thing after another. John’s mania spiraled until it was too late to bring him out of it, and now bad things were fucking happening. As they usually did.
Andino wished he was surprised.
Right now, though, his only goal was to find his cousin, and bring him home safely. Out of the reach of the Calabrese family, who wanted to kill him, and without getting in trouble with the cops … because that was a very real possibility, too.
“It just keeps going to voicemail,” Lucian growled.
“My calls, too.”
Lucian swore severely under his breath, and leaned back in the driver’s seat. For hours—ever since John had taken off from his parents’ house where everyone thought he would be safe and under control—they’d been like this. Searching, fearful, and lost. Andino went with Lucian, though he could have gone with someone else, because he figured it might make his uncle feel better to have someone who was close to John be with him.
That wasn’t the case.
Lucian was pissed.
And scared.
Although, to a Marcello man … being scared often just led to him acting like a gigantic asshole. No one liked to show their weaknesses like a hand of cards, so to speak. Someone was always willing to exploit what they thought could harm someone else in this business.
Lucian glanced out the window at the dark street. “Do you think they have him?”
“The Calabrese?”
“Who else?” Lucian asked. “He’s been lost lately—too deep in his own head and issues to see how they were manipulating him. Nothing anyone did helped him, and only pushed him away. Do you think he went to them because that’s who he felt he could trust?”
“John is bipolar, but he’s not stupid … and he’s not crazy.”
Lucian’s jaw stiffened. “I didn’t say he was. I never say that.”
No one ever did.
Not in their family, anyway.
“I meant,” Andino clarified, “there is no way in hell—regardless of the mental place John is in right now—that he felt he could trust the Calabrese family. He knows better.”
“Then, where is he?”
That was the question
of the hour, wasn’t it?
Andino didn’t get the chance to reply before the phone in his pocket buzzed with a call. Pulling the device out, he saw Haven’s name, and instantly moved to get out of the car to take the call in private. His uncle shot him a look, but Andino pretended like he didn’t see it. He’d just hung up with Haven a few minutes ago—why was she calling back so soon?
“Yeah,” Andino said the second he shut the car door, “what’s up?”
“I just ran into Siena,” Haven replied, “and she said John is at her father’s home.”
It was like ice had been thrown all over Andino’s body, and at the same time, someone drove a heavy spike of dread right into his spine.
“Are you sure?”
Haven was quick to say, “She was sure, anyway.”
“Okay, thanks, I—”
“Have to go,” Haven murmured.
Andino frowned.
God.
There was a lot of things he wanted to say to this woman. He owed her an apology; a real, true, honest fucking apology. She deserved so much more than what he had been giving her for too long, which frankly, wasn’t very fucking much. She should be the most important thing in a man’s life, especially when that man loved her. And he wanted to give her that.
Christ, yeah.
He wanted to give her it.
Andino just didn’t know if he could.
“You should head home, Haven,” he murmured. “I probably won’t get back to my restaurant tonight. Another day, okay?”
He didn’t even add in the apology.
She probably didn’t want it.
Wasn’t she sick and tired of useless apologies that never actually made a difference, or changed anything? God knew he was tired of giving them when he couldn’t put his remorse to good use, and change the outcome for them both.
“I figured,” she said softly. “I hope you find your cousin, and that he’s okay.”
“Me, too.”
After a quick goodbye that was laced with her sadness, and his regret, Andino hung up the phone. He slipped back into the car to find his uncle looking at him.
“Well?” Lucian demanded.
“John’s at Matteo Calabrese’s brownstone.”
His uncle blinked. “What?”
“That’s the info I have.”
“How—”
“Do you want to talk right now, or go get John?”
Lucian didn’t even reply. He simply pulled the car out of park, and hit the gas hard enough to make the tires squeal. They were a ways away from the brownstone where Siena’s father lived. Andino had never been to the place, but he knew where it was. Thankfully, the streets weren’t congested this late at night, and there wasn’t any cops hiding somewhere to pull them over. Although, Andino was sure his uncle blew at least four red lights, and there had to be a camera on one of them.
The car wasn’t even at a full stop in front of the brownstone belonging to Matteo before Andino got out of the car. The wheels were still moving, and he almost tripped over his own goddamn feet in his haste.
He didn’t care.
His mind was everywhere.
And nowhere.
John, John, John.
Had his cousin found death?
Had death found him?
Andino slipped inside the brownstone—the door wasn’t even closed—and already had his gun drawn. He racked the Glock back, and stormed the front hallway just as a loud bang echoed from somewhere up above his head.
Shit.
The mantra in his mind shouting his cousin’s name only became louder. Lucian was right on his heels even as Andino headed up the first flight of stairs. Neither of the two men spoke—there was nothing to say right now.
Their thoughts were bad enough.
What if …
What. If.
What if?
What if his cousin had trusted the Calabrese? What if Andino was just a little too late? There were so many fucking what ifs.
This was his fault.
His mistake.
He was supposed to look after John, and he hadn’t done that. At least, not well. And if his cousin lost his life, then that blood was on Andino’s hands. No question. He was never going to be able to forgive himself for that.
Ever.
He could hear a woman’s voice talking as he climbed higher in the brownstone, but he couldn’t quite make out what she was saying. Probably Siena. How long as she been here with John before they even arrived? Andino had just rounded the top of the third flight of stairs when that voice finally became clearer to him.
“Please, John, look it’s me …”
He picked up his fucking pace, then.
Andino came to a skidding stop in the doorway of what looked to be an office. His gaze darted all around to take in what he could.
His cousin, alive.
Siena, too close to a wild-eyed John.
A man, dead.
Bits of brain, and blood on a desk.
Andino blinked. “Fuck.”
It was the only thing he could think to say. Nothing else felt quite appropriate about the scene laid out in front of him.
A rival Cosa Nostra boss dead, and by his cousin’s hand, it seemed. At least, if the gun in John’s hand was any indication.
“Move back,” Lucian snapped, pushing his way past Andino in the doorway. “Siena, move back from him now.”
The woman looked over her shoulder, wary and scared. She couldn’t possibly understand, but that wild look in John’s eyes meant bad things. He wasn’t here—not really. He wasn’t seeing her; he was seeing something else entirely in his mania.
The thin line between being manic, and sliding into psychosis.
Psychosis was a monster.
The last time his cousin looked like that, Andino stared down the barrel of John’s gun. He’d not really been frightened, then.
He was terrified now.
“Move back!”
• • •
Andino glanced up from his coffee mug when his uncle came to stand in the entrance of the dining room. John’s house was quiet, and dark. It belied the hell that they found only a few hours before. His uncle looked worn—for the first time that Andino could remember, Lucian seemed like he was showing his age.
Stress could do that.
“She loves him quite a bit, doesn’t she?” Lucian asked.
Andino lifted one shoulder. “Siena is very protective of John. She loves him.”
Lucian nodded. “And yet, she is still—”
“A Calabrese, yeah.”
“But maybe not one of them,” his uncle murmured. “She shares their last name, and their blood, but she isn’t like them.”
“Little late to be coming to that realization, isn’t it?” Andino asked. “Look at all that’s happened.”
Lucian shook his head subtly. “It’s never too late to right a wrong, Andi. This life, and being a father, has taught me that.”
Andino grunted under his breath, and glanced out the dark kitchen window. “So far, I’ve learned that this life does a lot of taking, but it doesn’t do a lot of giving.”
“It’s called sacrifice.”
“But for what?”
Lucian didn’t seem to have an answer for that one.
His uncle joined him at the table, and the two were silent for a long while. Andino stared up at the ceiling where he knew his cousin, and Siena, were sleeping in John’s room. Once they’d gotten John out of that brownstone, he’d gained a bit of lucidity.
That helped.
Not much.
“Do you think she’s okay up—”
“She’s fine with him,” Lucian said. “Now.”
Andino nodded, and went back to staring out the window. His mind was running a million miles a minute. Retracing every step he’d made these last few months, and all the errors that had come from it. Things he couldn’t fix, or take back. Things that would likely irrevocably change his life, and his family.
The guilt, though, was a killer.
It weighed the heaviest.
Pulled him down.
Drowned him.
“Don’t do that,” Lucian said quietly.
Andino glanced at his uncle. “Pardon?”
“The guilt thing. I can see it. You don’t wear it well.”
Clearing his throat, Andino said, “If not guilty about all of this, then what should I feel?”
“John is not your responsibility,” Lucian replied. “There is only so much we can do, and so far we can reach with him. The rest has to be his choice, and we can’t make those choices for him, Andi.”
Easier said than done.
“I’ve always looked out for him,” Andino replied. “Ever since—”
“You were kids, I know.”
“The one time I don’t have his back, and he goes into a manic spell, kills a rival boss, and—”
“Andino.”
He met Lucian’s gaze. “What?”
“This isn’t your burden to bear.”
Andino knew his uncle meant the guilt.
But still …
“John’s never been a burden,” Andino said, “and if I don’t look out for him, then who will?”
Lucian pointed a single finger upward. “Seems he has someone else doing that now. If not for Siena, tonight might have ended very differently.”
True, but …
“I still fucked up.”
“Andino,” his uncle said firmly, “don’t take this personally, but right now, this isn’t about you. Don’t make it about you to make it easier on John. It’s what keeps him from choosing stability. When everyone else is so quick to offer excuses for him, or they take on the duty to care for him, it makes it easier for him to be blind to his own responsibility.”
Huh.
Andino had never really thought of it like that. He didn’t get the opportunity to continue the conversation further. It was the flash of lights outside the house, and several black cars pulling into the driveway that had both men standing from their seats. A simple look out the window told Andino that they were in for more trouble.
The Calabrese had come, it seemed.
Lucian held a hand up to Andino as if to silent ask him to stay put before the man slipped into the hallway. Andino did just that, and watched from the window as his uncle stepped outside to greet one of Siena’s brothers as the man exited a car.