JOHN STEPPED out of his car, and tightened the neck of his leather jacket to keep the cool mid-September air away from his body. Only part of his mind was on the warehouse in front of him. The other part was back with Siena where he had left her at his place.
He figured by the time he got back, she wasn’t even going to be there. She mentioned she would need to leave as to not be noticed missing.
It sucked.
It was their relationship in a nutshell.
Fuck.
She didn’t know it, but she had helped him more than he could explain just by showing up to his place. Over the last little while, his mind had disintegrated into darker thoughts and places. It was a dangerous game for him to play because it meant nothing good was to come.
Depression was a bitch.
It could claw its way into John’s mind and life before he even realized the whore was there. And once she was in, she didn’t let go.
Siena’s presence was enough to filter through all the noise swimming in his mind, and the darkness thickening his blood. There was something about that woman keeping him from getting too deep into a headspace that he wouldn’t be able to get out of.
She fought for him.
She loved him.
She had his back.
What more could he want?
What more did he need?
Her.
He needed her.
Forever. To wake up to her every morning, and keep her close at night. He wanted her laughter filling up their house, and her warmth in his bed.
He didn’t want an hour here and there when it could be fit in when someone wasn’t looking. He didn’t want to sneak in and out of her life. He didn’t want it like this.
And yet, this was all he had.
John needed to take what he could get.
For now.
John tightened his jacket more, and jogged toward the warehouse. A white car drove by, but because of the speed and the clear windows, he didn’t think much of it as he crossed the street. Inside the warehouse, he found one of the Marcello Capo’s crews hard at work.
None of the fourteen guys noticed John step into the place. They were too busy taking apart what seemed to be a truck of electronics. Flat screen televisions, mostly, but some other high value shit, too. It would sell damn well on the streets—a sort of gray market for stolen goods, and a fast way to get rid of hot items.
The guys worked quickly to unload the truck, separate the goods, and destroy anything that might be trackable. They worked as a team, which was a sign of a good crew, and a nod to the Capo that ran them, too.
Speaking of the Capo …
John bypassed the working guys, and headed to the side of the warehouse. He moved up the metal spiral staircase, taking them two at a time. He didn’t bother to knock on the office door upstairs—the only room up there—as the Capo who had called him earlier left it open.
“Marky,” John greeted.
The man—who would usually be working behind his desk—was pacing from one side of his office, to the other side. He passed John a quick glance, and a nod but continued his pacing.
“You said something was up?”
Marky nodded. “I got a call—friend of a friend down in Brooklyn.”
“All right. What about?”
“Supposedly, my associate overheard some talk. Apparently, the guys are in with the Calabrese people. Not deep involved, mind you.”
“Not made, you mean.”
“Yeah.”
“Go on.”
“He said they mentioned a new job. Burning some warehouses. One mentioned was one down this way. The only one down this way is mine, John.”
Shit.
“Going back to that again?”
Marky shrugged. “It’s concerning. Listen, we’ve gone through this nonsense with them—burning shit, and shooting up whatever they can. I can’t afford to lose another business because of the goddamn Calabrese family.”
“Don’t blame you.”
Their Capos were hemorrhaging money at the moment with all their losses. It didn’t have to be the loss of life. The loss of a safe business, or place to do business, was just as bad in the grand scheme of things.
“I figured you’re in close with Andino and Dante, and neither of them are very easy to reach at the moment.”
“Truth. You know how the boss is, though. Dante has Giovanni for shit on the streets, and messages get relayed back depending on importance.”
“Exactly, but this might not be considered important. It’s only talk, John. My friend didn’t even know the name of the guys, and shit, he was in the back of a strip club throwing dollar bills at a girl shaking her ass in front of him. It’s not someone’s solid word. I can’t take that kind of shit to the boss, his underboss, or his consigliere. He doesn’t like—”
“To have his time wasted, yeah. I got it.”
John glanced around, and back at the opened door. He could still hear the men working away downstairs. Some of their murmurings and laughter climbed up high to reach them in the office.
“Do you think it’s a smart idea to have your guys working in a warehouse at the moment, considering?” John asked.
“I don’t have much of a choice, unless you could help me along there until this shit blows over.”
“How so?”
“Like I said, you’re in close with the boss, and Andino. I mean, sometimes it’s Andino running the show, and sometimes it’s Dante. Whoever makes the calls, I guess. Point is, if they want me to keep bringing in money and safely, I need a place to do that.”
“I can try to work—”
John’s words cut off at the scent of something reaching the doorway behind him. A strong smell that burned his nostrils with every sniff. An unmistakable smell. He sniffed again, and then took a step closer to the doorway.
What the fuck?
“John?”
“You don’t have gas or anything in the warehouse, do you?”
“A tank in the back—the guys use it to fill up every once in a while. I keep it full for them to make sure they have gas if they’re running low on cash, or whatever.”
“A tank.”
“Yeah, an above ground one.”
Shit.
The smell was stronger, now. John left the office altogether, and leaned over the banister. He could see the guys of Marky’s crew were hard at work, and seemingly oblivious to the fact something bad was going down.
“Bay doors at the back of the warehouse?” John asked over his shoulder.
“Yeah, why?”
“Get all these guys out,” John said. “Now.”
“What, wh—”
John shouted down to the guys working. “Get out of the warehouse! Go through the front, not the back! Get the fuck out now!”
Marky came out behind John just as the crackling started. The guys on the floor ran for the front, and John headed for the stairs. The smell of gas increased, and so did the smell of fire.
The tank in the back exploded just as John pushed Marky out the front door of the warehouse. The place was flattened by fire in less than five minutes.
It never stood a chance.
The fire department never even made it in time to try.
Beside him on the street, Marky watched as fire fighters shot their hoses at the smoldering pile of rubble. “That truck was a good hundred grand payout.”
“Truck isn’t worth the life of your crew.”
“I won’t have a crew if I can’t keep them working, John,” Marky muttered.
Shit.
Yeah.
“Let me call the boss,” John said. “Enough is enough with this shit.”
“About time someone else thinks so.”
• • •
“Son.”
John stiffened a bit at his father’s voice traveling in from the front door. “In the kitchen.”
Soon, Lucian’s footsteps echoed closer until they stopped altogether. John continued on with his work.
“What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to stop by—check in. I can do that, can’t I?”
“I suppose.”
“Were you working last night?” Lucian asked.
John kept his back turned to his father as he finished dumping in bubble mailers and other shit into the garbage can. “Another attack.”
Lucian sucked air though his teeth so hard, it whistled. “Shit.”
“No one was hurt this time around.”
“Small blessings.”
If you wanted to call it that.
John turned to face his father, and found Lucian standing in the kitchen entryway. “I called Dante last night to let him know what happened before someone else did, and he directed me to Andino before I could even finish speaking.”
“His right to do, I suppose.”
“Andino told me not to counterattack.”
Lucian didn’t blink at that statement. “His right too, I guess.”
And that was the whole fucking problem.
“Who is really the one running this family?”
“Pardon?” Lucian asked.
“Who is running the family? Andino, or Dante? Which one is it? Nobody seems to know right now, and that makes shit dangerous.”
“Officially, it’s Dante. Unofficially, it’s Andino.”
“Why doesn’t everyone else understand that—me, for example?”
“They’ve made the choice to do it this way for their own reasons. I suppose to take other organizations by surprise when the time comes, but also, you know how this business and family goes, Johnathan.”
Yeah.
“Don’t question a boss.”
“Exactly. There is method to their madness. You have to respect their right to make the final decision.”
“The Calabrese tried to burn out one of our warehouses from the back last night. The Capo had a whole crew of guys working in there to get rid of a boosted truck full of electronics. The Capo never could have handled that situation by himself, and the crew probably would have been lost had I not smelled the fucking gasoline in time. The time for games is over—we need to start acting more than we have.”
“We act when we need to,” Lucian replied calmly. “Not every action a Marcello answers with is violent, or straightforward. That’s where the Calabrese differ from us.”
John was getting nowhere with this conversation, but he wasn’t surprised. Everything his father was saying had been repeated to John for three decades—his entire life. He knew all of this was the truth, and yet, he was antsy and edgy.
Something needed to be done.
Soon.
“Shit, maybe …”
“What?” Lucian asked quietly.
“Maybe a large part of my problem is that I’m just … impatient,” John muttered. “Tired of waiting for this to end. Tired of being fucked with all the time.”
Lucian lifted a single brow. “Tired of being made to wait for her?”
That hit a nerve.
A good one—an honest one.
It still hit it.
John had never quite realized how well his father actually knew him, but the truth was, Lucian saw more things in John than he ever admitted out loud. Perhaps that was because his father loved him more than John understood, or even maybe Lucian just had a way about him that allowed him into other people’s perspectives.
He really didn’t know what it was.
“Siena is definitely a reason for my impatience,” John admitted. “The longer I have to wait, the further away she seems.”
“Good things come to those who learn how to first wait for them, John.”
“Impart that wisdom on someone who gives a damn. At the moment, it isn’t me.”
Lucian chuckled. “So is the way of a Marcello man when it comes to his woman.”
“Yeah, well …”
The two remained quiet as John turned back to compact the evidence of his former misdeeds deeper into the garbage can. He didn’t realize his father had come to stand beside him until Lucian’s hand snaked into the trash bag, and pulled out one of the documents.
Lucian stayed deathly quiet as his gaze drifted over the crumpled documents, and took the words in. It was the record of an event he should recognize.
John, at newly turned seventeen, had taken off for a little over three days in a hypomanic episode, and damn near killed himself with liquor and pills while he chased a rush. It ended up being the first of many hospitalizations leading up to his first full blown manic episode, and final diagnosis.
It took all of John’s willpower not to snatch the paper from his father, and shove it back where it belonged. In the goddamn garbage. He forced himself to remain still, and let his father take in the paper.
Lucian dropped it back down into the bag, and grabbed another. Then, another and another. He took his time reading each one until he seemed satisfied enough to know that everything in the bag was the same.
All about his son.
All about his disorder.
“What is all of this?” Lucian asked.
John stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Me.”
Lucian gave him a look. “It is not you. It is moments in your life during darker times. Moments in which you were not entirely yourself. Moments when you still needed help you were not getting.”
“Yeah, I know.”
And he did know that now. But it took several fucking days looking at this shit for it to really sink in that all of this garbage meant nothing to John at the end of the day. These events in his life had passed long ago, and he no longer behaved this way.
“I thought there were only a few of these packages sent out to people you know,” Lucian said quietly. “What did you do, go and collect every single one of them from everybody?”
John laughed.
Hard and bitter.
“No, these are all mine. All sent to me.”
Lucian stilled, and his gaze darted to John. “Oh, I see.”
“Another reason I am so impatient to get this over with when it comes to the Calabrese family,” John muttered.
“You know,” his father murmured, “growing up, everyone liked to tell me that my son was the wild one. He came from you, but he acts like a young Giovanni.”
John chuckled, knowing some of the stunts his uncle had pulled growing up. Of course, Gio had not been bipolar, or anything of the sort, simply … a wild child, and far too free spirited for his own good, according to everyone.
“And then you got older,” Lucian continued on, not letting John speak at all. “We learned you were not like Gio—you were you, and you had your own set of obstacles to overcome. Yet, you were so focused, John, even on your worst days, and in your darkest moments. You had a goal that never changed in your life, and I wasn’t sure whether to be proud, or terrified because of it.
John knew exactly what his father meant. He was living that dream now. “Being a made man.”
Lucian nodded. “I worried how la famiglia might treat you, considering everything. I worried that something would happen to forever brand you in Cosa Nostra. Once a man ruins himself in this life, he is done.”
John cleared his throat. “I kind of did do that, though. The Andino episode years ago. Matteo a few months ago. No man in control of himself would—”
“Except none of those events have ever pushed you out of the family, or affected your ability to do exactly what you do best in this business. Men still want to work with you—you still make money. They still respect you, and hold a healthy amount of fear for you at the same time. You earned all of that and not in spite of your bipolar, but because of it, John.”
Lucian clapped his son on the shoulder, adding, “Nothing the Calabrese fools might release about you or your history is a shock to anyone who knows you, or has watched you grow up, John. Old news, that’s all. The men of our family may not speak about it at the dinner table, but they have seen enough and know enough, and yet, we are all still one.”
True.
Sometimes, John needed things pointed out to him. It was easier for him to see the bigger picture when he had been focused on only one piece of it for too long.
“I misjudged our la famiglia,” Lucian said. “And that was my fault. Don’t make my mistakes, John. We may be bad men, but we are also good men, too.”
“Yeah, I won’t.”
“Good,” Lucian said, patting him on the shoulder once more. His father turned to head for the counter where the electric kettle sat waiting. “Coffee?”
“Sure. You know, that was my biggest fear growing up.”
Lucian looked back at him. “What?”
“Being the shame or disgrace of this family. I figured, how far could I push, and how many people did I have to hurt before it was all over for me? I kept getting one more chance. No matter how far I alienated myself from everyone, I still had to be close enough to the edge of the family to see inside. I didn’t feel right, otherwise.”
“Of course you did. We just gave you time.”
“You completely disregarded what I first said.”
“No, I didn’t,” Lucian said, prepping a mug for instant coffee. “You’re not a disgrace to this family. You could never be, John. That’s it, that’s all.”
“I like how everything is black and white for you.”
Lucian smirked over his shoulder. “Far from it—my life has been lived in shades of gray, son. Much like yours. Now, have a coffee. We have a meeting to get to.”
“What meeting?”
“Andino called it. He’s decided on a course of action.”
“Finally.”
Lucian gave him a look.
John shrugged. “I can’t help how I feel. That’s part of this whole being bipolar thing, all right. I feel what I feel, and I feel it much more than any of you ever do. I can’t help it.”
And right then, he was feeling really fucking irritated with his cousin.
“I know, but you can be quieter about it.”
Fair enough.
• • •
John did not expect to see what he found waiting for him in his uncle’s office. Instead of Dante sitting behind the desk—where the boss always sat when a meeting was held—it was only Andino.
His cousin waved a hand at the chair across from the desk, saying, “Sit, John.”
John stayed standing. “Shouldn’t Dante be here? His house, office, desk, and family.”
Andino smirked a bit. “The pretenses about who is running this show is just about over. Are you going to sit, or not?”
“Made men should never appear level with their boss. Stand for respect, or sit when he’s standing to allow his voice to carry. We all learned these things, Andi.”
Andino nodded. “Except, you and I have always been on equal ground, cousin. Never one higher than the other.”
“You are now.”
“In appearance only.” Andino pointed at the chair once more. “Sit.”
John dropped his form into the chair, and only glanced back over his shoulder when the office door was closed behind him. “We’re the only ones here for this, or what? Not a good sign for you, Andi.”
Andino chuckled. “Keep poking my nerves, man.”
“I kid.”
“I know.” Andino shrugged. “No one else is needed for this at the moment, John. You had some issues last night, huh?”
“Another burned warehouse.”
Andino’s expression turned pensive as he turned his head a bit to look out the window. “Shit, like we can fucking afford another loss like that.”
“My thoughts, too.”
Sighing, Andino looked back at John. “Unfortunately, I need you to stand down on all of this. Do not respond to that with another attack, just like we let the drive-by shooting on you and Lucian go unanswered, too.”
Irritation simmered through John’s blood.
“Seriously? What are you trying to—”
“The Calabrese need to believe we are subdued in every aspect, from business to family. By not answering them back, it will slow their violence. Give them the idea they have possibly strong-armed us into a corner. Regardless, it allows me to put feelers out, which I need at the moment. I have an end goal here, and I want to reach it soon.”
Andino smiled coldly, “It’s time to put the last part of this plan into motion, John. I can’t afford for anything to ruin it. So, no attacks, no threats, no anything. I need quiet streets until I get the Calabrese into the position I want them in.”
John tried to swallow down his rage, but it was damn hard.
If not downright impossible.
“And your goal is what?” he asked sharply. “To make the Marcellos look weak—incapable, easily manipulated, and broken by a few attacks? To let them think we’ve backed down, and that they’ve scared us?”
“Yes, that’s exactly what I would like for them to assume.”
Andino’s admittance took John by surprise.
John straightened in his chair. “What kind of fucking boss does that make—”
“A very smart one,” Andino replied. “A boss that they won’t see coming, as they still don’t know I am the boss. Think, John, they know I will be taking over, but not when. As of now, it is still assumed Dante is running the show. Perhaps Dante is too old—too tired—to keep up with this kind of nonsense. Consider Dante gives them a way out of this that would satisfy their need and want to have more control in New York.”
Andino leaned forward, and steepled his fingers together. “Consider, cousin, that their greed and ignorance will put them in a position where they open up to us. Where we finally get our in to remove the issue entirely. Where they are the ones who are weak, manipulated, and broken.”
John took in Andino’s words.
He liked them.
And he didn’t like them at the same time.
“I knew this was your plan all along,” John murmured. “To take over that family, I mean.”
“Wrong. Oh, I do want to reorganize and make it a faction of the Marcello family, yes,” Andino said, giving John a look from the side, “but I have no intention of absorbing it into this family. It was never ours to begin with. It belonged to someone else.”
Andino gave John another pointed look. “It has always belonged to someone else. Aren’t you ready to take back what was rightfully yours, John?”
A heavy realization fell on John.
A weight on his shoulders.
A birthright denied.
A promise …
For a long while, John and Andino only stared at one another. John decided to be the first one to speak between them.
“That’s why you had me sit—why we are equal,” John said quietly.
Andino nodded. “We have always been equal, cousin, and we always will be.”
“You didn’t think to let me in on this bright idea of yours, or what?”
“I needed to position myself where I could not be challenged,” his cousin admitted, “and while this plan of mine is for you, it is also for me. I married a woman not up to the standards Cosa Nostra demands—I have effectively guaranteed the line of Marcello bosses will end with any sons I have, if I do. But there’s always you.”
Andino smirked, tipping his head in John’s direction, “There is always you in one of the Commission seats who will not deny my position, or my wife. There is Cross Donati as another boss—we know he’ll marry one of our cousins—and because of that, will be unwilling to start a war for the sake of his own family. And there is Chicago—too far away, and too caught up in controlling their own city to worry about us. Vegas, too, but my uncle still runs that syndicate, so I felt comfortable enough to push that line there, too.”
“But had the Calabrese been sitting in that seat …”
John let his words trail off.
Andino cleared his throat, and sat back in the chair. “It would have been an opening for them. A weak spot in the Marcello chain to pick at until it broke. I love Haven—I wasn’t giving her up for anything, or anybody. Not this life of ours, and not this family. You understand, don’t you?”
John thought about Siena.
He thought about her.
About them.
“Yeah, I understand.”
Andino smiled, although fainter than before. “Then let’s finish this.”