by Bethany-Kris
Why did it have to feel like that?
Why couldn’t this be easy?
By the time Andino finally pulled away from the kiss, Haven’s lungs ached and her lips tingled. He still kept her close enough that his lips brushed against hers as he spoke.
“I am sorry,” he murmured.
Haven nodded. “I know—I just need some time to figure some things out.”
“As long as you come back.”
“Should I?”
“I want you to.”
Weren’t they doomed, though? Wasn’t that what she knew, now? Nothing was ever going to come from the two of them being together—he was who he was, and he couldn’t change it. She didn’t think he wanted to. He was so unapologetic about being what and who he was that she didn’t even consider the idea that he might not want to be this person.
And even if she didn’t know this part of him well, it was still a part of who he was. So, didn’t she know him either way?
Didn’t she know the parts that mattered?
It didn’t change what she also knew.
It didn’t change what they were because of it, either.
Entirely, utterly doomed.
“Come back,” he said again. “Take your time, figure it out, and then come back.”
She didn’t know how to say no to him. Not when he looked at her like he was right then.
“I’ll come back,” she promised.
She simply didn’t know what she would be coming back to. That was the part that scared her the most.
FIFTEEN
“Is Antony finally tired of you using his home and office as a meeting place, or what?” Andino asked when he strolled into his uncle’s office.
He didn’t miss the flash of warning in his uncle’s eyes from where the man sat behind his large desk. “A bit early for him, that’s all. Thank you for finally answering my calls and deciding to show up here to see me.”
Andino shrugged. “You’re welcome.”
Dante scowled. “That wasn’t meant to be my gratefulness, Andino.”
“Yeah, I know.”
And his response remained the same.
Dante glanced at his brothers who had each taken a seat on the couch against the far wall. Specifically, he looked to Andino’s father. “Is there anything you want to say to your son before I get started here?”
Gio looked up from the watch on his wrist, and passed Andino a glance. To someone else, it may have seemed dismissive, but to Andino, he saw the struggle warring in his father’s eyes. It probably had something to do with the words Gio had told Haven when they approached her at the club, but Andino couldn’t know for sure.
“Not at the moment,” his father settled on saying.
Dante nodded. “Fine.”
Andino shoved his hands into his pockets, and rocked on his heels. “How about we just get right to the yelling portion of this meeting, and get it over with first?”
A dry, dark chuckle echoed from his uncle. “That’s amusing. You have jokes today, Andi.”
“Gotta keep the humor alive.”
“And yet, I find absolutely nothing about this situation funny.”
“That’s a shame,” Andino returned. “Humor helps me get through life.”
“What’s humorous about a man disobeying his boss, and forgetting his duties time and time again? Go on, tell me.”
Ah, there it was.
That heat and anger.
That barely contained fury.
Dante was just spectacular at hiding it. That was, until he no longer wanted to hide it. Then, it came rushing out of the man like flaming lava ready to destroy anything in its path. It was kind of predictable in that way, really.
“You had no right to approach Haven—”
“Ah, wrong,” Dante said, lifting a single finger in the air. “I had every right to do whatever I wanted to do as you can’t seem to follow the simple directions I give you, Andino. You know what you were told about your personal affairs, and that woman specifically. Do not act like that was left for you to decide when it was not.”
Andino tightened his jaw in an effort to keep his cool. “And I told you that you had your one choice about this whole boss business, and you made it already. The rest is up to me. You don’t get a say.”
“This is not the same.”
“It is exactly the same.”
“It’s not!” Dante straightened a bit in his seat after his outburst, but his next words came out a hell of a lot calmer. Maybe that should have been a sign to Andino that he was seriously pushing his luck when it came to his uncle. But he figured—shit, he’d already gotten the man to this point, how much further could he push? “It is not the same and you know it. It’s not the same because it is not just me who will decide if that woman is appropriate enough to stand alongside you, and represent this family. There is a Commission of men who make that decision, Andino. Bosses from organizations all over this continent who sit down at a table with you, and get a voice about what you seem to think is no one else’s business. So, please, tell me how you’re going to avoid that when none of us ever have.”
Yes, that was a problem.
Andino wasn’t stupid.
“If they object,” Andino countered.
His uncle stilled. “Yes, if they object.”
So, what if those who sat at the Commission didn’t object?
That was the question.
Could that be possible?
It was a very faint hope dangling from a line in front of Andino, but still a hope nonetheless. And it was not one he was willing to let get away just because someone else might think it was an impossibility.
“But frankly, we have other problems,” Dante muttered.
At that statement, the other two men in the room became visibly uncomfortable. Andino had missing something—he knew it right then and there.
He missed something big.
“What?” Andino asked.
Maybe a little too sharply.
Dante nodded, and pointed at Andino with a wagging finger. “See, that right there. That is a problem, Andi. This is an issue you should already know, and you have no fucking clue. I can see it in your face. You don’t know anything about what I’m going to say—at least, not the things you should know.”
“Stop fucking around with me.”
“John.”
Andino blinked. “What about my cousin?”
“And the Calabrese woman.”
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
“That again?” Andino asked. “She’s just a woman—she’s harmless.”
“Do you know where John was last night?”
Andino’s jaw worked to ease some of his tension, but it wasn’t helping. As much as he wanted to lie and say, yes, he knew where his cousin was the evening before, Andino let the truth slip out. “No.”
“Take a guess?”
“Somewhere you probably don’t approve of, but shit, that’s a lot of places, Dante.”
“Andino,” he heard his father warn from the side of the room.
The first time Gio had spoken up at all.
“Dinner,” Dante said, ignoring Gio altogether. “He was at dinner with the Calabrese family.”
“All of them?”
Because damn, John.
“Did you know John was still involved with Siena Calabrese?” his uncle asked.
Andino cleared his throat. “Not in a direct sense, but—”
“You knew.”
“You could say that.”
“How much do you know?”
Andino sighed, frustrated. “Only a bit.”
Dante waved at him. “By all means, share what you know.”
“I don’t think—”
“I didn’t ask for you to think. I asked for you to talk. And you’re going to do that, Andi.”
Jesus Christ.
“As far as I know,” Andino said, “John started messing around with her again after he took over handling my business with the Cala
brese. You wanted to lighten my work load, Dante, and that was one of the duties you moved to someone else. Point is—she works in their business, and that’s how they met back up again.”
“And you didn’t think to tell us—although mind you, we don’t actually need you to tell us anything, Andino. It’s a good lesson to learn. Even when you think we don’t know anything, chances are, we know everything.”
“You’re still following him, then?” Andino asked.
Dante arched a brow. “Clearly we have good reason.”
Yeah, that was a bad idea.
A really bad idea.
“Boss?” Andino turned on his heel to find a Marcello enforcer leaning in the doorway, and looking right at Dante. “John has just arrived.”
“Thank you.”
Andino’s attention went back to his uncle once the man was gone. “You called John in?”
“He needs a meeting, too.” Dante gestured at his desk, adding, “Come and make yourself comfortable—behave like my underboss, and not John’s best friend. Keep your fucking mouth shut unless it is to defuse a situation, and then maybe you can see what you’ve been missing in your selfishness, Andino.”
He had no idea what his uncle was talking about, but at the moment, he didn’t have much of a choice but to listen. Dante probably meant for Andino to stand beside the desk, but instead, he perched himself on the corner, and waited for his cousin to walk through the office doors. It didn’t take long, and there John was.
It took Andino one look.
One glance at his cousin to know …
One second in his presence.
Just the one.
And then, Andino knew.
He saw it in the defensive posture John sported, and the wildness in his eyes. He found it in the way his cousin’s hair was a little unruly instead of slicked back, and perfectly managed as it usually would be.
He saw it—he knew what he’d missed.
John was manic.
Or … his bipolar disorder was acting up, and he was on the cusp of mania. Sometimes, it came on really fast, and other times, it was a slow build up to a manic cycle that was sure to leave everyone in John’s path untouched. To everyone else around John, it was easily noticed when he was slipping into one of the phases. To John, though? Well, that was an entirely different story.
It was a punch to Andino’s gut.
Hard, fast, and unforgiving.
Guilt swept through him.
Because yeah—fuck yeah, he’d missed this.
How had he missed this?
He was supposed to be looking out for John; it was what he did. That was his deal—his one promise. He looked after John, no excuses.
How did I miss this?
Andino didn’t have time to think on it for long.
“This better be fucking good,” John grumbled. And then he noticed the rest of them. “What’s going on?”
Lucian, John’s father, spoke up first. “Have a seat, son.”
John fidgeted with his jacket. “Nah, I’m good. I kind of want to know why I’m here, though. I don’t like to be interrupted, you know.”
“Yeah, I bet,” Gio said under his breath.
John didn’t miss it. “What the fuck does that mean?”
“John,” Dante said, that warning coming back into his tone fast. “Show some respect, huh?”
“Yeah, all right.” John looked to Dante, then. “I’m here—what’s up?”
Dante got right down to business, and didn’t even lead into it. “You didn’t think to tell any of us that you were going to be having dinner with the Calabrese boss and his family last night?”
“I was invited.” John shrugged. “Tell me how to refuse that without breaking the rules we live by, and I will do that next time.”
“You still didn’t tell anyone,” Lucian pointed out.
“I didn’t need to. It was a dinner.”
“With the Calabrese boss. You know how the Marcellos feel about that family, John,” Andino’s father added.
John kept looking at only Dante. “I couldn’t be disrespectful, and refuse. So, I went. It’s over.”
“You cannot trust a Calabrese,” Dante replied quietly.
“I don’t trust the Calabrese boss, or his shithead sons,” John said, a heat coloring his words. “I remember what they did to my father’s family.”
Lucian cleared his throat. Bad blood never really washed out, Andino knew. And there was a hell of a lot of bad blood between the Marcello and the Calabrese families.
“Why didn’t you answer my calls this morning?” Dante asked John. “You were fine with telling me you couldn’t disrespect Matteo, and yet you made me call you ten times before you finally answered. What was so important this morning that you couldn’t answer me, Johnathan?”
“I was busy.”
Dante nodded, and relaxed in the chair—a lie if Andino ever saw one. “I know you took the Calabrese girl home with you, John. See, I found out about the dinner invitation, and thought just in case, you should have someone follow behind. I don’t trust snakes like those ones in Brooklyn, and in no way will I allow a man of mine to confer with them without some kind of backup.”
Andino knew the moment when it clicked for John—the very second when his cousin understood what Dante had just told him without actually saying the words. And like Andino figured, it immediately hit John right where it would do all kinds of damage. Not just damage to his cousin, either.
“You fucking had someone follow me?” John asked, turning to stone and hissing the words.
“I—”
“Someone tailed me?”
Yeah, okay.
Now was the time Andino had to step in. His cousin’s gaze had blackened, and that defensive posture of John’s had practically turned to offensive. That all spelled bad news if someone didn’t diffuse the situation, and fast.
“John,” Andino said, moving off the desk. “He thought it would be best considering how the Calabrese are sometimes.”
John’s gaze swung on Andino, and all that rage he knew his cousin was feeling suddenly slammed into him at full force. Maybe stepping in had been the wrong thing to do—if only because John needed to have at least one ally, and right then, he was looking at Andino like he was the fucking enemy.
Well, shit.
This wasn’t good.
Not at all.
That guilt still swam heavily through Andino. He’d fucked up big time—missed his cousin’s spiraling mental health, and now this. There was no denying how bad he messed up here.
It had always been him and John against the world—or that’s how it felt a lot of the time. When the two of them didn’t feel like they could trust anybody else, they could count on one another to do the right thing.
Except, that’s not how this went down.
How could he fix this?
“Because I can’t look out for myself or be trusted, right?” John asked. “That’s funny, boss, considering the Calabrese didn’t make any effort to hide fuck all about their intentions when they invited me to dinner. Except my own family does exactly that instead of just fucking asking me. But they’re the ones I have to watch out for, huh?”
John laughed bitterly.
“It’s not a big deal,” Dante replied, “and it’s not like you’re making it out to be, John.”
“Or is it exactly that, boss? Have you gotten someone to follow me before this time, too?”
No one answered John’s question.
Andino could tell his cousin knew the truth, though.
“Why?” John asked.
“Andi mentioned you had an interest in the Calabrese girl,” Dante said.
John’s gaze flew to Andino in an instant—hatred staring back. “What, you ran to tattle on me like a fucking baby, or something?”
“No, I—”
“Screw you, Andino.”
Andino stepped forward—he needed his cousin to know that what John thought wasn’t actually the case. Jo
hn’s posture was the only thing that made Andino stay right where he was in that moment.
“John, they cannot be trusted, and you know that,” Lucian said. “Not the men, and certainly not one of their women. No matter who she is.”
“Fuck you all.” John addressed all of them, but he only actually looked at Andino. “Yeah, fuck every single one of you.”
Andino knew the exact moment when Haven noticed him during her jog—she almost missed a step when she came around the bend in the trail, but like the pro she was, never missed a damn beat. He came to this spot simply because he knew this was her turnaround spot. She always took her break here.
And frankly, he didn’t have any other free time.
Everybody else was taking it.
Haven gave him a look—one that made him wink—before she dropped down to the bench beside him. Her heavy breaths took a minute to calm, and he gave her that time before handing over the vanilla latte in his hand like an offering.
“Really?” she asked, laughing lightly. “I’m exercising, and so you ply me with sugary caffeine?”
Andino shrugged. “Seems like a fair trade.”
“For what?”
“Agreeing to meet up with me.”
She nodded, and peered down at the cup in her hands. “To be fair, I was going to call today and see if you wanted to … talk, or whatever.”
Good.
That meant good things for him.
“I might have called sooner,” Andino said, sighing heavily, “but when shit hits the fan in my family, it tends to splatter on everyone in one way or another.”
Haven arched a brow. “Gross.”
“And yet, I didn’t lie.”
“I’m sorry.”
Andino shook his head. “Don’t be—this isn’t your fault.”
“I’m not even sure I know what this is, Andino.”
Of course, she didn’t.
She only knew a little.
His shoulders felt so goddamn heavy—too heavy to support the head that was meant to wear a crown that had never really felt like his. And yet, there he sat, doing exactly that. Or trying.
Trying, yes, and failing.
John’s state reminded him of that.
Andino didn’t even see Haven’s hand come up until it cupped his cheek. Her soft thumb stroked his jawline with a gentle touch that made him want to disappear and feel nothing but that for the rest of his goddamn life.
