by Bethany-Kris
Unreal.
“It’s pretty standard for all of this stuff to be checked out during a sale,” the realtor said. “I promise it’s not personal.”
Haven sighed, and rested her chin on her palm as she stared at the shiny bottles gleaming under the lights of the built-in bar.
“I take it that you didn’t have to worry about those things when you bought the place?”
“I bought it from my father—we had inspectors, but all the reports went straight to the bank, and we already knew the place needed some work. I agreed to have it all done before re-opening, and I did.”
Dale made an understanding noise in the back of his throat. “Well, it’ll be a little bit more extensive this time around. You usually could just make a call, and shell out the money to have inspectors come in to check out the place, but the buyer requested their chosen inspectors do so. Which is where the time thing comes in … depending on how long they want to fuck around with getting all of that done, we could be looking at a couple of months.”
Jesus.
But the offer …
The money …
It was too good to ignore. She could easily take one of the other two offers, but she kept going back to that extra money, and the idea of how helpful and useful it could be for her mother in the end. Being the smart, reasonable woman she was, Haven couldn’t turn it down even if it did mean she might be stuck in this goddamn city for another couple of months longer than she originally planned to.
Details, she supposed.
Those were all just details.
Haven could deal with it later.
“Accept the offer,” Haven said, deciding on her choice but still not entirely settled with it. Funny how that worked. She bet this would be yet another decision of hers that would keep her up at night to overanalyze and consider. Like she didn’t have enough shit already on her plate to do that, for fuck’s sake. It seemed like she was making decisions that lingered with her in all the wrong ways a lot lately. “And let’s get this thing started.”
Dale gave her another wide smile as he slipped off the stool. “You got it, Haven. Congrats on this, huh?”
Yeah.
Congrats.
Why didn’t it feel like something worth celebrating?
That was the better question.
Haven paid the cab, but even as she said goodbye to the man who had been regaling her with stories about his toddler-aged granddaughter, her attention was on something else. Or rather … someone else.
A man stood at the end of the walkway leading up to Haven’s small Brooklyn home. She recognized him immediately even though she had only seen him in passing maybe once or twice. She’d had a single conversation with him on the side of a street not very long ago when he’d been tasked with diverting her attention so that she didn’t run into Andino’s mother coming out of his restaurant.
Pink, she thought the man’s name was.
All she knew about him for sure was that he looked like a goddamn linebacker—which in itself was a bit intimidating—and that he worked for Andino. That was it.
It wasn’t so much that Pink was standing on her walkway that bothered Haven as it was the why. Why the fuck was he here, and what did he want? Not to mention … why did he have a small bouquet of winter flowers in his hand? It all made Haven think Andino was somehow involved because how could he not be?
And she didn’t like that at all.
It got her irritation spiking all over again.
Stepping out of the cab, Haven took a minute to fix her coat, and watch the black and yellow checkered car drive away. It was only once she couldn’t see the cab anymore that she turned to greet the man standing on her walkway with the flowers.
“Pink, right?” Haven asked.
The man nodded. “That’s me.”
Haven eyed the flowers in his hand. “Let me guess—Andino sent you?”
“You would be right.”
Great.
“Do you often run flowers to women all over the city for him?”
Ouch.
Even she could hear the heat in her tone. Haven had no reason to believe Andino was running around with multiple women. In fact, she believed that he wasn’t simply because he told her that. Even so, she couldn’t resist taking a cheap shot just because the opportunity presented itself.
Maybe she was a little petty.
Pink lifted a single brow, saying, “This is the first time I have ever delivered flowers for him, actually. He thought you might appreciate a familiar face rather than a random delivery man.”
“Well, he thought wrong.”
Not that she didn’t like Pink. She didn’t have a reason to dislike him, as far as that went. That was not where Haven’s problems originated. Her issues all stemmed right back to Andino, and the fact the man seemed to be playing some kind of game with her. She was not up for that at all.
He wasn’t giving her a choice, either.
“My apologies,” Pink said quietly.
Haven let out a sigh, and crossed her arms as she came closer. “It’s not your fault. I know you’re just doing your job.”
“I am. Would you like me to carry the flowers in, or …?”
“I can handle it.”
“Lady’s choice.”
Pink carefully handed the flowers over, and Haven didn’t miss the small card sticking out from the top. This time, it was Andino’s handwriting staring back at her. A simple, single sentence with his initials attached at the end.
I thought your other ones might be starting to wilt. —A.M.
“Thank you,” Haven said.
Pink nodded. “Have a good day, Haven.”
Probably not.
Not with these goddamn flowers staring back at her. Wasn’t it bad enough that she still hadn’t gotten rid of the ones on her table even though they were actually starting to wilt a bit? Wasn’t it bad enough that the first note had now migrated from her kitchen table to the stand beside her bed?
And now she had more … more to look at and ponder and over-fucking-think because Andino couldn’t seem to let her go.
She didn’t have time for the games this man wanted to play with her. She wasn’t strong enough to fight back, and she didn’t know where to start even if she actually did want to fight back. Although, she didn’t.
Like he’s giving you a choice, girl.
Her mind was extra punishing today.
Haven waited until Pink had slipped inside his car, and was driving down the road before she walked up to her house. She juggled her bag, and the flowers in order to be able to unlock the front door. Once she was safely inside her house—as empty as it fucking was—she felt a slight bit better.
No one to see her confusion.
No one to watch her cry.
Just her.
Alone.
What a place that was.
Haven glowered at the flowers and the note all the way to the kitchen. She set the bouquet on the island, and wished her gaze alone was enough to make the damn things disappear. She couldn’t be so fucking lucky.
Before she could think too hard about it, Haven grabbed the flowers, and dumped them into the open garbage can next to the island. She loved flowers. All kinds of flowers, really. She didn’t like them, however, when they felt like a bid to entice or tease her by a man that she wasn’t even sure if she wanted to see his face ever again.
What a complex that was.
She loved him.
And she hated him.
With the flowers in the garbage, Haven tried to go about doing anything else. She made herself a coffee, and even pulled out a few items from the fridge to make something to eat. And still, her mind continued to travel back to the flowers in the trash can. She couldn’t even stop herself from looking back that way, either.
Although … mostly at the note.
So weak.
Before Haven could talk herself out of it, she snatched the note out from the top of the flowers, but left the rest right
where they sat.
She’d keep the note.
Fuck his flowers, though.
SEVEN
“You learn how to be a diplomat over time,” Dante said as he and Andino crossed the street. “Because this business doesn’t give you a choice. You’re not muscle—not the enforcers on the street who threaten and use their fists to get things done. You are the boss. And you must talk like one. You’re expected to talk all the time to get what you want, and to make sure things get done properly. You learn how to do that over time.”
Andino gave his uncle a nod, but he wasn’t really sure what Dante wanted him to say. Well, he did know, actually. Dante wanted him to stay quiet, and learn something. He wasn’t looking for an actual response.
“Are you ready?” Dante asked as they neared the entrance of a restaurant.
Andino shoved his hands into the pockets of his slacks. “As ready as I will ever be.”
“Good. This is a long time coming. It’s time to put an end to it. Remember that. It’s every reason why we’re here.”
He gave his boss a look, but said nothing. Again, that wasn’t what Dante wanted. He pulled open the door to the business, and let his uncle go in first. It took Andino’s vision a moment to adjust to the change in light. The quiet restaurant was nothing to get excited about, but one couldn’t scoff at it, either. There were no patrons enjoying breakfast at the place—apparently, it was one of those that didn’t open until noon, anyway.
The men of the hour—Andino was sure they felt they were the men of the hour, anyway—waited at the table in the middle of the main floor. Both were standing, and chatting quietly with one another although they silenced the moment Dante and Andino came inside the place.
Kev and Darren Calabrese.
They weren’t the only ones there, of course. Dante had several men posted outside, and one inside who had entered before them. Muscle, and nothing more. Or that’s how his uncle put it. Someone to watch their backs because one couldn’t trust the fucking Calabrese brothers with an inch when they were sure to take a mile when a man wasn’t looking.
For the Calabrese side, it looked as though Kev and Darren had followed the same line of thought by only having a few of their men there to keep an eye on things. Enforcers that Andino recognized from their organization.
Neither Dante and Andino, nor the Calabrese brothers had invited anyone with any real pull to the meeting between their families—no one who could speak up and use their voice to cause trouble. Just the bosses, their underbosses, and that was it.
Andino wished he could say that he was surprised the Calabrese finally agreed to a meeting and were entirely willing to allow Dante almost all the say in how the meeting went down, but he couldn’t. Again, the Calabrese were fucking predictable. They’d been working for a long time—long before John killed their boss—to get something from the Marcello family be it power, or standing through their name.
It was who they were.
It was what they did.
Kev had taken over the Calabrese faction after his father was killed. It was almost amusing how the man was quick to slither into his father’s seat like the man had never been sitting there to begin with. But what could one really expect with this bunch?
Closed mouths didn’t get fed.
Wasted time was gone forever.
It wasn’t as much the men that surprised Andino but the quiet woman sitting at the table next to where her brothers stood.
Siena.
It had been a long while since Andino had seen the woman. Ever since her brothers came to John’s house that night, and demanded she be returned. Andino had to take Siena in a second time just to make sure he was seeing the same woman because … here, like this … she didn’t seem like the same woman at all.
Downcast eyes.
Quiet.
Hunched shoulders.
Perfectly made up in her dress, hair, and makeup.
Oh, sure, the woman was beautiful. He was sure that was the very thing that his cousin had first noticed about Siena. But quiet, meek, and submissive? Andino didn’t think those sorts of things would interest John at all.
Since he knew Siena had been quiet since that night she was returned to her family, he was starting to wonder if that wasn’t by her choice.
Andino didn’t get the chance to think on it for long. Dante moved forward, and Andino went with his uncle silently. Kev was the first one to stick his hand out to reach for Dante’s, and shake. The boss always went first. Andino couldn’t help but pass the two bosses a look when they shook hands—he couldn’t hide the disgust that slammed through him at the simple action of two men shaking hands.
Why?
Simple.
Kev Calabrese was nowhere near the man Dante Marcello was, and he would never be. That was just fucking fact. There was no way a Calabrese man could have even a fraction of the honor in his pinky that a Marcello man radiated constantly. They were two entirely different breeds of men.
There was a long-standing, unspoken rule in Cosa Nostra that when two or more bosses were in the room, they became equals in a sense. That way, the rest of the men who were watching didn’t feel like they had a reason to cause trouble.
The problem with that for Andino was the fact no, he didn’t think a boss who was clearly above another and had been for years should lower his fucking standards for someone else. And he did not plan on being one of those bosses when his time did come.
“Andino,” Kev greeted him, letting go of Dante’s hand and looking like he might try to shake Andino’s. “The underboss position suits you, old friend.”
Friend.
Right.
Andino almost fucking scoffed.
He did manage to keep his hands firmly tucked inside his pockets which was enough of a hint for Kev to not try and shake his hand. Thankfully. Dante didn’t miss Andino’s sneaky move if the look his uncle passed him from the side was any indication, but he didn’t say anything as the meeting was moving forward, and he had more important things to deal with at the moment.
Small blessings.
The last thing Andino wanted was to sit down and make nice with these fucking fools. Hate was a strong word to use—he tried not to unless it was absolutely needed, but damn him if it didn’t fit for the Calabrese.
He hated them.
“Let’s get this started, yes?” Kev asked, gesturing at the table and the waiting chairs. “The sooner we get this finished, the sooner we can get back to the things we all want to be doing.”
“I agree,” Dante murmured.
Andino allowed his uncle to choose a seat at the table first, and then Andino took the one next to his uncle. It was only once he had sat down that Siena finally lifted her head. He didn’t miss the way her gaze drifted to him, but just as quickly, dropped to stare at her hands resting on the table.
“Let’s get right to the point, shall we?” Dante asked, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms over his chest. “The violence needs to stop between our respective organizations before it goes too far, and we both lose more than we can afford to.”
Kev arched a single brow as he stared hard at Dante. “A little late for that, isn’t it, Marcello? Your nephew took our boss—our father. I like to think that he was someone we couldn’t afford to lose, and yet, here we are.”
Andino didn’t miss the scowl that drifted over Siena’s mouth, but just as quickly, she hid it by glancing away from the table altogether.
Yeah, Matteo Calabrese was really a loss.
Fucking fools.
“Did we not offer to make peace somehow after that event?” Dante asked. “Did I not apologize for the misstep?”
Darren’s gaze blazed from where he sat next to his brother. “You call killing our father a misstep?”
Dante barely glanced at the man. “Are you willing to act as though neither of you had any hand in attempting to manipulate John and his mental state into a worse place for your own gain, then? I mean, if you’re going
to play the saints, you should at least make sure you’re saintly, Darren.”
Silence covered the table, and the men stiffened a little more in their seats. They were now balancing on a very delicate line, Andino thought. One that could quickly turn from calm voices and a reasonable conversation to shouts and promises of more violence. Andino wouldn’t mind that as much, but it was not what Dante had come here to do.
“It seems to me,” Dante said quietly, “that we have both found ourselves in a … difficult situation. One of us wants to be in the right while the other one simply wants all this to stop. It’s not difficult for you to come over to the other side, Kev. As a man who has sat in my seat for far longer than you have been sitting in yours, take my advice when I tell you the thing you want to do is the right thing in stopping all of this by whatever means you can. Is going up against a family like the Marcellos really how you want to mark your tenure as the boss of your family?”
Kev blinked, and opened his mouth to speak.
Dante was quick to interject before he could with, “Is a war where we tear your organization apart, even if you do land a few shots on us, how you want to be remembered when I make sure your family buries you?”
Yes, talking.
Bosses had to talk.
But it was all in using the right words.
Kev’s jaw tightened as he stared at Dante for a good minute without saying anything. Siena stayed mostly unmoving at the end of the table while Darren, on the other hand, kept throwing glances at his brother like he was waiting for the man to stare back at him. Kev never once looked away from Dante.
“Well?” Dante asked.
“What is peace worth to you?” Kev’s question came quietly, and seemingly innocent. Andino knew it was anything but those things. “Your wife’s life, Dante? Your daughter’s? How about your brothers’, or their families’ lives? What is it worth?”
Dante had a weakness.
Only one.
Them.
The Marcellos.
