John + Siena: The Complete Duet

by Bethany-Kris

  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 neve
r 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.”

  THIRTEEN

  Siena didn’t start in fear when someone crawled into bed with her before the sun had even properly come up in the sky. She didn’t have to be scared when she knew who it was without even opening her eyes. His presence was like a tangible aura to her. Something that sunk deep into her senses, and made itself at home there.

  She felt him.

  Smelled him.

  Loved him.

  “Go back to sleep,” she heard John murmur.

  Siena reached for him the second John was close enough to grab, but he seemed to have other plans. His arms tangled around her—like strong, steel bars keeping her close to him, protected, and hidden from the world. He dragged her closer in the bed, tucked her head under his chin, and refused to let go.

  Siena could have fallen back to sleep like that. It would have been easy given how comfortable and tired she was. Instead, she dared to tip her head back on the pillow, and look up at him. Dark hazel stared back—familiar eyes that hid so much from the world, but showcased nothing more than a beautiful soul to her.

  She was happy to see he looked better than the last time they were together. Less darkness in his eyes, and fewer lines of worry and anxiety on his face. His voice hadn’t held that same low, unsure quality as it had before, telling her that his mind was likely in a far better space than before.

  It helped her anxiety that hadn’t left since she took off from his place to know that he was doing better. She didn’t need to know the reasons why, or what pushed him back in the other direction. Just knowing he was there was more than enough for her.

  Ten days ago.

  Yeah, Siena was keeping count, now. It was yet another way she had found to get through her days without John, and the time in between seeing him again. Marking off days in her mind was like a challenge of sorts—could they see each other sooner this time around than the last time?

  Silly, sure.

  It kept her going.

  “When did you get here?” she asked.

  Siena had the slightest feeling he had been there for longer than it took him to wake her up, and crawl into her bed.

  “Long enough to make a coffee, and take my meds,” he said. “It’s four in the morning—go back to sleep, amore.”


  “Did you pick the lock again?”

  Because he hadn’t changed it like he said he would. This was the first time he had actually gotten back to her apartment since that first time after he got out of the facility. Things were always getting in the damn way.

  So was their life.

  “Yes,” he said, “and I came in the back way with the extra building key you gave me. Now, stop talking, and go to sleep.”

  “But when I wake up, you’re going to have to go.”

  “Sleep,” he said again. “I’ll be here.”

  Surrounded by John, his warmth, darkness, and soft sheets, Siena really didn’t need to be told again. John’s fingers stroked a gentle path up and down her naked spine, which was enough to make her close her eyes. The sensation sent her off to dreamland in seconds.

  John’s voice followed right behind. “I’ll be here.”

  The next time Siena woke up, sunlight had filtered through the bedroom through the break in the curtains. Warm rays streaked lines over her naked back, and dust particles danced in the stream of light; her gaze followed the amusing sight.

  “I need to dust,” she said.

  The form she was resting on started to chuckle. The sound rocked them both on the bed, and made her smile even wider.

  “Did you pull me onto you, or did I climb on?” Siena asked.

  “A little bit of both,” John replied in a murmur.

  “Huh.”

  “And you do need to dust.”

  Siena laughed, and tipped her head back to stare at John. He had sat higher on her bed to rest his back against the headboard. He looked entirely relaxed sitting there watching her—like this was the one place he was meant to be, and the only place he wanted to be.

  Siena supposed it was.

  Or she hoped it was.

  And maybe, had the circumstances been different in their lives, they could have already been well into the start of their own life.

  Together.

  She pushed those sad thoughts away. It wasn’t the time for them, and it wouldn’t do her any good. Besides, she had John with her right now, and that was all that mattered to her. It was all she needed to make her whole day brighter.