by Bethany-Kris
“Yeah.”
“Nothing else?”
“Sorry, Boss,” Vincent muttered.
“It’s fine. Let the guys know I’ll be there in twenty.”
Antony hung up the phone and tossed it to the bed, rubbing at his forehead.
“What happened?” Cecelia asked, sighing. “I knew it. Something happened.”
“No, you don’t. It’s … it might be good.”
Could it?
Was it him?
God, Antony hoped so.
He’d spent the last two years searching for Johnathan’s son. Lina had done her job of keeping the boy safe because not only did Antony search shelters, pay people off in the foster system looking for a John Doe that might have showed up, plus … morgues, but nothing.
Not a fucking thing.
Where was John’s Lucky?
Where the hell had Lina hidden Luciano?
“Antony?” Cecelia asked quietly.
“Someone’s got info on a kid,” Antony said with a shrug.
Cecelia’s eyes lit up.
Antony went on the defensive immediately. “Cecelia, don’t. We don’t know. Where the hell has this kid been, anyway? Where can a kid of his age hide? How is he supposed to take care of his little self? Could you imagine Dante doing that? Because he’s practically the same age, okay. It might just be some runaway or—”
“Kids are resilient, Antony,” Cecelia interjected softly. “They’re tough as hell. Look at our boys. They’ve got to be tough, you’re making sure they are. Who’s to say Lucian isn’t the same.”
“Luciano,” Antony corrected.
“No, in this home, he’s Lucian.”
“He’s not in this home, yet.”
“The boys know him as Lucian, Antony.”
“Fine, whatever.” Antony chewed on his inner cheek, considering everything. “It might be him, Cecelia. A couple of weeks ago the guys heard a noise in the back of the restaurant and found a kid about his age digging through the garbage cans looking for food, likely. He was muttering about and going it.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, in Italian.”
“Oh,” Cecelia whispered.
“Do you want to come down there with me?” Antony asked.
“No, I should stay here.”
“Why?”
All Cecelia talked about was bringing Lucian home and keeping him safe. There was the issue of raising the child as theirs, because that was their plan, but Cosa Nostra didn’t look highly upon adoption. Antony would be quick to point out to anyone who questioned their choice of taking Lucian in that the child was considered family. He came from a made man in la famiglia, even if that man was now deceased.
“He’s going to need something to come home to, Antony,” Cecelia explained. “A bed, something warm, maybe his … well, you know.”
Antony’s brow furrowed. “Not really.”
“His brothers, too.”
Dante and Giovanni had stayed at Paulie’s for the night to give Cecelia and Antony a break.
“Let your enforcers know you’re leaving before you go so they can follow behind, all right?”
Cecelia nodded. “It could be him, yeah?”
Antony reached for the shirt hanging off the bedpost. “It could be him.”
• • •
He looked like Johnathan.
It was the first thing Antony noticed about the hazel eyes staring up at him.
John’s eyes.
Lucian had pushed himself to the very edge of the back seat so he was pressed against the door. Antony suspected the child had spent so much time in open space that being confined made him nervous and unsettled.
“Cookie?” Antony asked, holding out the sweets for the boy to take again.
Lucian still didn’t trust him because he wouldn’t take the food. Although, he must have found something in Antony that he trusted because he went with him. He let him hold him. He allowed Antony to put him in the car and cover him with a blanket.
The child was dirty, needed a haircut, his clothing was worn, tattered and a damned mess … but fucking Christ, he was alive.
“Why Lucian?” the nine-year-old asked.
Well, he’d be nine tomorrow, Antony knew.
“My wife likes the sound of it,” Antony answered. “Me, too.”
“Mamma liked Luciano.”
“I think your father liked it more.”
“Why?”
Antony chuckled. “A favorite person of Johnathan’s, that’s all.”
“Who?”
“You asked a lot of questions for such a quiet boy.”
Lucian dropped his gaze. “Sorry, Sir.”
“None of that. It’s Antony or …” Antony trailed off, unsure if telling the boy he could call him Dad would be too much. It probably would be. Better to let the child decide that on his own. “It’s Antony, Lucian. And you can ask all you want. How else will you learn if you don’t ask? It’s good to talk and ask, but it’s better to listen, huh? Always listen, Lucian. Listening will get you further, trust me.”
“Okay.”
“Cookie?” Antony offered again.
The enforcer driving the car shot Antony a look in the mirror, laughing quietly.
It was the tenth time he’d offered Lucian the cookies.
Each time he’d been rejected.
Lucian took the cookies.
• • •
September, 1997
“Antony!”
Antony poked his head over the barbecue, scowling at his angry brother as the man stalked across the yard.
“What, Ross?”
“That fucking little brat of—”
“The next words out of your mouth better be about someone else’s kid or I’ll cut your fucking tongue out.”
Ross’s gaze narrowed. “I think I know where he’s picked his bullshit up from. That, or he just can’t help it. Who knows?”
“Who?”
“Lucian.”
Antony’s confusion climbed a notch or two. Lucian was a quiet kid, especially when other people happened to be around. He said very little, tended to play alone unless Dante or Giovanni forced him out of one of his hiding spots, and rarely got into trouble like his two brothers. He was pretty damned smart for a boy who spent two years of his life living on the streets, too. It only took a private tutor and a couple of patient months and Lucian was up to speed to begin school in his proper year and age group.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Ross, but knock it off. Your opinion about my son bears no fucking importance to Cecelia and me.”
“He punched my kid in the mouth!”
Antony dropped the brush he was using to coat the steaks in sauce. “What?”
“You heard me. He punched Denny in the mouth, Antony. Come on. That’s ridiculous.”
No, not necessarily, but it didn’t make a whole lot of sense.
“Lucian has never been violent, Ross.”
“Well, Denny’s got a bloody mouth and Dante said Lucian is the one to blame.”
Waving at the barbecue, Antony said, “Take care of this, would you?”
“Whatever, just fix your kid.”
“Hey, watch it.”
Ross sighed. “Sorry, man. Just … that’s not normal, all right. It isn’t.”
“I’ll handle it.”
Antony did a quick survey of the backyard but couldn’t find Lucian anywhere. Chances were, he was in one of his hiding spots inside the house. He had a lot of those. Anywhere small, tight, and dark, Lucian liked. Closets were a particular favorite, but sometimes he tucked himself under a bed or behind a couch, too.
A therapist said that was just the kid’s way of getting used to his new surroundings by making himself feel not so small in such a big place. Cecelia and Antony didn’t like that Lucian felt as though he needed to hide away from their family and world, but they let him be. Eventually, Lucian would come to them when he was ready.
They already were,
but now it was all on little Lucky.
Antony searched the wing of the mansion Lucian usually played in. The boys were allowed to roam free throughout the house except for the basement and attic. Those were off-limits for safety reasons. After checking every closet, bathroom, under beds, and behind every couch, Antony was lost.
Apparently, so was Lucian.
Walking down the hall of the second floor to go check Lucian’s bedroom again, Antony noticed his office door was open as he passed. It shouldn’t have been. For one thing, his knife collection was displayed in there and for another, it was always closed when guests were in the house.
Antony found Lucian tucked away under his large oak desk. In the nine-and-a-half-year-old’s hand was a familiar red pocketknife. Lucian opened it and closed it over and over, admiring the shiny blade and the scuffed red handle.
“My father gave me that, you know,” Antony said quietly. “I was maybe four, or a little more.”
Lucian didn’t act like Antony had surprised him. “Did he?”
“Yes.”
“That’s kind of young.”
“Different time, I guess. I gave Dante and Gio theirs when they were young, too. It’s all about teaching them how to use it properly.”
“Or not use it at all,” Lucian muttered.
“That, too.”
“Am I in trouble now?” Lucian asked quietly.
“For punching your cousin?”
“He’s not really my cousin.”
Antony sighed. “You’re our boy, so yes, he is.”
“Adopted.”
“Lucian, you’re still our boy.”
Lucian wouldn’t look at Antony. “I know.”
“What happened?”
“He threw a rock at Gio.”
“Oh?”
Lucian shrugged, nodding. “Yeah, and Gio’s not quick all the time ‘cause he’s too busy looking up instead of around him like me and Dante. And the rock hit him, so I hit Denny. I’m not sorry about it, either. I hope it hurt.”
Antony had to hold back his smirk. “Why is that, topino?”
“Because he hurt Gio,” Lucian whispered.
“And?”
“You don’t hurt family.”
You’re raising them right, Tony.
“Well done, but you shouldn’t have hurt Denny. I think you’re going to have to apologize for that one, Lucian.”
“If he says sorry to Gio first,” Lucian compromised.
“I’ll make sure he does.”
“All right.”
“Want to come back out?” Antony asked.
Lucian didn’t move. “Not yet. I like it here.”
“Do you?”
“Yeah.”
“I didn’t know you spent time in my office.”
“Reminds me of you,” Lucian said quietly.
Huh.
Well, then …
Antony cleared his throat of the emotions thickening it up and threatening to keep him quiet. Reaching up, he plucked an apple off the desk that Cecelia had left there earlier. “Here, topino, let me show you how to work this thing and then you can keep it. I don’t need it anymore, anyway.”
Lucian handed over the pocketknife. “You’re gonna give it to me?”
“Well, yes. My father gave it to me. I should give it to one of my boys, too.”
“Oh.”
“Do you not want it?” Antony asked.
“Yes, I want it.”
“What’s wrong, Lucian?”
“You’re kind of like my dad, right?”
“Yes,” Antony murmured.
“But … like how you’re Gio and Dante’s papà, I mean. Are you like that for me, too?”
“If you’re asking do I love you in the same way I love them, then yes, Lucian. From the very second I knew you existed.”
It was the truth.
“Oh,” Lucian said again, eyeing the pocketknife Antony was using to peel the apple.
“Ask me whatever you want, Lucian.”
“Sometimes it’s better to listen, Papà.”
Antony damn near cut himself at the sound of Lucian finally recognizing him as his father. He caught the slip quickly enough and kept on peeling.
“You’re right, son. It is.”
Epilogue
Antony paced the length of his office, frustration running rampant through his blood.
Lucian was the good one. Antony knew it from the start. Between the three Marcello principes, Lucian had been the easiest to raise of all his brothers. Giovanni had issues, some that frightened his father. Dante was stubborn as shit, and that irked Antony to no end.
Lucian, however, was the goddamn easy one.
This didn’t make sense.
“You’re absolutely sure?” Antony asked.
“Yeah, Boss. He asked one of the guys to do a trace. I guess Lenny was kinda surprised about it because Lucian never asks for anything, usually. He handles shit himself or goes to one of his brothers, but maybe—”
“This was something he didn’t want them knowing about and he couldn’t do himself,” Antony interrupted, sighing. “All right, then. I want whatever your guy found sent over to me in a file and don’t let Lucian know about it. If he asks, say you haven’t found shit on this … Jordyn Reese, is it?”
“So the documents say,” replied Antony’s man.
“Fine, send it to me. I’ll look it over.”
Lucian wouldn’t be all too impressed that Antony found out his little secret, but he would have to suck it up and deal with it. Antony had a few quirks and one of them was knowing every little detail he could about his son’s personal lives where women were concerned. Well, women that might be invited into the family folds in some way.
Apparently, a woman had caught Lucian’s eye but he was keeping it from his mother and father for whatever reason.
“Got it, Boss.”
Antony hung up the phone and rubbed at the tension headache beginning to pound at the base of his skull. Turning his phone on again, he said, “Dial Paulie.”
The call only rang twice before his old friend picked up.
“Hey, Boss.”
“Evening, Paulie.”
“What’s up?”
“Lucian’s hiding something from me. I don’t like it.”
Paulie coughed. “I need a drink, I think.”
“Me, too.”
“What kind of thing?” Paulie asked.
“A woman. She’s involved with that goddamn biker gang we’re having issues with.”
“Shit.” On the other end of the call, Antony could hear Paulie dropping ice cubes into a glass. “That makes things tricky, huh.”
“How does he even know this girl?” Antony asked, more to himself than his friend. “Really, where would he have met her? This is ridiculous.”
“Why?”
“I have a dozen and one reasons why, Paulie!”
“Like?” his friend pressed.
“She’s not Italian if her surname is any indication.”
“Goddamn, we both know you really don’t care on that front as long as he’s happy.”
True enough.
“She’s involved with these bikers,” Antony said again.
“So?”
“So!”
“Stop it, man,” Paulie said quietly. “What is it, really?”
“He’s hiding it from me,” Antony grumbled, unhappy and bothered.
The whole damned situation bothered him in ways he couldn’t explain.
“Lucian doesn’t hide things from me, Paulie. He never has. I don’t like it.”
And he didn’t like that a woman was the cause.
“Maybe he thinks you won’t approve or something,” Paulie suggested.
“What’s there to approve of? He doesn’t even know this woman!” Antony threw his arms up, fed up with the day. “It’s … if he’s interested in her, which I highly doubt the feelings are actually valid given he doesn’t know her, then it’s an infatuation.”
“Was Cecelia an infatuation?” Paulie asked.
The question was posed so quietly Antony nearly missed it.
Except he couldn’t.
“You know she wasn’t, Paulie.”
“You didn’t know Cecelia. You knew of her, but you never even met her until that night at the Catrolli mansion. And from that fucking moment, you were on for that girl, Antony. Deny it.”
“I can’t.”
“Exactly, so shut up about it.”
Antony let that comment slide.
“Listen, this is difficult for—”
“Imagine how it feels for Lucian,” Paulie interjected gently. “He’s a twenty-seven-year-old man, Antony. Let him breathe. Let him figure out what he wants.”
“I hate you right now,” Antony told his friend.
“So be it.”
Paulie hung up the phone before Antony could allow it.
Antony let that shit slide, too.
Turning on his heel, Antony froze. Cecelia stood in his office doorway with her arms crossed, her eyebrow cocked, and a knowing expression.
“Tesoro.”
“What did you do?”
Antony shrugged. “Nothing.”
“You butted in on something again, didn’t you?”
“No,” Antony said quietly.
“Liar.”
“Leave it alone, Cecelia.”
“Who did what this time and why did you feel the need to insert yourself?” his wife asked.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You’re a terrible liar.”
“You’re a beautiful one.”
“Your sweet talk won’t make me forget you’re hiding something.”
Antony scowled. “Lucian’s doing background searches on a girl involved with a biker gang. He tried to do it on the low so I wouldn’t find out. Why would he do that? I’m not sure, but obviously he doesn’t want me to know.”
“What’s the problem?” Cecelia asked.
“Well, for starters—”
“Nothing,” his wife cut in firmly. “There is no problem, Antony Marcello. We have always made a conscious effort for our sons’ happiness to be the most important thing, no matter what they wanted or needed to achieve it. If this girl, whoever she is, makes Lucian happy or he thinks she might make him happy, take a step back and let him have her.”
“I’m not trying to keep him from anything,” Antony argued.
