by Bethany-Kris
“I don’t—”
“Understand, yeah I know. I’m glad you don’t, though.”
Haven frowned. “Why?”
“Because none of that matters when I’m with you.”
Oh.
“But my parents,” he added after a few seconds, “well, they’re a different story.”
“Why is that?”
He shrugged. “Kim and Gio—that’s my mom and dad—they would have been proud of me, regardless of anything else. I could have flipped burgers on the side of the road, and they would have told me to go ahead and live my best life, as long as I was happy.”
Haven laughed softly. “Really?”
“Really, yeah. They … I’m their only child. My mom had a rough time after I was born, I guess, and she was scared to go through it again, so they didn’t have more kids. I think that really affected the way they chose to raise me in a lot of ways.”
“And how was that?”
Andino made a noise in the back of his throat—amused and contemplative at the same time. “Freely, you could say. They didn’t hover. They didn’t make choices for me, or put down very many rules … if any. They just let me go, and followed along for the ride. Yet, I never really went wild, or found myself in too much trouble. I had fun, took some risks, and always had a safe place to fall back on. I learned a lot about who I am and who I wanted to be because of the way my parents stepped back and let me figure it out on my own. Most people can’t say the same, you know? I was lucky.”
Haven could hear it in his voice …
“And you love them for that,” she said.
“I do,” he admitted. “I love them for that the most. And what about yours, huh?”
Haven widened her eyes. “My, what? Parents?”
“Mmhmm. What are they like—or were, when you were younger?”
“Uh, typical, I think.”
“You think?”
Haven grinned. “I mean, they didn’t want me going crazy, but they let me stay out until one, and Dad let me help at the bar from the time I was fifteen. Couldn’t make drinks or serve them, though.”
Andino chuckled. “Sounds decent.”
“And then I wanted a tattoo once; they said no, and I went and did it anyway. First time they ever grounded me, but what were they going to do?”
“The tattoo was already there, I suppose,” he said.
“Exactly. And I think my mom helped with that, too. She’s an artist; paints for a living, but it’s more a hobby now that they’re retired.”
Not to mention she doesn’t get around as well as she used to.
Haven didn’t bother to mention that.
“Anyway, my mom explained despite the fact they didn’t like or agree with it, this,” she said, gesturing at her colorful ink marking up a good portion of her visible skin, “was a way of expressing myself, and expressions of one’s self shouldn’t be contained or controlled. The only thing they asked was that I didn’t tattoo my face or hands.”
“You haven’t, either.”
“Nope,” she agreed.
“Why so many stars?”
Haven cleared her throat, and glanced down at the waffle she’d forgotten about in their chat. It was so easy to talk to Andino that she even forgot to feed herself. How strange was that?
“My first tattoos were a pair of stars—the ones on my lower back, you saw them. My best friend—Mari—committed suicide when she was sixteen … she was just sick, you know. Screaming for help, but nobody heard her, I think. Or we weren’t listening close enough. Anyway. She loved stars. She loved a lot of things, but especially stars. We were planning to go and have matching stars tattooed on our wrists.”
Haven laughed, but even she could hear how sad it sounded. “You know, like best friend bracelets, but less juvenile. She hung herself two days before the appointment that we’d lied about, and snuck around to get done. It was her funeral that day—I couldn’t go, so I went to the parlor instead for the appointment. It was for two stars, so I got two. One for her, and one for me. Now, whenever I get the chance to do something she never will, I add a star for her. Travel, turn eighteen, or drive a car. And it’s a good reminder for me, too. Look how lucky I am, I guess. Look at what I have, and all who love me.”
“That’s—”
Snaps lifted his head, making Haven realize in that second the dog hadn’t actually been sleeping at all, but only pretending to be. His dark eyes darted to the doorway, and his stubby tail wagged. It was only his sudden movement that stopped Andino from finishing his sentence.
They didn’t have to wait for very long to see what—or rather, who—had caught the dog’s attention. A hazel-eyed gentleman with salt peppering his dark, slicked back hair strolled into the private dining area with two men trailing close behind him. The other men stayed at the door, while the man leading them came closer. His three-piece suit was tailored perfectly to fit him, and just the way he carried himself screamed money to Haven.
Not once had their breakfast been interrupted. Not even a server came back after they’d gotten their food. Andino made it clear not to allow anyone back—unless, he’d said, it was certain people. This man must have been one of those people.
Andino’s gaze landed on the man, and his shoulders stiffened as his stare darted back to Haven just as quickly. The unknown man, on the other hand, smiled widely.
“They said you were back here, nipote.”
“Uncle Lucian,” Andino greeted, standing from the table to greet the man. He took the quick hug his uncle offered, but Haven didn’t miss how Lucian’s gaze drifted to her, and lingered for a second or two. Not in an uncomfortable way, but more … she didn’t even know how to put it. Andino sat down, but Lucian stayed standing. “I didn’t know you were coming over this way.”
“Last minute thing,” Lucian murmured. “Who is this? I didn’t know you had a friend—does your father know? Or … Dante, Andi?”
Andino cleared his throat, and glanced back at Haven. She could tell just by the way his mouth settled into a grim line, and the hardness of his jaw that he didn’t like where this was going. And all of the sudden, Haven wished she wasn’t there at all.
This breakfast had started so well.
Why was it ending like this?
She was missing something.
Haven was sure of it.
“Haven, this my uncle—Lucian Marcello. Zio, this is Haven.”
“Haven,” Lucian repeated as though he was trying her name in his mouth.
Haven stared the man head-on. “Haven Murphy, actually.”
Andino kept that same blank expression. “Yes, Haven. A friend.”
“Oh, I figured that much out,” Lucian said, looking at Andino, “the better question is what kind of friend? Safely assume that’s what your boss is going to ask, Andino, and you better have a good answer.”
What?
• • •
“Thank you for letting me take you out to breakfast,” Andino murmured.
He pulled the Lexus to a smooth stop in front of Haven’s house. On the porch, she could see Valeria reading on her e-reader, and drinking a coffee. Her friend pretended like she didn’t see a car drive up with Haven inside, but she knew that was just Valeria’s way of giving her some sense of privacy.
“Yeah, sure,” Haven replied.
“I don’t know when I might be back around, but—”
Haven had other things to ask, and talk about, actually. “So, we’re just going to ignore the awkward and strange conversation that happened when your uncle showed up? And how he left right after, but barely even spoke to me?”
Andino sighed in the driver’s seat, but kept his gaze firmly stuck on the road ahead of him through the windshield. She didn’t think she had ever met someone who was as in control of himself and his emotions as Andino Marcello. He could seem cold even when she could plainly tell he was also frustrated.
It was disconcerting.
To say the least …
“There’s nothing to talk about,” he said, shaking his head and tightening his grip on the steering wheel. “Just business that doesn’t concern you.”
“Business.”
“That’s what I said.”
“How does taking a woman out to breakfast fall into business? Or why is it any of your family’s business?”
Andino laughed dryly. “Because, Haven, to a Marcello … family and business is one in the same. I don’t expect you to understand, all things considered.”
“No, I guess not.”
He glanced over at her. “I’m sorry?”
“I don’t know anything about you, really. Who are you, Andino?”
His eyebrow lifted curiously. “You still haven’t figured it out, yet?”
She felt like he was telling her something. Maybe she just liked living with her head in the sand. Who fucking knew?
“Maybe a part of me doesn’t want to know what you’re hiding,” she said.
Andino smirked. “That part of you is smart.”
SEVEN
Four days.
It took his boss four days before Dante finally called Andino in after the run-in with Lucian at the restaurant. Andino was impressed that his uncle had that kind of restraint—Dante Marcello wasn’t known for his fucking patience.
He got that from his own father.
“Boss,” Andino greeted from the dining room entryway.
Dante had swung the captain chair around, so his seat at the head of the table faced the large window overlooking the grounds. On either side of him sat Andino’s father, and his uncle. Lucian gave Andino a look. One that clearly said, “You should have told him yourself.”
The problem with that?
There was nothing to tell.
Giovanni, on the other hand, let nothing slip on his expression. He was a mask of cool, and calm; nothing was going to break him. Andino could tell that just by looking at his father, and he wasn’t about to try his luck, either.
“Would you like to sit or stand for this conversation?” Dante asked.
He never turned his chair around, and didn’t even look over his shoulder to glance at Andino. He didn’t really need to—Andino could hear in his uncle’s tone just how pissed off the Cosa Nostra boss was with him.
First time for everything, huh?
Dante—along with every other man in that dining room—was probably just as surprised at this turn of events as Andino was, really. Andino wasn’t the man who caused problems in la famiglia. He played by the rules, and stayed the fuck away from anything that might get him knee-deep into shit. He lived honorably, or as much as a made man could. He was just here to make money, do his thing, and make sure he was home every night to take Snaps on his walk.
Nothing more, and nothing less.
He spoke his oath to the life.
To the family.
And he meant it.
“I think I’ll stand, actually,” Andino settled on saying.
“Your choice,” his uncle returned dryly.
“I’m surprised you waited four days. Or rather, that you made it this long before calling me in.”
Dante chuckled, but the sound was hollow. A look passed between Andino’s father and his other uncle—a stare he couldn’t quite decipher, but that shit wasn’t anything new. These three brothers had long mastered the ability to have silent conversations with one another by simply giving each other a nod, stare, or some other fucking gesture that no one but them could understand. It was annoying.
“I had to do my homework,” Dante said, sighing a little. “I’m sure you expected that, Andino.”
Andino cocked a brow. “Homework—as in, Haven?”
“Who else?”
“You looked into Haven.”
It wasn’t even a question.
Giovanni cleared his throat, and drew Andino’s attention for the moment. “There’s always something to be said about a man who feels the need to see someone, but doesn’t also feel a need to share those details when he knows they are important.”
Lucian made a sound under his breath. “Not in every case, brother.”
“You did not have the standing Andino does, either,” Dante muttered. “There was not a whole host of problems that would be waiting for you—and the family—because you chose a woman that was outside of the standard for Cosa Nostra.”
Lucian quieted.
What was Andino missing here?
Giovanni—who seemed entirely unbothered by the conversation happening beside him—nodded but was still looking at his son. “And there is where you differ, Andi.”
“Because I took a woman to breakfast?”
Dante slowly raised from his chair, and turned to face Andino. He had been right; his uncle did look pissed off enough to scare the Devil himself, but Andino wasn’t the Devil. And he didn’t frighten easily.
“I know what I know about her,” Dante said, “but I’m going to give you the chance to tell me what you should have told me from the start, Andino. Go ahead.”
Andino arched a brow. “Haven Murphy—twenty-six, owns a strip club in Brooklyn, and jogs every day. That’s how I ran into her the first time; the second was at her club when I had business to handle with a bookie who enjoys the place. Quite a successful business, actually. I took her to breakfast. Anything else?”
Dante sucked air through his teeth, and set the coffee mug down that he’d been holding. “You tell me if there’s anything else I should know.”
Andino didn’t even have to think about it. “Nope.”
“No?”
“That’s what I said. I don’t tend to stutter, you know.”
“Andi,” his father warned.
He ignored Giovanni.
Andino was getting tired of being the fucking doormat someone thought they could walk over just because he played by the fucking rules of this family, for the most part. He was nobody’s goddamn doormat.
He hadn’t done anything wrong.
“How about the fact she strips?” Dante asked coolly. “Or that she’s not Italian. And oh, we can’t forget the most important part—literally everything about what and who she is will never be appropriate as the wife of a boss, present or future. You would not find another man heading a family with a seat at the Commission who would take a look at that woman and what she offers, and have them say she is acceptable as a boss’s wife. So, yes, let’s not forget that bit. I think it’s important.”
Amusement flitted through Andino.
Fast, and fleeting.
It walked hand in hand with his irritation over this whole thing. Because all of it was fucking nonsense, and nothing more. His uncle was making a mountain out of a stupid mole hill. Dante assumed, and didn’t think to ask.
Boss’s right, sure.
Andino didn’t care, either.
“Because I took her to breakfast,” he said.
Dante’s jaw stiffened—a sure sign of his anger if there ever was one. “How many times are you going to say that this morning?”
“Until you realize how fucking ridiculous it is.”
“I beg your—”
“I took a woman to breakfast,” Andino said, “Lucian interrupted it by showing up, ran to you with the information—”
“I didn’t run to him with it,” Lucian grumbled.
Andino ignored his uncle and continued on with, “And now you’ve somehow decided she’s more than what she is.”
“No one would have to assume anything, Andino,” his father pointed out from his chair, “had you just spoke up in the first place about what you were doing.”
“Because it’s none of your business who I fuck when I feel the damn need!”
Dante cleared his throat, and brought all the attention back to him. The only boss in the room—even if Andino was the boss-in-waiting, and the only man to have the floor to speak when he wanted it. So was their ways and life.
“It is my business—that’s where you’re wrong,” Dante said simply. “It will alway
s be my business. I am the boss of this family, and I have chosen for you to take over and sit in my seat once I am gone. And so, everything you do needs to reflect well on me, this organization, and the family. From the point you left my office the day we told you what would be happening, you no longer got to make your own choices, Andino. Not when every single choice you make won’t only affect you.”
Andino clenched his teeth so hard that his molars ached.
Goddamn.
“And you know this,” Dante continued on as though he couldn’t see Andino’s anger vibrating through his tense body just ten feet away. “You know this is how it works, and why that is. You know that if you want to have a relationship—or a casual thing—with someone that the family or other organizations won’t approve of, then you do so quietly and privately.”
“I was,” Andino snapped.
“By taking her to your restaurant?” his father asked. “Where anyone could walk in, and where you do business every single day?”
Dante tipped his head in Giovanni’s direction. “Exactly that, yes.”
“It was breakfast.”
“You keep saying that like it shouldn’t mean something, but we both know it does.”
Okay.
Fuck this.
“Why can’t she be nothing? Why can’t she be a bit of fun I’m having while the rest of you fucking upend my whole goddamn life?” Andino clenched his fists, but shoved them into his pockets to try and keep some semblance of composure even while he was raging pissed. “Why can’t she be a break from every other thing I have to deal with? No—she can’t be any of those things. She has to be something else entirely because you think she is.”
Dante straightened a little taller on the spot. “And is she nothing, then?”
Andino hesitated.
Not one man missed it.
His father’s ridged posture softened, but Giovanni said nothing. Across the table from his brother, Lucian’s gaze drifted to the floor.
Dante, though, only nodded. “I see.”
“Don’t do that,” Andino muttered. “Don’t make that in to something.”
“I didn’t. Your lack of a response did.”
“It wasn’t anything. It was breakfast.”
