by Bethany-Kris
“Figured it was better at least one of us, the only one with a medical degree, was out of harm’s way,” Antony said honestly.
The small chat between the men dulled to nothing at all. Lucian took that time to sit back in his booth, allowing Gio’s large form to shield him from view as he surveyed the room once more. His brother’s body and the shadows of his new position also shielded the server from his sight as she saddled up beside the table.
Out of the corners of his eyes, Lucian did see part of her bare shoulder and the black curls hiding her face, though. It wasn’t so much the amount of flesh she was showing as it was the peeks of what looked like a cherry blossom tattoo crawling over her shoulder and dipping down her back where it disappeared from his sight.
“Hello, guys. I’m Jordyn. I’ll be serving you tonight, or something close to it. What’ll it be?”
The sultry tone of her voice was something Lucian and his body noticed the moment she spoke. It was almost like a mixture of innocence and experience, if that were possible. She didn’t sound entirely bored, but she didn’t sound like she was in it to win it with her job, either.
Dante looked to his father, his earlier comment about not consuming the drinks being silently said again. Antony must have took note.
“A bottle of Jack, unopened. Four—” Antony stopped up short, his lips tugging down into a frown as he passed a glance towards Gio. The youngest brother certainly didn’t need to be drinking tonight. “Make that three glasses. We’ll pour.”
Leaning forward was the worst mistake Lucian made since waking up that day. He certainly hadn’t expected to see her again. At least not in a place like this. She was on his mind all damned week, those eyes of hers, cream-like flesh, and a mouth that just at the sight alone, make his own water.
What’d she call herself? Jordyn, was it?
Merda.
Shit was right—he was in so much of it.
Suddenly, Lucian was not in the zone like he needed to be.
He was so incredibly fucked.
Also, Lucian realized he was right about his first assumption when he thought she had ink under her dress that day at the confessional box. Cherry blossoms started somewhere beneath the lace and leather bottoms she wore and trailed up over her side, before crossing over her left breast which was also covered by nothing but a lace and leather brassiere, and then curved over her shoulder.
There was another tattoo, too, but in the darkness, Lucian couldn’t read the scripted words.
Strangely, the immediate rush of possessiveness that flooded his veins surprised him. She was still so beautiful, like crazy. The more skin his gaze crawled over, the tighter his pants became. Lucian caught himself wondering what those blossoms would taste like under his tongue.
Yeah, he was not where he needed to be. This unknown woman knocked him off kilter and she probably didn’t even know it. What was wrong with him?
Unfortunately, his father seemed to realize his son’s abrupt change in posture and mood. “Lucian?”
At the sound of his name, the girl’s—Jordyn, he reminded himself—eyes flashed to meet his in the corner, those dark lashes of hers blinking rapidly like she also didn’t believe what she was seeing. Lucian swallowed the thickness building in his throat. Thankfully, Jordyn didn’t act like they had ever met or seen one another before. She simply went on doing her own business.
“Unopened bottle of Jack and three glasses. Anything else?” she asked, avoiding Lucian’s piercing gaze.
“Yes,” Antony said, still watching Lucian closely. “The owner is Ron Daney, correct?”
Jordyn stood a little stiffer, her shoulders squaring. “I beg your pardon?”
“The owner is Ron Daney, Vice President of the Brooklyn chapter of The Sons of Hell,” Lucian said gruffly, trying to swallow back the huskiness forming. “We’re not ATF or the feds, let’s just be clear on that, sweetheart. Ron, he’s in tonight, yes?”
Jordyn nodded warily. “Always is.”
“Good,” Antony replied with a grin. “Send him a drink, whatever he likes. Do be sure to tell him it’s from a guest. Antony Marcello and his crew. Do not mistake my name when you tell him. Be sure to point me out so he sees me. Understood?”
“Got it.”
With that, the woman Lucian simply needed to glance at to turn his skin ablaze and his heart stuttering, was walking away.
She didn’t look back.
Chapter Five
Jordyn managed to keep some sort of composure as she circled the table with two bottles of unopened beer resting precariously between her fingers. Barely managed, though, because she could feel the eyes of Lucian Marcello watching and dissecting her every single move.
Hazel eyes, she knew.
It was unnerving.
Jordyn wasn’t entirely sure she disliked his attention.
That was even more frightening.
What did he want from her? This strange man, well-dressed, sitting straight, a hint of an accent saturating around the edges of his words, looking as if he owned the fucking world, and like maybe he’d like to own her.
Jesus, did he?
Would he?
She assumed he was older than her by a few years, but only because experience aged his heavy gaze. That wasn’t the only thing she noticed about him. During their brief encounter in the confessional, Jordyn had been much too shocked to take in all the man’s handsome features before he disappeared. Now, she was seeing all of them. Broad shouldered with a suit that covered him as if it were a glove hugging his frame, it was obvious Lucian was quite fit. A strong jaw, full lips that always seemed to be fighting to pull into a smirk, dark hair hanging a little too long over his fierce stare, and chiseled cheekbones.
Handsome was an understatement, the man was gorgeous.
Frankly, the whole damn bunch were good-looking, but oddly, Jordyn was only able to really focus on Lucian. Because he was clearly focusing in on her.
Ron hadn’t been entirely pleased when Jordyn passed on the drink for him from the man named Antony, never mind when she pointed him out as was requested. She hadn’t quite figured out just who these Marcello men were. Guessing from the way every MC member in the room had suddenly flocked the walls and doors, watching the strange encounter happening at a new table in the middle of the room, they weren’t average men.
It was only after the four Marcello men had moved to the new table to sit with Ron and his two guys did Jordyn notice the other six men seemingly coming out of the woodwork as well. They, like the newcomers, were well-dressed and well-spoken. They stood much closer to the table than any of the MC members did, standing behind each Marcello man like a protector of sorts. Quiet and formidable, each man had his hands clasped behind his back and his eyes glued to the table.
Definitely not ATF or federal agents.
Jordyn placed the two bottles of beer down, one for Ron, and another for one of the club’s captains. Tension seemed to rocket sky high. Most of the conversation was spoken quietly, so low others couldn’t hear. Ron made it clear Jordyn needed to be the one serving the table, considering she was the only girl in the joint not high or drunk and able to keep her head on straight under stressful situations.
“I’m entirely unimpressed by my businesses being involved in The Sons of Hell’s messes.” Antony sipped from his whiskey, cocking a brow to the man across the table. It seemed to Jordyn like a challenge. “It looks badly on my family. If your men wish to go around sharing bullet wounds with police, that’s fine, but keep it away from the Marcellos. This isn’t difficult to understand. It’s not rocket science. You make it clear to Will Vetta he and his men are to stay away from my businesses and crews, and I will keep mine away from him. Trust me, Ron, he wants us to stay away. I’m not asking for a lot here.”
“So, let me get this straight,” Ron said quietly, popping open his beer before taking a long swig. “You’re just here to chat, huh?”
“For now,” Antony replied indifferently. “That could easi
ly change.”
Even Jordyn, not entirely sure of what these men were here for, heard the underlying threat in those words. How confident in themselves were they to walk into a biker bar clearly owned by nothing more than a dangerous gang, and do what they were doing. Very, obviously.
Antony smiled, the sight turning almost predatory. “You don’t seem concerned, Ron. I can assure you that you should be.”
“Of what, a small group of mobster wannabes tossing around unfounded threats? Listen, if Will was worried about your family, he would handle it.”
Mobsters?
The youngest man barked out a bitter laugh. “There’s your first.”
“First what?” Ron asked.
“Mistake,” Lucian stated darkly. “Now you’re wearing on our nerves faster than before. I’d step very carefully from here on out.”
Jordyn wasn’t sure what to make of those words, but it seemed serious. Lucian hadn’t even attempted to hide his distain or anger when he spoke. Not to mention the disgust curving his lips into a scowl.
“Listen,” Ron spat, setting his bottle down to the table hard enough to spill liquid from the top. “You come into our territory—”
“Mistake two,” Antony interrupted, smiling in that frightening way of his again. “You may sell your drugs and deal your pitiful stash of illegal weapons from your businesses here in Brooklyn, but do not mistake whose territory this is. There are three major Cosa Nostra families in New York. Together, the bosses and underbosses make up the Commission for all organized crime that need a voice and deserve to be heard from here, to Vegas, to Chicago, to Canada. Mine is the biggest, Ron. Mine is the most dangerous. Mine is the one that runs Brooklyn’s streets and turns the profit. If I want you out, you will go.”
Cosa Nostra? The Commission? Families?
Those words seemed foreign to Jordyn, but at the same time, familiar.
“Try not to make a third mistake,” the quietest man said. “This might not end well.”
Jordyn could see the twitch beginning to form in Ron’s cheek. That usually signaled his agitation, and if she didn’t have to be serving the table, she’d make herself scarce. “How? Send your dogs after us, Antony?”
The youngest man grinned, baring his teeth. “Woof, woof.”
Ron sat back in his chair, crossing his arms. “It seems there’s something about your family we’ve overlooked. If you’re really as dangerous as you say, I’d expect to see the police making a bit more of a fuss about you, in the least. I don’t hear of your … what do you call them, crews, is it? I don’t hear of them making a ruckus on the streets, or causing problems. Are you really as big as you think you are?”
Antony sighed and held up three fingers, signaling what Jordyn thought to be the final mistake of the evening. “La Cosa Nostra does not draw attention to themselves unless they have to. A boss—a good one—doesn’t need to. But, to be sure, let me explain just how big I truly am. I have a syndicate in every state in this country. Contacts from shore to shore that push my products and pay me to work for me. I am involved with the Cubans, Russians, Japanese, Chinese, and the Mexicans, to name a few. I can’t count the amount of politicians I have in my pocket. Your pathetic chapters can’t move within this country without me knowing about it. You can’t sell a thing without my people finding out.
“The thing is, gangs like yours help to keep the heat from families like mine. Your messes, your drugs, and your public disgraces, they keep eyes away from the guns we’re shipping out, the drugs we’re importing in, and the money we’re making. You want to call me a mobster, as if I’m nothing more than some bootlegging man turning a buck. That’s laughable. I am Mafioso. My grandfather, his father—they helped to make this country what it is. The FBI was formed to catch men like me, and yet they can’t.”
Antony leaned back in his chair, matching Ron in his stature. “We are not you, with your little clubs causing issues, frightening the public, and making ourselves known at every turn. We are the mafia. Do not mistake our organizations to be one in the same. We are nothing like you.”
We are the mafia.
Jordyn froze as she was making the move to leave the vicinity of the table. Antony’s words rang through her mind like a heavy toll bell. It repeated over and over. A warning. A threat. A promise. Four words, but it was all of that at once.
The slightest graze of something smooth, soft, and warm against Jordyn’s exposed hip bone almost caused her to stumble. The gentle touch sent what seemed like a zing straight through every nerve in her body. He’d touched her tattoo of Gabe’s name. The simplest brush of his fingertip was electrifying.
Glancing down, Jordyn met Lucian’s stare, but just as quickly, he looked away.
She couldn’t breathe.
“What is you want?” Ron asked, sounding a little less angry than before.
“Respect,” Antony replied. “It’s what makes this crime world of ours turn, after all. You can’t run if I don’t want you to, and I can’t remain peaceful if this nonsense with the police continues. When I ask for a meeting, I expect to get one. When I demand your men stay away from my businesses, I want that adhered to.”
“Do you even have any idea why we’re fighting the—”
“Your son was killed by an officer during a raid,” Antony interjected, softer than before. He waved at the three men sitting at the table beside him. “I have three sons of my own, so I understand your resentment and grief. The difference is I have the ability and power to have retribution, while you only have enough ammo to make a problem. An infant was killed last week because of your men. Someone else’s child. If it’s an eye for an eye you want, you’ve already had it four times over in the lives you’ve taken. It’s time to take a step back.”
Jordyn was still trying to catch her breath, a shakiness in her legs stopping her from moving away from the table. Even so, she couldn’t remain there any longer. Lucian’s gaze now seemed focused on the conversation, but she knew he was zoning in on her, too.
These were not good men, she realized. That charismatic confidence in their postures and voices was learned and earned. Jordyn always thought she understood what danger was, given the company she kept, but she was fast learning these Marcello men were not the same at all.
They didn’t need to spill a drop of blood to make a point.
Magnetic. Intelligent. Bold.
Jordyn needed a moment to think. Especially considering one of those men seemed entirely too interested in her.
And she liked that.
• • •
“Lucian?”
Lucian didn’t register his father saying his name until Antony reached under the table and pinched his thigh. He’d been terribly distracted ever since Jordyn made a beeline for the back of the club, out of his sight.
He didn’t like her here. Not working here. Not dressed like she was and being around these men all watching her like she was a piece of meat they wanted to take a bite out of. No one should stare at that woman like they were. Jealousy waged an awful war in his insides. Who was she to these people? Lucian had no claim to this girl—didn’t even know her.
But he wanted to.
For a man like him, that was dangerous territory.
At least no one noticed when he had touched her earlier. It almost felt like a compulsion. Lucian seen that name tattooed on her hip as she passed him and he couldn’t help but touch it, wanting to know who it belonged to, and why she had it.
But touching her … touching her skin had sent the oddest sensation flying over his own flesh.
Lucian didn’t trust himself to keep looking at her after that.
“Yeah?” he asked, turning to his father.
“What is wrong with you?” Antony demanded lowly, leaning close to his son so no one else could hear.
Great, his father noticed his distraction. Lucian wasn’t looking forward to explaining that later. At least the conversation between them and the VP seemed to have turned a corner for their bene
fit.
The only thing Lucian could do was play off his mood. “Nothing. I need to piss.”
Antony frowned. “Go, then. Gio, go with your brother.”
“I don’t need a babysitter,” Lucian muttered.
“I don’t trust these people, Lucian. Take your brother.”
Arguing was pointless. When Lucian asked for directions to the bathroom, he was pleased to see one of the men point in the same general direction Jordyn had disappeared to. Strangely, Lucian felt like he needed to make sure she was okay.
Lucian ignored the gazes of MC members watching him and his brother as they passed, finding a darkened hallway that led to many backroom areas. With only sheer curtains hanging in front of some of the rooms where inside shoddy couches and silver poles equipped the spaces, it was obvious what it was used for.
The bathroom was an easy enough find.
Lucian washed his hands, refusing to even go near the dirty urinals. He’d hold his piss for days if he had to before he’d use those. Just being in this place made him feel disgusting.
“What do you think?” Gio asked, glancing back towards the bathroom door.
It wasn’t uncommon for Lucian’s brothers to look to him for an opinion first and test out the waters by seeing what he thought of a situation. Lucian typically had a better inside view of people around him, even if he didn’t know them all that well. Maybe it was because he understood body language, or read into simple things that others would overlook, but he was nearly always right in his assumptions. It sucked for the people who thought they could hide something from him, but it worked to Lucian’s benefit.
It saved his life on more than one occasion, too.
“Nothing too important. I think Ron handles a lot of these men and their business because their boss is too busy doing whatever he’s doing to manage it himself. At the same time, these men are afraid of their boss, but not Ron. They do respect Ron. Will’s obviously hiding because the officials are hot on his ass. Coming here will only help if Will Vetta actually believes we’re dangerous and capable of following through with our threats. I don’t know that he does.”
