Lucian

by Bethany-Kris

  “Does it bother you?” he asked.

  “I didn’t say that. It’s just a lot to take in at nine in the morning, Lucian.”

  “Did you not hear what I told you in bed?”

  “Yes, I heard you. I told you what I wanted, too.”

  As perplexing and reckless as those odd feelings were.

  “Good. You’re just fine for me, Jordyn, and that’s what I care about. None of the rest matters.”

  “But—”

  “One day at a time,” Lucian interjected softly.

  “Then why does it feel like we just hit fast forward?”

  • • •

  “You’ve told her about us,” Antony said, circling the rim of his whiskey glass with his finger.

  It wasn’t even a question. Lucian’s father simply made the declaration and then grew silent, letting his son absorb the words. Sitting beside his father on the porch of the large Tuxedo Park home, overlooking the back yard, Lucian tried not to let his anger show with Antony.

  He failed.

  “I have,” Lucian admitted. “Not the major details, or all that we do, but the important parts, she knows.”

  “She’s an outsider, not family. You know how important loyalty and confidentiality is to us. If you were any other man, and not my son, I would be expected to kill you for doing that.”

  Lucian frowned, knowing he’d disappointed his father by exposing their secrets. “She’s important to me. I can’t explain it, but she is. I have to follow it through, Papà. You have to trust me, take a step back here, and let me do this how I see fit.”

  “She would have to be important,” Antony muttered. “Otherwise, I’d be seriously concerned over your lack of judgment. I have never been as confused by you in all your years as I have been these past weeks. Hiding things from me. Neglecting your responsibilities. Making dangerous decisions. You haven’t stepped foot in this house in over two weeks. Had you not needed your mother’s help collecting things that girl needed, you wouldn’t have called her once. It was like you dropped off the radar. This is not the respectful, smart boy I raised. Where did he go, Lucian?”

  “Don’t patronize me. You came that first night, so you saw what he did to her. You can’t blame me for pushing other things to the side so I could deal with the things she needed first.”

  “She does seem as if she’s doing a great deal better,” Antony said quietly. “Although I’m sure you’ve seen a lot more of her than I have.”

  Lucian refused to answer that unspoken question.

  “What are you going to do, now?” his father asked.

  “What I have been doing. Keeping her close, and safe. With me, of course.”

  Because there was no way in hell Lucian could imagine him handling someone else watching over Jordyn and protecting her.

  “I imagine you think you can do it best, too.” Antony sighed. “This will not be as easy as you think.”

  “I never thought it would be, actually. I do need your permission to do what I have to if needed.”

  Fact was, because Antony was the Marcello boss and technically had control over Brooklyn, his men couldn’t be involved in handling issues unless he gave his permission for them to do so. It was even stickier if the issues involved other made men, but this didn’t.

  “They’re going to be looking for her, if they haven’t already. Jordyn mentioned Will demanded she be back to work after a week. That time is long passed, now.”

  “I want you to be careful,” Antony said.

  “He labelled her Club Property. I think the time for careful has passed. If he gets his hands on her, I won’t see her again. I can’t risk that. I need to handle it.”

  “What about your apartment in Manhattan? I can’t see MC members spending a great deal of their time in those streets. She’d be safer there, say if you needed to handle something alone. Which you often do and I need you to keep up with your normal business,” Antony said pointedly. “You have higher security there. If you’re insistent on keeping her with you, that’s where you both should be, not in Brooklyn. You’re too close to them.”

  Lucian was aware of that. “She was too hurt to be traveling those first few days. Besides, Manhattan wouldn’t just be a step out for them, but her, too. I don’t want her to be uncomfortable with my status and money.”

  “Give her some credit. She didn’t even flinch at the size of this home. She adapts incredibly well to her situation, whatever it is.”

  “You were watching when we came through the gate?” Lucian asked, surprised.

  Antony laughed deeply. “First woman any of my sons willingly bring home? Of course I was, Lucian.”

  “Yet you couldn’t greet me at the church?” Lucian asked.

  “I was dealing with Gio.”

  “Why lie? You didn’t want to be seen greeting me with a woman at my side publically. You haven’t even introduced yourself to her. That’s what it was, Dad.”

  “No, I was dealing with Gio,” his father repeated strongly. “He made a comment—called the girl your principessa. And she very well might be, Lucian, but I can’t have others hearing that right now and spreading it through the Marcello family. I don’t want people assuming my sons’ personal lives are going to overtake their business lives. It’s dangerous, especially if other Mafiosi believe you’re closer to settling down in life than Dante is. Eyes will turn to you, son. They’ll be watching you, wanting to know if you’re going to make a move on your brother, or worse, me.”

  “I don’t care. Let them. I don’t want to be a boss. I’m happy doing what I do, now.”

  “I can’t, Lucian. You don’t have to be battling with your brother privately or publically for others to say you are. This is how problems start. Little issues turn to big wars. It isn’t just our Cosa Nostra we have to consider. I have done everything I could for years to keep our family under only our control. That is what is most important. Keeping our family as ours.”

  “I understand, but she has nothing to do with any of that. Jordyn is just …” Words failed Lucian again.

  “She’s what, someone you need to protect? Is that why you’ve attached yourself to her, because you feel you owe karma something for how it turned out for you and this is your way of paying it back?”

  “No. That’s not it,” Lucian replied. “Nothing like that.”

  “Explain it to me, then, because I am at a loss, son.”

  “I told you, she’s important. I’m going to let it go wherever it goes. I think I’d find a lot of regret in not doing that for myself. I don’t live with regrets, so I’m not going to start having them with someone like her.”

  “And you’re hoping it ends with you and her going together, sì?”

  Lucian shrugged. “I won’t put explanations and feelings on things I don’t understand.”

  “Can I trust her?” Antony asked, barely above a breath. “With our family, the Cosa Nostra, and my son, too?”

  “I do,” Lucian replied.

  “Dio. That’s good enough for me, then. I still have to properly meet her, though.”

  • • •

  Cecelia took the wooden spoon covered in a thick, red sauce, tasting it with the new ingredients. She gave the younger woman a nod in approval before turning to wash off the spoon.

  “I’m impressed,” Cecelia said. “I wouldn’t have thought of those.”

  Jordyn shrugged, continuing to stir in the mix of spices she’d chosen for the special pasta sauce Cecelia refused to give the secret ingredients for. “It’s like a go-to. If it’s really good from the start, these make it great. At least, that’s what I always found.”

  “I’ve followed the exact recipe for years. I’ve never deviated from it.”

  Briefly, Jordyn wondered if she overstepped her limits. A kitchen was a woman’s kingdom, especially an Italian woman’s kitchen. Cecelia obviously took great pride in her cooking and the massive meals she prepared for her family.

  “I’m going to have to change the rec
ipe now,” Cecelia added, grinning. “I don’t know how Antony’s grandmother would have felt about that, bless her soul, but oh well.”

  Jordyn smiled. “Thanks. Does that mean I get the rest of the ingredient list?”

  “Sorry, but no. Tradition is what it is, dear. Someday, I might be able to hand it over, but not today.”

  “Someday?”

  What did that mean?

  Cecelia winked. “Another time. You enjoy cooking, don’t you?”

  “Kind of had to learn if I wanted something edible to eat,” Jordyn replied, carefully choosing her words. Getting into a discussion about how her own mother was too high half of the time to cook, never mind remembering to buy food every week, was not something she looked forward to. “When I got older, it became a hobby to make different things I hadn’t before, and try new stuff in old recipes. I like seeing other people enjoy my food.”

  “Cooking is therapeutic,” Cecelia agreed. “Lord knows when my boys became a certain age and they were following their father around for … business things … I was in this kitchen whipping away my worry more times than I can even remember. Not to mention the normal teenage things they put me through. Raising three boys with a crime boss father, my dear, is a frightening, fun filled ride. It’s a wonder they aren’t fat, honestly. Antony, too.”

  Jordyn snorted. “I’m sure they didn’t mind. Did you always know … about Antony, I mean?”

  Cecelia cleared her throat, setting the cleaned spoon to the counter. “When you grow up in it, it isn’t hard to pick out who is who. Of course, nobody thought then that a young capo like Antony would jump rank like he did. My sister had already been arranged to marry the man they wanted to be the next boss. Our father didn’t have sons, you see, and he didn’t want just anyone coming after him.”

  “Lucian’s biological father, right?”

  “Sì. So, when I married Antony, there were no arguments involved. Everything was already set, business-wise. Kate married for family and business, and I married for love. She can’t forget it, and I don’t mind a bit that she gets to see the man’s son happy, healthy, and rich in many form. If she had her way, Lucian would still be nothing—a no one’s child to everyone. Now, he’s exactly where he should have been from the start. A Marcello, a mafia prince, doing what he enjoys and what he’s good at.

  “I always wanted three children,” Cecelia continued, smiling sadly. “After Gio’s birth left me without my reproductive organs, it wasn’t going to be possible. That broke my heart. Lucian coming into our family almost seemed like he was always meant to be here. I got my third child, and Antony was able to have a part of his best friend close that he never dreamed of. Lucian, ever since he stepped into this house, has always been ours. I’ve never let him feel anything but, and I won’t allow others to, either.”

  “Even Kate?”

  “Even my sister.”

  “Is she really that awful?” Jordyn asked.

  Honestly, Jordyn didn’t know a whole lot about Kate, or Lucian’s biological father. While Lucian was an open book about most things, he kept those things very quiet. Like maybe it hurt him, or made him ashamed to talk about his life before.

  “She can be,” Cecelia answered. “Lucian holds his own, as she likes to pick at him when others aren’t around. I’m sure she’ll be her usual self tonight, but it’s hard to say.”

  Jordyn had one more question for Cecelia. “How old was Lucian when his parents died?”

  “Six.”

  Jordyn’s mind froze. “But …”

  “But what, dear?”

  She was sure Lucian told her he was adopted into the Marcello family when he was eight during their many discussions over the last week.

  Where did those two years go?

  Jordyn didn’t get the chance to ask. The chiming doorbell rang throughout the house.

  “Are you okay to keep stirring this for a few minutes?”

  Jordyn looked into the large stainless steel pot that held enough sauce to feed an army. There didn’t seem to be anything difficult about keeping the sauce from burning, even if it was a larger portion than she cooked before. “Sure, I guess.”

  “Good, because after I let the family in, I should go check on my husband. When Antony talks with a whiskey glass in his hand, that’s usually a sign he’s stressed out. Kate isn’t the only one who needs to be on their best behavior tonight.”

  With that, Cecelia was gone, leaving Jordyn alone to her thoughts once more.

  Chapter Twelve

  When Cecelia stepped out on the porch and eyed Antony’s empty glass of whiskey, Lucian was quick to leave, not wanting to hear a lecture about drinking hard liquor on Sundays again.

  It wasn’t long before he found Jordyn in the kitchen at the stove. She was stirring a sauce with all her attention focused on the cooking. Jordyn didn’t seem like she was overwhelmed by the three different foods she had going, easily slipping from one boiling pot to another without issue. Lucian hadn’t known she could cook, and that bothered him. It wasn’t her fault, considering he ordered most of their food in over the last week.

  Seeing her now, though, cooking in a kitchen fit for a queen like his mother, hit him straight in the gut. A home like this could have very well been hers and no one would have known the difference. Where she’d come from didn’t matter, a lot like where he started out.

  Adapts well was an understatement, Lucian thought.

  Jordyn didn’t look a bit out of place and Lucian felt stupid for thinking his wealth might be off-putting to her because she wasn’t accustomed to it. Maybe Jordyn just didn’t give a shit about money. After all, she’d kicked those six-hundred dollar pumps off earlier when they arrived without even knowing the price of the heels on her feet. She was tending a bubbling, messy red sauce without an apron on and didn’t care a bit about staining the very expensive dress she wore, not that she knew the price of it, either.

  An elastic, which she hadn’t been wearing before, was holding back her curls in a ponytail at the nape of her neck. With her hair pulled back like it was, some of the bruising on her neck was visible, but it wasn’t bad. There was also a slight reddish discoloration at her pulse point that hadn’t been there last night, but was curtsey of Lucian’s teeth and mouth that morning.

  He’d marked her very clearly. Anyone standing close enough to see the love bite would know exactly what it was. Lucian liked that a whole hell of a lot. Just looking at it from a distance sent something primal curling through his stomach while lust flooded his veins.

  Kind of like it made Jordyn his.

  That was dangerous territory.

  Needing to get his mind away from that topic, Lucian crossed the distance between him and Jordyn, coming up behind her silently at the stove. Both of his hands landed at her waist, grabbing tight as he leaned in to kiss her neck. Jordyn didn’t start in surprise at his sudden presence. In fact, she relaxed in his hold and turned into his cheek, allowing Lucian to press his lips to the corner of her demure smile.

  “Hey,” she said. “How’d it go?”

  Lucian hadn’t hid the fact he and his father were going to need privacy for their chat, and it would be dealing with Jordyn being under his protection and in his life. He figured she deserved to know things that dealt with her.

  “Fine,” Lucian replied. “I think we settled it all, anyway.”

  “Bringing a girl home is a big deal for you Marcello boys, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah, it kind of is, sweetheart. Especially if that girl has a gang looking for her and it might cause us trouble”

  Jordyn turned rigid at the reminder.

  “Sorry,” he said quickly.

  “No, I just … Never mind.”

  “Tell me.”

  Jordyn continued stirring the many pots on the stove, sighing. “I guess it’s easy to forget.”

  Lucian’s brow furrowed. “Forget? Jesus, how?”

  “I’m not sure,” Jordyn said with a weak laugh. “That sounds crazy, I
know. But when I’m around you, I don’t feel like I need to look over my shoulder. I haven’t felt unsafe. I mean, look at this house, Lucian.” She waved at the kitchen they were standing in. “Right here, right now. How am I supposed to feel like some troubled girl on the run from a man who wants to kill her when I’m in a place like this? It doesn’t make me feel that way. So yeah, it’s easy to forget.”

  Maybe he could understand that, if he tried. And hell, if she wanted to slip away from reality for a little while, who was he to bring up something to worry her?

  “Helping my mother, hmm?” Lucian asked. “I didn’t know you liked to cook. We could go pick up some things, if you want. Being Italian means Cecelia made damn sure we all knew how to feed ourselves.”

  “She let me try something different, actually.”

  Lucian froze. “You mean, adding to her recipes? She … let you?”

  That wasn’t possible. Not his OCD, overly anal, manic-in-the-kitchen mother. Cecelia would have a fit if someone moved anything an inch from where she wanted it. Learning to cook under her eagle-eye was unnerving.

  “Yes. Why? It was just a couple of spices. It wasn’t like I was going to make it taste bad on purpose, Lucian.”

  Lucian shook his head, trying to shake off the twilight feeling. “No, I don’t think you understand. My mother doesn’t let people help her cook. Antony once tried to add a little bit of salt to one of her stews, and she nearly broke his knuckle with her stirring spoon. Dante thought it would be funny to switch around her spice labels when he was sixteen, and she made him wash all the baseboards in this house with rags and hot soapy water. Do you want to know the square footage of this home, Jordyn?”

  Jordyn didn’t seemed bothered by those statements at all. “How long did it take him?”

  “A week, and that was with help. She’s crazy about this space. We all tend to stay away for obvious safety and mental health reasons.”

  “She liked what I did. You’ll see. It tastes fine. Want to try?”

  Lucian stumbled over his mind and words, coming up with absolutely nothing. How on earth did this woman warm up his mother enough to let her meddle with her cooking? It just wouldn’t compute in his brain.