by Bethany-Kris
That’s what she kept telling herself, anyway.
It made this easier.
She had almost talked herself out of it, but ended up just doing it. Dialing a familiar number before she could think twice, she put the phone to her ear, and waited the ringing out.
One ring.
Two.
Three.
She thought it might go to voicemail.
Thankfully, it didn’t.
“Ciao.”
The Italian greeting almost made her smile.
“Lucian?”
A beat of silence passed before John’s father asked, “Siena?”
“One and only.”
Her joke fell flat, but she figured that. Sometimes, shitty humor was the only way she knew how to deal with things that stressed her out.
She had way too much stress lately.
“New number?” Lucian asked.
She laughed. “A burner from John, actually.”
“Ah, I see.”
Siena wasn’t exactly surprised that Lucian didn’t quite know what to make of her call. Sure, she had been given his number from Andino in case she needed another way to get ahold of him while John was in the facility. Lucian had periodically got messages through to her about John while he was away, too.
Still, their conversations were short, and to the point. He wasn’t, however, rude to her or anything. Always respectful, and kind, but never personal. Siena kind of got the feeling that was just how Lucian approached people, and how he handled them.
She didn’t take it personally.
“What can I do for you?” Lucian asked.
“Check on John for me, that would be great.”
She didn’t mention that she was at John’s place, or that he had taken off shortly after she arrived because someone called him away.
“Why do you need me to do that?”
“He hasn’t called in a while.”
Not a lie.
“Oh?” Lucian asked.
“Usually, he calls every day.”
“He’s been a little off lately,” Lucian said.
Good.
Someone had noticed it. Someone was taking note. Someone could help.
Siena wasn’t entirely comfortable with outing John’s business to anyone, even if it was his father. That’s why she chose to hold off on telling Lucian that she suspected John was in a rough place because she saw him in a rough place.
John wouldn’t want her bringing that up, either. His lines in the sand about his disorder, and how he wanted to handle it with those close to him were clearly drawn. Siena was not about to cross one of those lines.
Still …
She had to do something.
John needed something.
This was the best she could do—a call, a suggestion, and a simple request. No information, and no personal details that crossed a line. John would get someone to check in, and talk to him more than he had talked to her.
It was the best she could do.
It was all she could do right then.
Siena hated that.
“He’s keeping up with everything, right?” she asked.
Her unspoken question hung heavily between them.
His meds?
His therapy?
Everything else?
Lucian seemed to understand what she didn’t say. “He is.”
“I hear a but in there.”
“But,” Lucian said, chuckling dryly, “he got some unsettling things thrown his way lately. I don’t think he handled it well. That’s to be expected.”
Siena’s gaze drifted to the packages in the corner. It looked like John had gotten more than one unsettling thing thrown his way, actually.
Did Lucian know about those?
She hated her brother for doing that to John. She had made a promise months ago that no one would ever use John’s own mind against him again, and yet, here they were.
It was happening.
Again.
“Could you check in on him for me?” she asked. “Just don’t mention I asked. I know everything is all over the place lately—I need to know he’s okay, that’s all.”
John loved his family. Siena saw in his expressions when he spoke about them, and heard it in his voice when one of their names were brought up. John was careful in the way he talked about others, sure, but he couldn’t hide anything from Siena.
He loved his family so much.
“I will,” Lucian promised. “I was going that way tomorrow.”
“Great. Thanks.”
“Be safe, Siena. This war is almost over.”
“I’m trying.”
“That’s all we can ask.”
Lucian said a quick goodbye, and then hung up the phone.
Siena pulled a pad and pen from the nightstand next to John’s side of the bed. She scribbled a quick note for John as she looked around his empty bedroom.
Call me. Love you. –S.
She had thought to stay and wait for him. Maybe he would get back before she had to leave again, but that didn’t seem to be the case. She needed to get back home just in case someone dropped by, or shit, Darren decided to call her away from her place.
She couldn’t afford to be caught stepping out of line right now. Who fucking knew what Darren would do?
Her heart felt heavy as she slipped out of the room, and headed down the stairs, and left his house. She still kept an eye out for someone she might recognize.
Nothing seemed out of place.
That didn’t mean it was safe.
CHAPTER TWELVE
JOHN STEPPED out of his car, and tightened the neck of his leather jacket to keep the cool mid-September air away from his body. Only part of his mind was on the warehouse in front of him. The other part was back with Siena where he had left her at his place.
He figured by the time he got back, she wasn’t even going to be there. She mentioned she would need to leave as to not be noticed missing.
It sucked.
It was their relationship in a nutshell.
Fuck.
She didn’t know it, but she had helped him more than he could explain just by showing up to his place. Over the last little while, his mind had disintegrated into darker thoughts and places. It was a dangerous game for him to play because it meant nothing good was to come.
Depression was a bitch.
It could claw its way into John’s mind and life before he even realized the whore was there. And once she was in, she didn’t let go.
Siena’s presence was enough to filter through all the noise swimming in his mind, and the darkness thickening his blood. There was something about that woman keeping him from getting too deep into a headspace that he wouldn’t be able to get out of.
She fought for him.
She loved him.
She had his back.
What more could he want?
What more did he need?
Her.
He needed her.
Forever. To wake up to her every morning, and keep her close at night. He wanted her laughter filling up their house, and her warmth in his bed.
He didn’t want an hour here and there when it could be fit in when someone wasn’t looking. He didn’t want to sneak in and out of her life. He didn’t want it like this.
And yet, this was all he had.
John needed to take what he could get.
For now.
John tightened his jacket more, and jogged toward the warehouse. A white car drove by, but because of the speed and the clear windows, he didn’t think much of it as he crossed the street. Inside the warehouse, he found one of the Marcello Capo’s crews hard at work.
None of the fourteen guys noticed John step into the place. They were too busy taking apart what seemed to be a truck of electronics. Flat screen televisions, mostly, but some other high value shit, too. It would sell damn well on the streets—a sort of gray market for stolen goods, and a fast way to get rid of hot items.
The
guys worked quickly to unload the truck, separate the goods, and destroy anything that might be trackable. They worked as a team, which was a sign of a good crew, and a nod to the Capo that ran them, too.
Speaking of the Capo …
John bypassed the working guys, and headed to the side of the warehouse. He moved up the metal spiral staircase, taking them two at a time. He didn’t bother to knock on the office door upstairs—the only room up there—as the Capo who had called him earlier left it open.
“Marky,” John greeted.
The man—who would usually be working behind his desk—was pacing from one side of his office, to the other side. He passed John a quick glance, and a nod but continued his pacing.
“You said something was up?”
Marky nodded. “I got a call—friend of a friend down in Brooklyn.”
“All right. What about?”
“Supposedly, my associate overheard some talk. Apparently, the guys are in with the Calabrese people. Not deep involved, mind you.”
“Not made, you mean.”
“Yeah.”
“Go on.”
“He said they mentioned a new job. Burning some warehouses. One mentioned was one down this way. The only one down this way is mine, John.”
Shit.
“Going back to that again?”
Marky shrugged. “It’s concerning. Listen, we’ve gone through this nonsense with them—burning shit, and shooting up whatever they can. I can’t afford to lose another business because of the goddamn Calabrese family.”
“Don’t blame you.”
Their Capos were hemorrhaging money at the moment with all their losses. It didn’t have to be the loss of life. The loss of a safe business, or place to do business, was just as bad in the grand scheme of things.
“I figured you’re in close with Andino and Dante, and neither of them are very easy to reach at the moment.”
“Truth. You know how the boss is, though. Dante has Giovanni for shit on the streets, and messages get relayed back depending on importance.”
“Exactly, but this might not be considered important. It’s only talk, John. My friend didn’t even know the name of the guys, and shit, he was in the back of a strip club throwing dollar bills at a girl shaking her ass in front of him. It’s not someone’s solid word. I can’t take that kind of shit to the boss, his underboss, or his consigliere. He doesn’t like—”
“To have his time wasted, yeah. I got it.”
John glanced around, and back at the opened door. He could still hear the men working away downstairs. Some of their murmurings and laughter climbed up high to reach them in the office.
“Do you think it’s a smart idea to have your guys working in a warehouse at the moment, considering?” John asked.
“I don’t have much of a choice, unless you could help me along there until this shit blows over.”
“How so?”
“Like I said, you’re in close with the boss, and Andino. I mean, sometimes it’s Andino running the show, and sometimes it’s Dante. Whoever makes the calls, I guess. Point is, if they want me to keep bringing in money and safely, I need a place to do that.”
“I can try to work—”
John’s words cut off at the scent of something reaching the doorway behind him. A strong smell that burned his nostrils with every sniff. An unmistakable smell. He sniffed again, and then took a step closer to the doorway.
What the fuck?
“John?”
“You don’t have gas or anything in the warehouse, do you?”
“A tank in the back—the guys use it to fill up every once in a while. I keep it full for them to make sure they have gas if they’re running low on cash, or whatever.”
“A tank.”
“Yeah, an above ground one.”
Shit.
The smell was stronger, now. John left the office altogether, and leaned over the banister. He could see the guys of Marky’s crew were hard at work, and seemingly oblivious to the fact something bad was going down.
“Bay doors at the back of the warehouse?” John asked over his shoulder.
“Yeah, why?”
“Get all these guys out,” John said. “Now.”
“What, wh—”
John shouted down to the guys working. “Get out of the warehouse! Go through the front, not the back! Get the fuck out now!”
Marky came out behind John just as the crackling started. The guys on the floor ran for the front, and John headed for the stairs. The smell of gas increased, and so did the smell of fire.
The tank in the back exploded just as John pushed Marky out the front door of the warehouse. The place was flattened by fire in less than five minutes.
It never stood a chance.
The fire department never even made it in time to try.
Beside him on the street, Marky watched as fire fighters shot their hoses at the smoldering pile of rubble. “That truck was a good hundred grand payout.”
“Truck isn’t worth the life of your crew.”
“I won’t have a crew if I can’t keep them working, John,” Marky muttered.
Shit.
Yeah.
“Let me call the boss,” John said. “Enough is enough with this shit.”
“About time someone else thinks so.”
• • •
“Son.”
John stiffened a bit at his father’s voice traveling in from the front door. “In the kitchen.”
Soon, Lucian’s footsteps echoed closer until they stopped altogether. John continued on with his work.
“What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to stop by—check in. I can do that, can’t I?”
“I suppose.”
“Were you working last night?” Lucian asked.
John kept his back turned to his father as he finished dumping in bubble mailers and other shit into the garbage can. “Another attack.”
Lucian sucked air though his teeth so hard, it whistled. “Shit.”
“No one was hurt this time around.”
“Small blessings.”
If you wanted to call it that.
John turned to face his father, and found Lucian standing in the kitchen entryway. “I called Dante last night to let him know what happened before someone else did, and he directed me to Andino before I could even finish speaking.”
“His right to do, I suppose.”
“Andino told me not to counterattack.”
Lucian didn’t blink at that statement. “His right too, I guess.”
And that was the whole fucking problem.
“Who is really the one running this family?”
“Pardon?” Lucian asked.
“Who is running the family? Andino, or Dante? Which one is it? Nobody seems to know right now, and that makes shit dangerous.”
“Officially, it’s Dante. Unofficially, it’s Andino.”
“Why doesn’t everyone else understand that—me, for example?”
“They’ve made the choice to do it this way for their own reasons. I suppose to take other organizations by surprise when the time comes, but also, you know how this business and family goes, Johnathan.”
Yeah.
“Don’t question a boss.”
“Exactly. There is method to their madness. You have to respect their right to make the final decision.”
“The Calabrese tried to burn out one of our warehouses from the back last night. The Capo had a whole crew of guys working in there to get rid of a boosted truck full of electronics. The Capo never could have handled that situation by himself, and the crew probably would have been lost had I not smelled the fucking gasoline in time. The time for games is over—we need to start acting more than we have.”
“We act when we need to,” Lucian replied calmly. “Not every action a Marcello answers with is violent, or straightforward. That’s where the Calabrese differ from us.”
John was getting nowhere with this conversation, but h
e wasn’t surprised. Everything his father was saying had been repeated to John for three decades—his entire life. He knew all of this was the truth, and yet, he was antsy and edgy.
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.
