Page 119 of Lucian

“Jordyn … darling?”

Jordyn’s head popped up at the sweet, soothing tenor of Lucian’s mother. “Yes?”

Cecelia offered her a smile, but it didn’t reach the woman’s eyes like it usually would. “How are you feeling?”

“Worried,” Jordyn admitted.

“Don’t be. They have no reasonable right to hold him. They certainly can’t charge him with anything. This is just the usual antics of the police. We have to wait it out.”

Jordyn nodded, still feeling bleak. “And what about the next time?”

Cecelia cleared her throat, a pink rising in her cheeks. Jordyn wasn’t entirely sure if her attitude offended Lucian’s mother or embarrassed her by the reaction she gave. Maybe it wasn’t so much her attitude as it was the question. Truth was, Jordyn knew women weren’t supposed to be involved in the business side of things when it came to the Cosa Nostra.

Ears didn’t hear. Eyes didn’t see. Mouths didn’t speak.

No matter what, those were the rules.

“I’m sorry,” Jordyn muttered, glancing away from Cecelia. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“You must think I live a very blissfully ignorant life, darling.”

“I didn’t say that.”

Cecelia smiled sadly. “There was a time when my husband thought pretty, sparkly things would be apology enough for his late nights, locked doors, and distance. That new furs, a fast car, or even a vacation home was the compromise for me turning cheek to the crates in the basement, the gun hidden in my silverware drawer, or the rolls of cash I fished out of his dirty pants pockets.

“They weren’t,” Cecelia continued quietly. “For a while, Antony forgot I may have knew my place and what was expected of me, but I was far from naive to his business. I knew exactly who he was the moment I met him, and I knew exactly what he was when I married him. The silly man forgot I was more than okay with those things, too. Over time, he’s learned his words and honesty will get him much more from me than a diamond ring will.”

Jordyn mulled over Cecelia’s admission. “Not all are like that, though.”

“No. But we’re certainly not a special case, either.”

“So what do I do the next time?” Jordyn asked.

Cecelia shrugged. “You don’t know there will be a next time.”

“Yes, I do.”

Jordyn was sure of it. Unless the person setting these situations up were caught, it would continue until one of two things happened. Lucian died, or the perpetrator did. How lucky could Lucian be every time? Eventually, the house would win.

Besides that, Jordyn had a feeling this kind of thing was always at the back of a Mafioso’s mind.

It was their life, after all.

Cecelia sighed heavily. “I suppose you learn to trust the man you chose. I did.”

“They’re not finished,” Jordyn said after a moment of silence. “Whoever this is … they’re not done. If they’re willing to shell out two-hundred-fifty grand and then another two-fifty after his burial to guarantee Lucian’s death, then who’s to say they wouldn’t pay more to make sure he was gone the next time?”

Cecelia’s mouth opened to speak, but just as fast, she clammed up and her brow furrowed. “How much?”

Jordyn repeated what the attacker has said in the elevator before Lucian kicked him half to death. “Why?”

The usually sunny, happy woman that was Cecelia Marcello turned sickly looking. A shaking hand fluttered up to her mouth as her eyes darted back and forth between Jordyn and a spot on the wall.

“You’re positive?” Cecelia asked.

“Yes,” Jordyn replied, surprised at her tone.

“I … I have to talk to Antony,” Cecelia managed to whisper. “Now.”