Page 25 of Loyalty

He smiled, and moved closer to wrap one arm around his mother’s shoulders. He pulled her in for a quick hug because his mother always took care of him even when it was no longer her job to do so.

“Thanks, Ma.”

Jordyn patted his cheek. “I know you have problems to work out with Lucian, but won’t you come visit me more often? I’ve gone three years only seeing you occasionally, and it was always behind a Plexiglas window. The least you could do—”

“I will come visit you more often.”

Her smile bloomed in to a brilliant sight. “That’s my boy.”

Thirty years old, and he was still a boy to his mother. He would blame it on the fact they were an Italian family, and the old saying about Italian mothers and their sons, but he couldn’t. His mother’s heritage sported maybe a twenty percent Italian bloodline—unlike his father’s three quarter bloodline.

Still, Jordyn fit the bill perfectly.

“What are we talking about visits, now?” Lucian asked from the kitchen entryway.

Lucian Marcello was not a loud man, but he was a domineering man. He could easily silence people with a look, or make them uncomfortable with a single, soft spoken word. He rarely needed to use threats or violence to scare people, as a promise and a cold smile worked just as well.

Intimidating best described John’s father.

Lucian didn’t even have to try—he just was.

John nodded at his father, and then headed for the table. “Papa.”

“I missed you when you came in,” Lucian said.

“I was told not to flake on my mother, remember?”

One of those cool, calm smiles curved his father’s mouth. “That you were.”

Lucian crossed the kitchen, and dropped a kiss to his wife’s forehead. He overlooked the food Jordyn was putting together, and then finally turned back to John.

“I heard Andino was helping to get your new place set up.”

“He did.”

“Do you think Queens is the best place when you do most of your work in the heart of Brooklyn, or over in Manhattan?”

Instantly, John’s defenses started to raise. It wasn’t even his father’s fault, but their long history of John’s choices being constantly overturned or undermined by his father made even the simplest of conversations difficult.

Mostly because John refused to open up another avenue where his father might step in and try to change or control something. Lucian hadn’t even implied he thought one way or the other about where John chose to live—he only asked a question.

It didn’t matter.

John’s defenses worked their way up all the same. “I think I have a lot of people and connections in Queens, and some business there, too. It’s close enough to Manhattan and Brooklyn. I’m not concerned, and you shouldn’t be, either.”

Lucian stilled, and eyed John like he didn’t quite know how to reply to that. “I only wanted to know how you felt about it, son.”

“I feel fine about it, Papa.”

“Good. You’re liking the house, then?”

John’s defensive posture and tone lessened when he said, “It’s all right. I grew up in bigger, but I just spent three years in an eight by eight cell, too.”

Lucian chuckled. “Anything is better than a cell, right?”

“You could say that.”

Jordyn gestured for Lucian to come taste what she held out on the spoon. Thankfully, it took Lucian’s attention away from his son for the moment. John was grateful, as it allowed him to take a breath, and settle the rising irritation.