Page 129 of Disgrace

Or that the men were agreeable.

She knew that everything that man had just thrown at John were some of his worst fears being laid out on the ground in front of him to see, and for everyone else to dissect. That he was not good enough—that he would never be.

But they didn’t know him.

Not like she did.

Siena caught sight of John’s slow, cold smile starting to grow. His next words came out calm, and sure. The most sure she had ever heard him speak.

“This is no longer a Calabrese family—there’s a Marcello running this shit now. Keep calling me crazy, and your wife will get you back in pieces. I don’t have what it takes? You think this position just came to me? You think this isn’t mine to take?”

John took another step closer, crowding the man and smiling wickedly all the while. “Check my bloodlines, motherfucker. I was made by men—and raised by men—you can only dream to be. My bloodlines? They’re written in fucking red. Grovatti blood. My life? It’s written all over this city. Marcello legacy. You’ll understand what all that means really soon. It’s a promise. I don’t break those.”

Good God.

She loved this man.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

“JAIL-GRAY LOOKS like shit on you,” John noted.

Andino looked away from the clock on the wall to showcase one of his usual easygoing grins. “Right? But fuck, it was this, or the suit I was wearing last week when they threw me in here.”

Yeah, fuck.

“What are you still doing in jail, huh? You should have been out by now, Andi. Arthur Lorde clearly isn’t doing what he’s supposed to be doing. You’re still fucking in here. They’ve filed charges, man.”

Andino shrugged. “But what do they have?”

“Andino—”

“No video surveillance. Darren Calabrese made sure he picked a spot where there were no cameras around to spot us going in and out. No witnesses to say I did anything except be there. No live victims—the other enforcer Darren brought along died yesterday. They couldn’t even hold you and the other guys, John. They have nothing. Arthur is likely just biding his time.”

John sometimes wished he could have the same bright optimism as the people around him, but his mind didn’t work that way. He first went to the worst place imaginable, and then worked back from that to get to a relatively decent place.

“You’re forgetting details,” John pointed out.

“Do tell.”

“The detectives are hounding everybody. My lawyer’s phone won’t stop ringing. They’re threatening charges on us still, even though they released us. The only reason they’re holding you is in hopes they’ll get someone else to roll for your sake.”

“Maybe someone will do just that,” Andino said. “It would be a win-win all the way around the board. I’ll get out of this shithole, and they’ll get someone to eviscerate on the news, so they don’t have to lose face.”

“You’re missing the point, Andino.”

His cousin sighed, and his green gaze drifted to John’s. “I’m not, man. I get this is not going the way I planned. You’re right, too. I should have been out of here by now, but at the moment, it is a waiting game. This whole life is one giant waiting game, anyway. I can wait for one more thing, surely.”

John knew that feeling.

At first, a little boy waited to grow up, so he could be the same as the men around him. Then the grown-up boy waited to be made. Being a made man only took a man to waiting for several different things—money, honor, death, or jail time.

Funny how that worked.

“Haven is …”

Andino’s gaze darted to John again. “What?”

“Your wife is very upset.”