Page 51 of Captivated

“Dante is out of town for the weekend. My father is picking up the slack.”

“Makes sense why Dante isn’t answering my calls, then.”

“Yeah, whatever.” John drummed his fingers on the leather-wrapped steering wheel before adding, “You want a meet with my father, or what?”

“Today, preferably.”

“All right, get in.”

Joe chose not to question John. He jogged around the side of the car, and slipped in the passenger seat. It took ten minutes, and three phone calls for John to finally get a hold of his father, and request the meet.

Shit, Joe would have just showed up again on Lucian like he did the first time had he simply known where the man was. Well, as long as he had time.

Joe checked the digital clock on the dashboard of the Mercedes. Seemed like he was kind of running short on time, actually. He only had another two hours, at the most, and he was going to need to get back to watching Liliana until she was safe at her studio apartment.

“So,” John drawled from the driver’s seat.

“What?”

“I hear you’re looking after my sister.”

Joe cocked a brow. “Someone thought it was a good idea.”

John smirked. “Yeah, they always have the brightest fucking ideas.”

“Mmm.”

“Be nice to her, huh?”

Joe eyed John from the side. “I beg your pardon?”

“My sister, I mean. Be nice to her. She took enough shit from me growing up, and whatnot. She just … doesn’t deserve anything less than kind people treating her with respect.”

“What kind of shit did she take from you, exactly?”

John glanced over at Joe.

Fuck.

He could tell he hadn’t been successful in hiding the warning of violence flashing in his tone when he spoke. Just the idea of someone being terrible to Liliana was enough to make Joe want to spill blood, and hear screams echo.

For a long while, John’s gaze continued to drift between Joe, and back to the slow-moving Manhattan traffic. “What’s that about, man?”

Joe cleared his throat. “I don’t know what you’re—”

“Cut the bullshit. I don’t care. I’m not the one you have to worry about spilling your business. Just tell me what it’s fucking about.”

“This isn’t the inquisition, John. Don’t be a prying fucker.”

“Fine,” John said heavily, glancing back out the window. “I’m bipolar. Diagnosed when I was seventeen—closer to eighteen, but still seventeen. I went the majority of my teen years in a constant up and down spiral of mania, and depression. My sisters—more the two older ones—were always right there in the line of fire given we lived in the same fucking house.”

Joe’s head jerked to the side again, and he found John was watching him, too.

“So yeah, that’s the kind of shit my sister took from me,” John said, “and if anyone in this business ever learns I’m bipolar because you told them, all that’s going to be left of you will be a fucking shadow. Got it?”

Well, damn.

Joe didn’t feel the need to question John’s threat because he felt it well enough in the way the man’s words stabbed at him.