Page 185 of John + Siena: The Complete Duet

Well, that’s how it felt, anyway. They still had to get the little issue of the Marcellos out of the way. The Marcello family made it very clear that would not be an easy task.

Siena patted the hand of the Capo’s widow, and offered her a smile. A forced smile, sure, and one that didn’t reach her eyes, but who could tell? It was a funeral, after all. No one was supposed to be happy or true.

“Anything you need, I promise,” Siena repeated.

The woman nodded. “Thank you, Siena. You’re such a sweet girl. Your brothers must be so proud of you.”

Siena smiled a little more honestly at that statement. Bitterness coated her tongue with the taste of bile, and she patted the woman’s hand once more.

“You have no idea,” she murmured.

As quickly as Siena had greeted the woman and her adult children, she turned away from them, and followed behind her now-moving brothers. Kev and Darren weaved through the group of men who had come to talk to them, and made for their designated seats.

Only because this was not their family’s funeral, and this was not their church, did they sit in the pew directly behind the family. Unfortunately, while sitting, there was no chance for Siena to hide her displeasure or discomfort behind her brothers’ backs. She was forced to take a little more care with her appearance, and the mask she put forth.

Darren looked over at her. “Did you really have to pick a purple dress?”

“It’s a dark color.”

“Black is appropriate.”

“I’m fucking sick of black, Darren.”

All she ever seemed to wear anymore was black.

Once this was all over—she had not forgotten what Andino Marcello told her months ago when she was ripped away from John, after all—she was never going to wear black again. Not unless someone fucking forced her into the color.

This won’t be forever.

Those words rang and rang.

They echoed and echoed.

She kept them close.

What else could she do?

A few minutes before the service was supposed to start, murmurings passed between the people in the pews. Heads began to turn in the direction that the whispering started. Hot, humid heat from the outside slipped up the church’s aisle.

Siena turned, too.

She wanted to see, too.

There, at the back of the church dressed in black on black and standing in a close line of at least ten men, were Marcellos.

The boss. His men. John’s father.

Dante Marcello—the boss of the family—smiled and ticked a finger forward. His men moved behind him as he took a step forward, and then another. Slow, purposeful strides. A confident, uncaring stroll.

Beside Siena, her brothers and mother hissed back and forth between one another. Clearly, they had not been expecting this move.

Siena was kind of impressed.

“How fucking dare they?” Kev asked.

“Stop sitting there—do something,” Darren snarled.

“What should he do?” their mother asked. “He cannot make a scene in this church.”