Page 209 of John + Siena: The Complete Duet

Bambino.

“Let me breathe, donnas,” John heard himself say with a chuckle.

The women didn’t really let him do anything.

John didn’t really mind.

Soon, though, his aunts and grandmother dispersed to leave John alone with his mother. Jordyn checked him over, ran her fingers through his hair to slick the longer length of the high fade back further, and smiled in a way only a mother could when she was staring at her child. Those blue eyes of hers lit up with love, and John smiled back.

“Hey, Ma.”

Jordyn let out a happy noise. “I missed you, my boy.”

“I know, Ma. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Never, John. I only worry. You’ve certainly made my life interesting when things seem boring, though. Big day today, huh? You kind of ended up thrown in the middle of the whole shebang.”

John shrugged. “I don’t mind.”

“Not when it comes to Andino, right?”

“Right.”

“Come on,” Jordyn said, tangling her arm in with his. “I will walk you to your spot. It’s my job to make sure you know what to do today.”

John didn’t mind indulging his mother—she loved him so very much, after all. He chatted away with her as she walked him through the large Marcello mansion, and to the main ballroom where the chairs and decorations filled the room. Outside would probably have been nice for a wedding, considering the weather, but he didn’t even ask why they hadn’t bothered.

He already knew.

It was open.

It made them targets.

Protection be damned.

Jordyn led John to his position at the front, and he gave his mother a quick kiss on her cheek before she darted off. Probably to find one of his sisters—who he had not seen in months—or his father.

It wasn’t too long after that before Andino took his place beside John. The priest was there, too. Likely paid off considering the man was marrying them outside of a church, and on a very short timeline that did not allow for couple’s counseling.

Funny how the church worked.

When the music started, Andino said to John, “Watch this, man.”

John waited.

He watched.

Dante Marcello walked Haven down the aisle.

It was as good of a show as any. For the few guests invited, it meant a hell of a lot without ever saying a damn thing. The woman—regardless of heritage or bloodline, or history—was a Marcello. Accepted, brought in, and protected.

Respected.

John could only think of one person he wished would get the same respect: Siena.

“Walk a little slower, would you,” his father joked.

John laughed as the two navigated the halls of the Waldorf hotel. “I’m supposed to be downstairs, all right. The party isn’t even over yet, Dad.”