Page 292 of John + Siena: The Complete Duet

They were her brothers’ men.

Or … they used to be.

John, in his tweed coat and black Armani suit, with a hand flicking outward to showcase a diamond encrusted Rolex in a dismissive gesture, looked entirely at ease. Despite, apparently, the stiffened postures and angry expressions of the men around him.

“You seem to think you have control now,” John said, “or even that dead men have control of this family now, and I am not very sorry to inform you that you are all mistaken. Your first—and last—mistake with me will be to ever underestimate or question my authority.”

“We don’t answer to you, Marcello, not now, and not—”

“You will address me as your boss, or as the Don, or you will address me from your broken knees with my gun in your mouth. Try again.”

Pink kept Siena back a few steps by holding onto her shoulder with one beefy hand. She saw a few gazes of the men drift in her direction, but they quickly went back to John.

“So, that’s how it is, then?” another one asked. “The Marcellos are just going to come in to our organization, and clean fucking house like this?”

“I’m not cleaning anything,” John said, “this is my house. It has always been mine. Someone else was looking after it for a time. Mind you, they did a shit job about it, but you’ve got a new boss to correct that issue now.”

“This is not your famiglia!”

John pointed a single finger at the man, and then looked over at the guy who had driven him and Siena to the hospital earlier while Pink followed behind in Siena’s car. “He will be the first to learn. Tonight, don’t stall.”

“Yes, boss.”

The man in question made a move like he was going to come forward, and John didn’t wait for him to make the choice. Instead, John was the one to go forward himself until he was standing toe-to-toe with the man.

“Do you have something to say?” John asked. “Now would be the time.”

The man swallowed hard. “You’re a fucking lunatic. Crazy—a shame. No Calabrese man will ever accept you as their boss. You don’t have what it takes, and they’ll ruin you, Johnathan. Mark my fucking words.”

For a brief second, Siena’s heart clenched for John. He had been right—everything was changing for them. Starting with the Calabrese family. He and his men had slid into the organization, and within a week’s time, made it abundantly clear there was new leadership in charge.

That didn’t mean it was easy.

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.