Page 18 of Lucian

Cosa Nostra? The Commission? Families?

Those words seemed foreign to Jordyn, but at the same time, familiar.

“Try not to make a third mistake,” the quietest man said. “This might not end well.”

Jordyn could see the twitch beginning to form in Ron’s cheek. That usually signaled his agitation, and if she didn’t have to be serving the table, she’d make herself scarce. “How? Send your dogs after us, Antony?”

The youngest man grinned, baring his teeth. “Woof, woof.”

Ron sat back in his chair, crossing his arms. “It seems there’s something about your family we’ve overlooked. If you’re really as dangerous as you say, I’d expect to see the police making a bit more of a fuss about you, in the least. I don’t hear of your … what do you call them, crews, is it? I don’t hear of them making a ruckus on the streets, or causing problems. Are you really as big as you think you are?”

Antony sighed and held up three fingers, signaling what Jordyn thought to be the final mistake of the evening. “La Cosa Nostra does not draw attention to themselves unless they have to. A boss—a good one—doesn’t need to. But, to be sure, let me explain just how big I truly am. I have a syndicate in every state in this country. Contacts from shore to shore that push my products and pay me to work for me. I am involved with the Cubans, Russians, Japanese, Chinese, and the Mexicans, to name a few. I can’t count the amount of politicians I have in my pocket. Your pathetic chapters can’t move within this country without me knowing about it. You can’t sell a thing without my people finding out.

“The thing is, gangs like yours help to keep the heat from families like mine. Your messes, your drugs, and your public disgraces, they keep eyes away from the guns we’re shipping out, the drugs we’re importing in, and the money we’re making. You want to call me a mobster, as if I’m nothing more than some bootlegging man turning a buck. That’s laughable. I am Mafioso. My grandfather, his father—they helped to make this country what it is. The FBI was formed to catch men like me, and yet they can’t.”

Antony leaned back in his chair, matching Ron in his stature. “We are not you, with your little clubs causing issues, frightening the public, and making ourselves known at every turn. We are the mafia. Do not mistake our organizations to be one in the same. We are nothing like you.”

We are the mafia.

Jordyn froze as she was making the move to leave the vicinity of the table. Antony’s words rang through her mind like a heavy toll bell. It repeated over and over. A warning. A threat. A promise. Four words, but it was all of that at once.

The slightest graze of something smooth, soft, and warm against Jordyn’s exposed hip bone almost caused her to stumble. The gentle touch sent what seemed like a zing straight through every nerve in her body. He’d touched her tattoo of Gabe’s name. The simplest brush of his fingertip was electrifying.

Glancing down, Jordyn met Lucian’s stare, but just as quickly, he looked away.

She couldn’t breathe.

“What is you want?” Ron asked, sounding a little less angry than before.

“Respect,” Antony replied. “It’s what makes this crime world of ours turn, after all. You can’t run if I don’t want you to, and I can’t remain peaceful if this nonsense with the police continues. When I ask for a meeting, I expect to get one. When I demand your men stay away from my businesses, I want that adhered to.”

“Do you even have any idea why we’re fighting the—”

“Your son was killed by an officer during a raid,” Antony interjected, softer than before. He waved at the three men sitting at the table beside him. “I have three sons of my own, so I understand your resentment and grief. The difference is I have the ability and power to have retribution, while you only have enough ammo to make a problem. An infant was killed last week because of your men. Someone else’s child. If it’s an eye for an eye you want, you’ve already had it four times over in the lives you’ve taken. It’s time to take a step back.”

Jordyn was still trying to catch her breath, a shakiness in her legs stopping her from moving away from the table. Even so, she couldn’t remain there any longer. Lucian’s gaze now seemed focused on the conversation, but she knew he was zoning in on her, too.

These were not good men, she realized. That charismatic confidence in their postures and voices was learned and earned. Jordyn always thought she understood what danger was, given the company she kept, but she was fast learning these Marcello men were not the same at all.

They didn’t need to spill a drop of blood to make a point.

Magnetic. Intelligent. Bold.

Jordyn needed a moment to think. Especially considering one of those men seemed entirely too interested in her.

And she liked that.

• • •

“Lucian?”

Lucian didn’t register his father saying his name until Antony reached under the table and pinched his thigh. He’d been terribly distracted ever since Jordyn made a beeline for the back of the club, out of his sight.

He didn’t like her here. Not working here. Not dressed like she was and being around these men all watching her like she was a piece of meat they wanted to take a bite out of. No one should stare at that woman like they were. Jealousy waged an awful war in his insides. Who was she to these people? Lucian had no claim to this girl—didn’t even know her.

But he wanted to.

For a man like him, that was dangerous territory.