Page 142 of Disgrace

Don’t fuck with the Marcellos.

“Andino will be out soon,” John said after the man left. “Very soon.”

• • •

Siena carefully maneuvered between the men sitting around the table. It was not her first time being in this spectacularly large home—the Marcello mansion—but she bet it was probably the first time for a lot of the Calabrese made men.

The fact they couldn’t stop staring, wide-eyed and enraptured by the blatant show of wealth in status covering every inch, gave credence to their amazement. A few of the men had nodded to her in polite greeting as they were directed inside the home for the meeting, but more than a few wouldn’t even look her in the eye.

It was going to take time.

They would give respect.

That was just how Cosa Nostra, and made men worked. They did not have to like the situation they currently found themselves in, or even agree with the new boss in charge. They did, however, have to offer respect at every turn.

It was that, or their life.

For most, it was an easy choice.

“Thank you,” the last Capo at the table said when Siena set his glass of vodka down beside him.

“You’re welcome.”

She gave him a smile, but little else. She didn’t linger to chat, either, instead heading for the front of the dining room where John had asked her to sit once she was done. She hadn’t needed to be present for the meeting—probably shouldn’t have been, anyway—but he asked for her to be there.

Siena didn’t know how to refuse John.

Not really.

Still, she wasn’t there to entertain the Calabrese men, or make nice with any of them, either. She was simply there for John, and so he could make his point clear with these people about where they now stood, where he positioned himself against them, and even Siena’s place in the family.

As his.

All semantics.

Theatrics of the mafia.

It was what it was.

Sitting on a chair that was not pulled into the table, but set far enough back to make it clear Siena was not joining the men, she only took her attention away from their conversations when John came into the room. Despite the room being full of people waiting on him, he only looked at her.

Coming to stand at her side, his fingers drifted through her loose waves, and he quickly dropped a kiss to the top of her head. At home, in private, John dressed for comfort, or whatever he was doing that day.

Tonight, though, he wore one of his black Armani suits—black shirt, black vest, and black tie underneath. Black on black on black. It was quite a striking sight, and she thought he looked most handsome like this.

Sexy, too.

But she would save that for later.

“You good?” he asked her.

Siena nodded. “Of course.”

“Good.”

One more stroke of his fingers along the line of her jaw, and he turned to greet the men in the room. A wave of his hand to them, and their voices hushed.

John took the chair at the head of the table, and sat down. Glanced passes between one another, and Siena saw the arch of John’s brow when he cocked it in challenge.