Page 184 of John + Siena: The Complete Duet

The church quieted as the Calabrese family slipped inside. Siena stayed firmly behind her older brothers, yet still in front of her mother. Appearances were everything, and even how they entered a space was now a well thought out event.

Kev stayed a half of a pace ahead of Darren. A subtle, yet still clear, message about which of the two men now ran the Calabrese show. Darren never seemed to mind, as his brother’s right-hand man, seeing as how he still had quite a bit of control himself.

Siena was always made to be in between her brothers and mother—a clear indicator that she was both protected, and watched. Enforcers trailed behind them all. One for each person, and sometimes more.

Somedays, it felt as though Siena couldn’t breathe. Every direction she looked, someone new was watching her. Someone else would be reporting back to her brothers on her latest behaviors.

She found it easier to be compliant and complacent, but inside, she was a raging monster battling against the walls of her cage. A prison cell that no one else could see, sure, but that she was all too aware of when it came right down to it.

Siena’s gaze drifted over the people already sitting down and waiting for the funeral to start. She didn’t linger on one person for any length of time, and she didn’t even give them a smile. What would be the point?

She was only there for show.

Much like her brothers.

At the front of the church, standing at the closed casket of a now-dead Calabrese Capo, was the family of Arty Moretti. Siena stayed back beside her mother as Kev and Darren greeted the dead man’s wife first, and then his oldest daughter, and one son. Both of the man’s children were adults—Siena counted that as a blessing in disguise when it came to this war between the Calabrese and Marcello families.

At least this way, the two were not young children now left without a father. They were already adults into their own lives, and would not be left feeling abandoned and alone. Or … that was her hope for them.

She suspected it still hurt them, of course. Grief was a lot like the ocean—wide, sometimes clear and sometimes murky, and always dangerous. It could swallow someone whole, and drown them in pain.

Siena stepped up to the family when her brothers moved away. As Kev and Darren moved to speak with a couple of their men gathered close by, she and her mother took to comforting the family.

It was also their job.

Another one added to the pile.

And what did they say to these poor people?

“We’re so sorry.”

Sorry our family has taken from you.

“We’re here for you.”

So long as you are here for us.

“He is with God.”

And more men will soon join him.

Because that was the way of war, and that was all that could be guaranteed for these people, and their pain. More deaths would follow, and it would be all the Calabrese family’s fault.

Why?

Siena’s gaze drifted to her brothers again. Sure, they looked as though they fit the part of mafia principes turned kings in their black suits, shined shoes, slicked back hair, and straightened postures. Their cold eyes held little warmth, and their tones delivered orders with a sharp flatness that could both chill, and slice at the same time.

Matteo—during the years that he lived—had certainly trained her brothers well. They stepped into the positions they needed to without hesitation, and without batting an eye. The rest of the Calabrese organization didn’t think to question the brothers when they moved up in power, and replaced others that might have been a better fit. No one said a thing when they first tried to strong-arm the Marcellos into a peaceful deal, and then turned on them when said deal went sour.

Fingers pointed.

Bullets were readied.

Blood spilled.

The city tasted like war now.

Nothing could stop them. Kev and Darren were obsessive in their desire and assurance that the Calabrese family would soon be the one running New York City with an iron fist.