Page 22 of John + Siena: The Complete Duet

Adriano tipped his head to the side. “When I asked if it was by choice about the money manager, you said mostly.”

“I recognized I had an issue that needed handling.”

“But?”

“Dad threatened to file legal action against me if I didn’t do it willingly,” John admitted.

Andino flinched. “Ouch.”

“Is what it is. So far, my disorder has never been brought into the public record. I don’t want people in this life to know that I am bipolar.”

“Like a target someone might see and use against you, huh?”

“Essentially. We’re all fine and good pretending mafiosi are honorable made men, but the truth is a hell of a lot simpler, Andi.”

Andino nodded. “We see a perceived weakness, and we exploit it.”

“Yeah. Dad knows that, and if it gets him what he wants, he doesn’t mind using the idea that my disorder will somehow get into a public record on me to make me do what he needs me to do. Filing legal action against me to take control of my assets or whatever else due to my failing to take care of it myself would absolutely do that.”

“John, you know Lucian is only looking out for—”

“I know why,” John interjected sharply. “That doesn’t make it right.”

Andino shoved his hands deep in his pockets again. “Point taken.”

It was another reason why John held bitterness toward his father, sure, even if a part of him understood it had been for the best. The thing about Lucian Marcello and his only son was that a lot of the time, John was left feeling like his father was stripping the control of his life away from him.

Slowly.

One by one.

A thing at a time.

Or maybe his father didn’t want to do that at all, and that was just John’s misfiring emotions and brain working against each other again. Who fucking knew?

It didn’t take long for the movers to get all the furniture and boxes inside the house. John simply directed them to drop everything in the middle of the large living room. He was so particular about his things and how it all needed to be placed that someone else doing it could send him into some kind of fit.

Anxiety.

Anger.

Sometimes both.

Sure, his meds helped a lot to keep him settled and allowed him a bit more breathing room to think before he spoke or reacted, but it wasn’t a whole lot of space. Mostly just enough for him to recognize he might be making a bigger deal out of something than it actually was.

That didn’t mean his brain accepted the conclusion, or that the problem still didn’t feel very real to John.

It was hard to explain that to others. How could he explain something when sometimes, he didn’t even know what he was feeling himself?

Andino knew, though. A byproduct of once trying to help John clean up his room as a teenager after his mother, Jordyn, had a fit about the mess.

His cousin looked over the boxes in the Queens house, but didn’t touch a thing. He did ask.

“Anything you want me to help you with?”

John made a noise in the back of his throat, and scrubbed his hands together. A nervous tic that helped to give him an outlet for his simmering anxieties. “Maybe move some furniture once I know where I want to put it.”

“I could unpack some stuff, and just not put it anywhere, too.”