Page 263 of John + Siena: The Complete Duet

Dante turned around, and shoved Gio on his shoulder. Pointing a single finger to the hallway leading out of the hospital wing, he said, “Go wait for Papa and Ma, Gio.”

“Dante—”

“Go, I said.”

Andino might have been the boss in waiting.

Dante was still the boss.

Giovanni moved past Dante, but pointed a finger at John as he went by. “Clean up your fucking shit, John. You think going on like that is going to suit a man in your position once this is over? I don’t think so.”

John’s brow furrowed. “What in the hell was that supposed to—”

“Excuse me?”

Dante spun around on his heel at the quiet voice. John found a young nurse standing there with a yellow bubble mailer in her hands. She offered it out, but neither of the men moved to take the item from her.

“What?” Dante barked.

The woman shrunk a bit.

“This was dropped off at the nurse’s station in the next wing, and we were directed that it be delivered to a Johnathan Marcello. Apparently, his father is being treated in this wing. It must have been a mix up.”

Dante passed John a look.

John reached for the mailer. It was only once the woman was gone that he turned to his uncle, concern writing heavily along his brow. “Open it, or no?”

“She was holding it pretty firmly, and she moved from one wing to another with it. I don’t think there’s anything explosive in it, otherwise it would have went boom already.”

“Nice.”

Dante shrugged. “Here.”

John took the knife his uncle offered. “Thanks.”

“Open it from the back end, just in case.”

He did just that.

Papers and photographs spilled out.

John’s throat closed up at the images staring back at him, and the information now freely available to anyone with the right contacts, and deep enough pockets.

Information about him.

His disorder. On record admissions to a mental facility. Somehow, a fucking patient record. Photographs of him on the grounds of the facility.

It was everything that stabbed John right to his core.

Everything he didn’t want people to know.

His one weak spot.

Crazy.

The word was scrawled across several photos.

Disgrace.

Another word written in thick, red ink.

Why was he so calm all of the sudden?

It wasn’t even the calm that scared him.

No, it was the darkness seeping into his mind at seeing his disorder exposed and mocked like this. It was knowing his family would be ridiculed for the things he had done, and how they protected and shielded him.

How much more could they take?

Was he really worth this kind of shit?

“Who else do you think got a package like this?” John asked.

“Let’s hope not very many,” Dante replied.

John doubted that would be the case.