Godspeed to the men who plead.
Those words played on repeat in the back of Andino Marcello’s mind as his cousin continued talking on the phone, and his attention varied between the conversation, and work. That was his life in a nutshell—mafia and family.
Nothing more.
Nothing less.
“Please don’t …p-please—”
Andino flicked a hand, and the enforcer who had come along for the ride with him that afternoon shut up the begging man who was currently battered and bleeding behind his desk. Andino had taken that lack of patience from his father—Giovanni Marcello had never been very gracious to foolish men who begged for mercy. He was actually quick to kill them for it.
“It’d be great if they just let me fucking be,” John muttered. “All of them—they’re suffocating me, Andi.”
Yeah, he bet.
Between John being fresh out of prison, and everybody waiting for his next meltdown to come because some people in their family thought it was inevitable with John’s bipolar disorder, it probably felt like he was a bug constantly being watched under a microscope. Nobody wanted that shit.
“Try to ignore it,” Andino said to his cousin.
John sighed. “That’s easy for you to say.”
“They don’t mean any harm.”
“But are they causing it, though?”
Good point.
A lack of trust—or even the belief that someone didn’t trust a man—could do damage like nobody understood in the world of Cosa Nostra. A made man was nothing when his word couldn’t be trusted.
Andino knew that well.
It’s why he made every effort to be an honorable made man. Even if that was a dichotomy.
A thump across the room drew Andino’s attention back to the lawyer who had needed extra special Marcello attention that day. The enforcer had smashed the guy’s head into the desk, and it made a hell of a mess of blood and broken teeth on the shiny surface.
Damn.
Usually, Andino would let his bookies handle someone like this—they owed money, the bookie would figure out a way to collect, so he wasn’t in the red with the Capo who collected from him. Andino was that Capo; the bookie was fucking sick and tired of being skipped out on week after week.
It’d been a while since Andino got his hands a little dirty, and it was always good stress relief to beat the hell out of someone. Even if he was just watching.
John said something on the phone.
Andino missed it.
“Listen, I’ll have a chat with my father,” Andino said, “and see if he can make Uncle Lucian back off you a bit—Dante, too.”
“Un-fucking-likely.”
Truth.
“Still worth a shot,” Andino returned.
John made a noise under his breath.
“What, cousin?”
“Nothing, I was just thinking … you’re good like that, you know? Always looking out for me.”
Yeah …
Andino had been on this earth for twenty-eight fucking years, and every single one of them had been spent looking out for John in one way or another. At the end of the day, next to his mother and father, Andino figured John was the only person he really gave a damn about.
“But when are you going to start looking out for you, huh?” John asked.
Andino laughed. “Probably never.”
“You have to take care of you sometime, man.”
It was the smash of the lawyer’s head against the desk that drew Andino’s attention again. Well, that, and the splatter of blood that hit the front of Andino’s tailored blazer. He scowled, and gave the enforcer a look.
“Really, Pink?” Andino asked. “You know I have to have dinner with my mother tonight.”
The enforcer—who refused to tell almost everyone how he got his nickname—shrugged. “Sorry, boss.”
“Are you working?” John asked.
“Cleaning up a mess.”
“Ah.”
Speaking of which …
The lawyer was pleading again.
Garbled.
Mumbling.
Bleeding.
“Godspeed to the men who plead,” Andino murmured before giving the enforcer a nod. The lawyer was never going to pay; too much debt, and too bad of a gambling habit. That’s why the bookie decided to come to Andino. “Finish it, Pink.”
Turning his back to the scene behind him, he returned to the conversation with his cousin. Like nothing had happened. Nothing was wrong.
This was his life.
Business.
And family.
Only those two things.
Andino didn’t know anything different.
*
“Evening, Ma,” Andino greeted, bending down to kiss his mother’s cheek.
Kim gave her son a warm smile and a pat on his arm. “Your father is tinkering in the garage.”
“I didn’t come to see Dad,” Andino half-lied.
He had come to talk to Giovanni, but he always made time for his mother, too. Being an only child had allowed Andino all of his parents’ love and attention as he grew up under their watchful eyes. His father had been easygoing and fun, as had his mother.
They made for interesting parents, if nothing else. Andino had been allowed to experiment with life without expectations or demands weighing him down. He’d always had a confidant in his father, should he need to talk. He’d always had a supporter in his mother, no matter his decisions. Judgement held no place in his parents’ home and lives, and certainly not toward Andino or his choices.
Andino didn’t even remember having rules.
“Was that a new Lexus I saw out in the driveway?” his mother asked.
Andino moved to sit beside her on the couch, grinning wickedly. He had a taste for expensive things, cars most importantly. “Yeah.”
“You spoil yourself, Andino. Everybody always said we would be the ones to spoil you because you were an only child. I think they were wrong. You certainly didn’t pick up your love of expensive things from your father and me, as far as that goes.”
Chuckling, he rested back into the couch and let the familiarity of his parents’ home soak into him. “I have to spend all the money I make in some way, Ma.”
“How about on a girl?” Kim asked, smiling slyly.
“A girl?”
“Find one, marry her, and then you’ll have lots more things to spend your money on, Andi. Things other than yourself. I think you’ll find spending your money on someone else instead of yourself is rewarding.”
“Ma—”
Kim clicked her tongue, stopping Andino before he could rebut her. “I want grandbabies someday, Andino. You’re twenty-eight, it’s time to settle down. Find someone to do that.”
“I don’t think you get it, Ma,” Andino said quietly.
“Oh?”
“No. I haven’t found anyone who makes me want to settle down. I won’t force it simply because you want grandchildren to spoil rotten.”
Kim smiled, but even the sight was sad. “I know.”
Sighing, Andino asked, “Do you regret not having more children after me? Maybe if you had, you would have some bambinos running around or something.”
“Not for a second.”
Kim hadn’t even hesitated before answering him. Her words came out frank and honest. Andino believed his mother. She had never even mentioned having more kids as he grew up. Neither had his father.
“Besides, your father would have lived his life in a constant state of panic had I birthed him any girls,” Kim added, laughing softly. “When you came along, Gio might as well have skipped off to the doctor’s office to make sure we wouldn’t have any more.”
Andino grinned, knowing that was probably true. “You’re terrible, Ma.”
“I only speak the truth.”
Kim tossed the magazine she was reading on the coffee table and gave all of her attention to her son. While his mother’s eyes were a slate blue, Andino’s were a forest green like his father’s. But in features, he knew he looked more like his mother. Where Kim was soft in her lines, Andino was the more masculine, sharper version. She often told him that he looked like his uncle Cody from Vegas.
Andino had never met the man, but it was only a matter of time before he eventually would. Cody Abella was the boss for the Vegas Cosa Nostra, after all. Giovanni was careful about keeping his son away from Vegas for as long as Andino could remember, although his father had never outright explained why.
He figured it had something to do with his mother. Like how she met his father. Andino wasn’t stupid. He knew how that happened.
People talked.
“How is work?” his mother asked.
“Quiet, but busy like usual. Keeps me going.”
“And John?”
Andino remained passive at the question. “Are you asking out of concern for him as an aunt, or are you trying to pry information out of me for Dad?”
Kim smiled. “You’re too observant for your own good.”
“No, I just know you, Ma.” Andino shrugged, saying, “Dad can ask John how he’s doing if he’s worried about him. John was always closer to Dad than he was his own father, anyway. But honestly, he’s doing okay. He’s been home a few days and nothing has happened yet. He’s working and whatever. He’s got a lot to catch up on. Three years is a long time to be out of this game.”
Kim’s hand reached out and grabbed Andino’s wrist. She squeezed him tighter than he expected her to. “Don’t say that, Andi.”
“Hmm, what?”
“A game. Don’t call this a game. It has never been that, you know it. If you treat it like it is, then you’ll lose like the rest who treat it like that, too.”
Andino patted his mother’s hand. She worried too much about him, and always had. Kim had never actively discouraged her son to join Cosa Nostra, nor did she say a bad word to him when he’d started dipping his hands in the family businesses and mafia. Kim simply let him live and grow to be whoever and whatever he wanted or needed.
He loved his mother more for it.
She still worried.
“I’m good, Ma,” Andino assured.
“Good is not always safe,” Kim replied.
She was right.
“Where is this coming from, huh?”
Kim glanced down at her hands, avoiding her son’s gaze. “Nothing, Andino. Don’t worry about it.”
He wasn’t sure he could do that, now. Especially not with the fact she seemed like she was trying to drop the conversation altogether, and she still wouldn’t look at him. What was up with his mother?
“Ma?” Andino pressed. “What is it?”
Kim shook her head, looked up at him, and smiled. “Like I said, it’s nothing. I just want you to know something, Andino.”
“Sure, Ma.”
“I’m so proud of you. I always am, no matter what.”
Andino flashed her a smile. “I know.”
“I want to keep being proud of you, Andi.”
He straightened on the couch, surprised at her words.
“Why wouldn’t you be?” he asked.
Kim reached out and patted his cheek gently. “Just remember to follow the rules, Andino. It might not be what you want right now, but it could be the best thing for you someday.”
Andino blinked, more confused than ever.
“All right,” Andino murmured. “Follow the rules. I got it.”
“Good.” Kim stood from the couch and brushed her pant legs down. “Go find your father and tell him supper is almost ready. I wasn’t expecting you, but I’ll throw an extra plate on the table. Is casserole okay?”
“Anything you make is perfetto, Ma.”
Kim laughed. “You are just like your father. Too slick for your own good, and you know it, too, which only makes it worse. Why can’t you find a girl with all that charm of yours, huh? Draw her in, Andino. It’ll be worth it, I’d bet all my money on it.”
Andino didn’t think so, but he didn’t correct his mother.
“You just want grandbabies,” he said.
“I do,” she agreed, totally unashamed. “So, get to work on that.”
Probably not.
