Total pages in book: 197
Estimated words: 199143 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 996(@200wpm)___ 797(@250wpm)___ 664(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 199143 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 996(@200wpm)___ 797(@250wpm)___ 664(@300wpm)
Jordyn managed to jiggle the lock just right and pop the door open. “All right, girls, that’s enough.”
“Jordyn, wait for a sec—”
Lucian found the bathroom door being closed in his face. Girlish giggles answered him from the inside.
“Hush,” Jordyn muttered. “Cella, if you’re done, get out and go downstairs to eat.”
“But, Ma—”
“You’re going to be late,” Jordyn said to their daughter. “And who in the hell are you trying to impress with all that makeup on, anyway? You know what, we’re washing that off. Liliana, get out.”
Makeup?
Makeup!
Lucian’s mind had completely forgotten about the bomb Jordyn dropped on him when he heard that. He allowed Cella and Liliana to do their hair however they wanted, wear whatever clothes they preferred as long as it was appropriate for their age, and even have a little lip balm and eye shadow if it was neutral and simple.
But full-out makeup?
Hell no!
Lucian banged his fist on the door. “Wash it off right now, Cella!”
His daughter laughed.
So did his wife.
Even Liliana was smirking like she knew the hell going on inside her father’s head when she stepped out of the bathroom in a pink dress with her dark curls pulled back into a neat braid.
“Hi, Daddy,” Liliana said, grinning.
Lucian looked her over for makeup. There was none. Jordyn slammed the door closed before he could get a peek at Cella.
Goddammit.
“I’m hungry,” Liliana informed.
“Me, too,” Lucian grumbled.
“Get a move on cooking, then,” Jordyn said, her voice muffled. “Or nobody will eat anything.”
“We have things to talk about, Jordyn,” Lucian replied.
“Not right now we don’t.”
Fine.
*
Lucian’s hand smacked the back of his thirteen-year-old son’s head when John tried to sneak a cigarette from the pack inside Lucian’s suit jacket hanging off the dining room chair. He’d just walked into the dining room and his son hadn’t heard or seen him approach.
John rubbed at the back of his head, glaring at his father while Lucian crossed the space to enter the kitchen. “What the hell, Papa?”
“Don’t smoke. It’s bad for your lungs.”
Jesus, he had to put a stop to John’s bad behavior before it got out of hand. Smoking was just one thing. John also had sticky fingers when it came to vehicles, liquor, and any cash his father left lying around. Antony liked to call his grandson a rebel—one that didn’t have much of a cause. Dante called his heir to the Marcello thrown a little difficult and looking for a reason to be who he was. Giovanni called his nephew and Godson a kid, one Lucian needed to take a step back from and let John make his mistakes.
Lucian wasn’t sure if he agreed with any of them.
John was just ... John.
Liliana skipped at her father’s side, her little hand tugging on his arm the whole way. “I want waffles.”
“That’s going to take forever to make,” Lucian argued.
“But I want them.”
“Lili—”
“Pancakes then?”
That took just as much time.
At the sight of his daughter’s pleading little blue eyes looking up at him, Lucian caved.
He was so weak when it came to his daughters.
So weak.
“Fine,” Lucian muttered. “Pancakes it is.”
“You smoke,” John said when he sauntered into the kitchen.
Lucian was already working on pulling shit out of the cupboards. “Your point?”
“You know my point.”
“That’s not a good argument, John.”
“Why can’t I smoke if you do it?” his son asked.
“Because I said no and your mother gives me enough shit about smoking as it is.”
“Bad language,” Liliana said in a sing-song fashion as she pulled syrup from the fridge.
“Five bucks in my wallet on the inside pocket of my suit jacket,” Lucian said, waving his daughter off.
Liliana practically danced out of the room in search of her hush money.
“Can I come with you today?” John asked.
Lucian side-eyed his son. “You have school.”
“It’s just a day, Dad.”
“School is important, Johnathan.”
“What am I ever going to use it for, though?” his son asked, crossing his arms and leaning against the entryway wall. “I’m going for something else and there’s nothing inside the walls of that school that’s teaching me anything that I need to know for the streets, right?”
His son was far too quick for his own good.
Nothing was hidden in their family. Lucian’s status as the underboss to his brother in their crime family wasn’t off-limits to his children. It was hard to hide those kinds of things when their names were commonplace in New York, the internet was readily available, Lucian had spent some time behind bars for weapons and assault charges relating to the mafia, and his son was a boy.
Maybe everything else could have been brushed off.
Not with John being a boy.
“I finished high-school top ten in my class,” Lucian informed quietly.
John cocked a brow. “So?”
“I graduated college Cum Laude, son.”
“I don’t get it.”
“No?”
“Nope,” John said.
“Then maybe you need a few more years of school to catch up to speed, son.”