WIP Wednesday: Duty #AndinoandHaven #ComingSoon

Hey, loves!

I am finally, finally back to work on something new. For the next two months, or thereabouts, I will be hard at work on Andino and Haven's duet, titled respectively for both books, Duty and Vow. So, for the foreseeable future, you will be getting a mix of short teasers for them.

Now, if you have read the Andino piece in the Legacy prequel, you would have already read most of chapter one for Duty. However, there are some new bits added, so when you finally get your greedy hands on this book, you will want to read again.

Today, I am sharing something else from that first chapter -- something new.

Do enjoy.

***

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 the begging man up 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 what with John’s bipolar disorder, it probably felt like he was 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 top.
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 on 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 in 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, Tiny?” Andino asked. “You know I have to have dinner with my mother tonight.”
The enforcer—who looking nothing like his nickname suggested—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, Tiny.” 

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