The cold grip of a late February wind clutched at Andino Marcello’s throat even as he tried to flip the collar of his jacket higher to keep it out. Nothing worked—nothing ever worked to keep out that kind of cold in this fucking city.

They still had another month of this shit to go, too. Winter wasn’t going to let up until it had ravaged New York with one cold blast after another, even if it was the last day of February.

Usually, he didn’t mind the weather as much as he did this winter. He could ignore the cold, and get lost in work, or something else. This year was not shaking out to be quite the same. So was his fucking life lately.

A giant dumpster fire.

A lot like his mood, too.

Andino grunted at the enforcer who held open the restaurant door for him to slip inside. On another day, he might have given the man a nod or thanks. Not to-fucking-day. All he wanted to do was get this goddamn meeting over with, and go home.

He wasn’t even planning to work.

Andino was acutely aware of the eyes that fell on him as he entered the business. Men from his family, and men from another neighboring New York Cosa Nostra. Although, where the Marcello family hated the Calabrese organization, they tolerated the Donati crime family.

It probably helped that Dante had finally accepted the fact his daughter was going to be with Cross Donati whether her father liked it or not. Andino gave it less than six months before his cousin married the cocky Donati fucker—everybody got to have their happily ever after.

Except him, apparently.

He was still alone.

Haven still wasn’t his.

And all for what?

Andino glanced around the restaurant, and the men waiting on him to come in and take a seat, so they could begin this meeting. Apparently, he gave her up for this.

This life.

His family.

The legacy.

Duty.

He didn’t want to be bitter about it, but that was difficult. Harder than he expected it to be, frankly. The problem was—nobody gave a damn, and he couldn’t find it in himself to let them know how he felt.

Not yet, anyway.

No man in this life wanted the people around him to know he was struggling emotionally, or with something silly like love. Or the loss of it, for that matter. It was a simple weakness for someone to pick at, or hone in on. Andino wasn’t in the business of showcasing his weaknesses like badges of honor for someone else to use as fucking target practice. He was still intended to be the boss.

The boss couldn’t be emotional.

Or so he was told.

Besides, they had bigger problems to deal with at the moment than his feelings. Too many issues to name. Every single one started and ended with the fucking Calabrese family, and the fact John had killed their boss.

Surprise, surprise.

It was a mess waiting to happen.

Why was anyone shocked?

“The roads are terrible,” Andino grumbled under his breath as he took a seat beside his quiet uncle. Dante hadn’t asked, but the quirking of the man’s eyebrow was enough for him to silently ask, Where the fuck were you? “The storm picked up.”

“Should make for a fun drive home,” his father said across the table.

Andino shrugged. “That’s February for you.”

He didn’t miss the look that passed between his father, and his other uncle, Lucian. Andino had been in a mood for days, and it wasn’t about to change anytime soon. He couldn’t fucking shake it, no matter how hard he tried. He was grateful that, for the most part, the men around him who knew him well chose not to ask.

That made shit easier.

On him, at least.

“Shall we get started?” Dante asked.

Andino nodded. “Yeah, let’s start.”

“We need to figure out a way to handle the Calabrese,” his uncle said. “We all need to come to some agreement that will clean up this mess—preferably in a peaceful manner.”

“Their violence is escalating,” Giovanni added.

“They’re directly targeting Capos, or their crews,” Lucian said.

Andino sighed, and scrubbed a hand down his face. They all offered this information as though he didn’t know it to begin with. Like he’d had his fucking head shoved under sand for the last while, and pretended that he didn’t know what was happening out on the streets.

He was the underboss.

He got the calls.

He handled the Capos.

“I know what’s going on,” Andino snapped. “And I’m aware that we need to figure something out to handle the fucking Calabrese.”

Dante shifted in his chair, and said, “Other people in this restaurant are not aware.” With that statement, his uncle gave a nod in Cross Donati’s direction, adding, “Or at least, he doesn’t know the latest details. He’s the boss of another organization in this city—this growing war between our family and the Calabrese could indirectly disrupt his business and organization.”

Shit.

Yeah.

Andino needed to get back on his game, and fast. “All attempts to reach out to the Calabrese, and settle this by less violent means has been shut down at every turn.”

“Then, what do they want?” Cross Donati asked.

Wasn’t it obvious?

“A problem.”

Dante chuckled dryly. “That, and to one-up the Marcellos. They’ve always had a hard nut for that, yeah?”

A quiet agreement passed over the men sitting at various tables. There were more Marcello men in the business than Donati men. It looked like Cross had only brought a select few to the meeting.

“Do you have an opinion?” Dante asked the man. “Anything you would like to add?”

Cross folded his arms over his chest, and relaxed in the chair. “Attention in this business is always a bad thing when it comes to officials, and I can’t say that I like how many times I’ve seen the New York crime families’ names on Breaking News banners lately.”

Andino cringed.

That was accurate.

“Us either,” Dante agreed.

“Continuing this feud with the Calabrese will only bring more attention our way,” Cross said. “And I say our way because all three of the New York families know that when one organization gets attention, the other two get the same gift just by definition of association. A lot has happened over the last year—none of us, or our organizations—can afford that kind of attention right now. We need to keep the officials out. At least, that’s my take.”

Dante didn’t disagree.

Andino couldn’t, either.

“The problem with that,” Lucian murmured, staring straight at Dante as though no one else in the business mattered to him, “is that it means we somehow bend to the Calabrese, or whatever demands they decide to make when they get around to it. Is that what the Marcellos are willing to do, now—cower to a family that killed my blood?”

Dante didn’t even blink. “If it means keeping our family safe, then yes.”

“And what if that leaves us exposed—weak?”

“It won’t. It makes us smart.”

Lucian let out a dark noise under his breath, but turned to stone when he stared out the window to his left without another opinion to share. Andino sympathized with both of his uncles’ positions. He knew why Lucian felt the way he did, and why Dante—as the boss, and the one who needed to make the hardest choices to keep everyone safe even when pride was a factor—refused to give his brother what the man wanted.

Nothing in this life was easy.

It couldn’t be.

“We have to protect our family,” Dante repeated.

Only this time, he said it to Andino.

Like he needed another reminder.

Look at all he sacrificed for his family.

For his duty.

He didn’t need to be reminded.