Page 9 of Winds of War

“Whoa, you must have been desperately hungry to say that.” Lochlin gave his stepbrother an incredulous look, shaking his head. Don't get me wrong, Spitfire is a great cook, but to compare him with Uncle Lance, who is a god...” The blond tsked in disapproval.

“This father of yours is very curious, son.” Ardan turned to Cian, smiling gently. “What's your first impression of Don Joaquin Montemayor-Fenelli? I'd like to know what the rest of you think of him, too.” He cast a look in the other young men's direction.

“Well, he's a very educated, well-mannered guy; loves to spend time with children, especially the younger ones; and has a way of making everyone comfortable in his presence. Joaquin always talks with respect and admiration about his grandfather and uncle, and he wants to find a way to gain the support of both the traditionalist and reformist mafiosi.”

“He does indeed sound a remarkable young man,” Ardan commented, affection and gentleness mixing in his turquoise eyes when he looked at Cian. “Do any of you have something to add to what my son here said?” The man gazed over the group of boys, waiting for them to answer.

“Actually, yes.” Lorcan gave his twin a reassuring smile, then turned to his father and Alasdair. “Every time Joaquin is in my brother's company, he pays attention to Cian's every gesture and move, trying to guess his intentions and needs. The guy is very sweet, tender, and a good listener, which, in my opinion, makes him excellent boyfriend material.”

“Look, Pater, Spitfire, what Lorcan said...” Cian blushed violently, lowering his gaze. ”I'm not interested in having a relationship with Joaquin...or anyone else, for that matter. Being stuck with someone suffering from a severe heart condition would be terribly unfair for the other guy, and I don't want to put anyone through something like this.”

“Speaking of boyfriend, where is Lazarus? I didn't see very much of him today, which is strange because the two of you are usually like a stamp and letter.” Whitey tried to turn the discussion in another direction, sensing that it was about to become too painful for Cian.

“He stayed behind to calm a boy down. Poor thing started to hyperventilate at the sight of Digger. Lazarus tried to tell the kid that boulder of a guard was a marshmallow on the inside, but he couldn't stop from crying and shaking.” This time, Lochlin saw his stepbrother's intention and answered without the usual eye roll or head shake.

Gavin's eyes went wide in surprise as he stared incredulously at the blond, curly-haired boy. “Whoa, that was one very scared kid if Lazarus couldn’t even calm him down. Who knows what the poor thing was put through before he was brought to The Base!”

“A new boy, you said?” Ardan made no effort to hide his interest in the subject. “Who rescued him, what was his state, who was the doctor to perform the physical examination, and what were the conclusions?” The questions flew from the man's mouth like a torrent, but no one was surprised. For Ardan, each and every child who arrived at The Base was equally important and deserved the utmost attention and care.

“The kid refused to be medically examined, but Lazarus and I spotted some bruises on his neck like someone may have tried to choke him. I don't know why, but I have the feeling he's hiding something.” Lochlin ran a hand through his curly blond hair, sighing heavily.

“I think this boy behaves like that because he's afraid we'll send him back into the hell he escaped from. Social Services do that in some cases, and maybe the kid experienced this before,” Cian hesitantly spoke. “I got a glimpse of him, too, but Lazarus was already there trying to calm him down, and I thought that my intervention would confuse and scare the poor soul even more. He's of average height, blond with straight, medium-long strands, blue eyes, and very pale skin.”

Ardan swallowed hard, trying to push down the lump formed in his throat, then walked out of the kitchen, returning two minutes later. “Does the boy look like this one?” He slid the small photo across the table, praying for a positive answer.

“Yes, that's him,” Lochlin confirmed, then gave the man a surprised look. “Whoa, Uncle Ardan, you look like someone who just hit the big jackpot on the lottery. Is this kid someone important?”

The man nodded, unable to speak. “Yes. He's Arman Bedrossian's only child,” he finally managed to articulate after a while. “His presence at The Base is a godsend gift, and it would literally save lives.”

After another short pause, Ardan started to tell Alasdair and the boys gathered around the kitchen table about the mysterious Armenian mobster who managed to unify some of the most turbulent gangs from Chicago under his command. In only a few short months, he turned a bunch of rebellious mobsters into disciplined soldiers who listened and obeyed to his every command.

Lorcan, Cian, and their friends were listening to Ardan's every word, thrilled at the possibility of having someone as powerful as Arman Bedrossian as an ally. The boys saw how the specter of the street war weighed their fathers and uncles down, and they were aware that, no matter who the winner would be, the world as they knew it would end.

Lochlin pulled his phone from the pocket of his jeans' and called Lazarus, asking about the blond kid. As his boyfriend filled him in with the latest news, a radiant smile appeared on the boy's lips, brightening his face, and when the call ended a few minutes later, Lochlin let out a long sigh of relief.

“Right after I left, Uncle Leon stepped in and took control of the situation. He convinced the kid to let Doctor Ross examine him, then he asked for something to eat and fell asleep shortly after dinner. Oh, his name is Evon.” Lochlin fell silent, waiting for Ardan's questions.

“What did Ross discover during the medical examination? Was Evon...” The Base's boss left the sentence unfinished, dreading to say the word.

“Fortunately not, but he sports some big, nasty bruises, and Lazarus also heard Ross mentioning a few fractures that healed by themselves.” Lochlin shook his head, a sad expression on his face.

“If his dad is the hotshot mobster Uncle Ardan said he is, whoever did that to his kid will pay dearly.” Gavin narrowed his eyes, hands balling into fists.

“Well, it's time to take these two to bed.” Alasdair pointed to Paisley and Axel, who yawned in sync to everyone's amusement. “There are pillows, blankets, clean sheets, and pillowcases in the guest rooms, so feel free to make yourself at home.” He looked in his stepsons' and their friends' direction.

“Let me help you with that.” Whitey took Axel in his arms, kissing him on his rosy cheeks. “It's the least I can do to thank you for the super-tasty meal.”

Without a word, Gavin imitated him, carrying a half-asleep Paisley to the bedroom she and her twin brother shared. Once there, the two boys kissed the small children good night, then made their way to the guest bedroom so Ardan and Alasdair could perform the cuddling and bedtime story ritual.

Exhausted, one by one in their respective rooms, all the boys showered quickly, slipped into comfy pajamas, and fell asleep the second their head hit the pillow. All except Cian, who laid on his back, hands folded under his head, staring at the ceiling. The conversation having Joaquin Montemayor-Fenelli as its subject was playing in his head on repeat, a thousand thoughts roiling inside it like a hive of mad bees.

All the little details Cian didn't pay attention to suddenly came into his mind, making him wonder if they had a special significance or were just random gestures that not even Joaquin was aware of. The way the young don smiled every time he saw Cian; the soft, gentle voice he used when talking to him; his patience; the soft, reassuring squeeze he gave to Cian's hand from time to time—all those things could be signs of Joaquin's love for him.

Or not. Ardan's son ran a hand through his hair, lightly pulling at it, and let out a long, frustrated sigh. A few seconds later, without warning, his thoughts took a different turn with the image of Soames, the guard who followed him everywhere from the first day he came to The Base, appearing before his eyes.

Just like Don Giuseppe Fenelli's grandson, Soames could spend hours in Cian's company, listening to him talking about his favorite subject: the children from The Base and how he planned to make them happier once he would become a social worker. Soames was the first who Cian told about his career choice, the first who congratulated and encouraged him.

A dreamy expression on his face, Ardan's son remembered the hug the guard gave him on that occasion, the sound of Soames's heart beating next to his, the feel of the man's hard pectorals through the thin fabric of the shirt. Cian remembered with great clarity the shiver that rippled through his fragile body when Soames pulled him in a tight hug and held him in his strong arms.