Jackson stood in the central foyer beneath an enormous and elegant chandelier. He was a stark contrast in comparison, a muscular, medium toned skinned man in dark boots, dark jeans, and a dark shirt with a dark leather jacket hanging open. A simple holster housed a simple handgun, sitting at his hip, and his dark hair was pulled back into a bun. He was a mere soldier of the mafia standing in the lavish home of one of the wealthiest men in the city.

And his father-in-law.

Four suited men lined the perimeter of the room, earpieces in their ears. They carried automatic weapons, guarded and ready.

Walter approached, stopping several paces in front of him. He wore a neatly pressed suit, gray in color, with brown shoes that shone as if they were recently polished. He was meticulously well-kept, his gray hair brushed and styled neatly and complimenting his fair skin. He was wrinkled delicately with age and appeared to be a simple, wealthy man, who could have been a doting grandfather.

Perhaps in another life.

He held his gaze on Jackson, silent for a moment.

Jackson opted to break the harsh silence, spreading his arms open and smiling. “Now, I know you wouldn’t dare kill me,” Jackson said. “So what is it that you want after all these years?”

Walter’s gaze hardened. “I’m giving you one last chance, Jackson,” he started. “Give me my daughter back.”

”She is not mine to give,” he said. “I don't own her. She made her choice.”

”You’re a smart man, Jackson,” Walter continued. “I know you see the tides changing. And you know you cannot protect her like I can.”

Jackson held his gaze on him. “And you think you can?” His gaze hardened. “You? Leader of one of the biggest mafia families in this city? And a dying one at that. There’s a target on you, Walter. They’re just waiting to fucking pounce. And Vanessa doesn’t have a damn clue.”

Walter hesitated, his gaze softening slightly. “You never told her?”

“I don’t make it a habit of spilling dirty family secrets. I have some morals.”

Walter’s sneer returned. “Don’t act like you’re some saint. You have more blood on your hands than any of us.”

The corner of his lips pulled into a sinister smile. “Then I guess you should think twice about fucking with me.”

“Is that a threat?” Walter hissed.

“I don’t love the idea of killing my father-in-law,” Jackson started. “But I will do whatever I need to do to protect my family.”

“Your family?” Walter grinned, chuckled lightly, then his scowl returned. “With those bastard orphans you took in? You have no family with my daughter.”

“And what do you have?” Jackson asked pointedly. “You have nothing but a crumbling empire.”

”My daughter -“

”My wife made her decision,” Jackson snapped. “I know you believe me incapable of the love she deserves, but I promise you, I will die before I let anything happen to her. I will burn this fucking city to the ground if I have to.”

Walter held his gaze on him silently. “There is nothing you can say to me,” he finally said after a long moment, “that would make me trust my daughter with you.” He paused. “Convince her to come home, or our next conversation will be your last.” He held his gaze a moment longer, then turned and left, his footsteps echoing off the walls. He strode across the foyer and through the door on the opposite end, letting it slam behind him.

The men that circled the room adjusted their weapons, readying them, and Jackson took that as his cue to leave. He looked straight ahead as he left the mansion, stepping outside into the cool night air. He stood atop the steps as the door closed behind him, and he reached into his jacket, pulling out a cigarette. He then pulled out a lighter, then cupped both to protect them from the night’s breeze as he lit the cigarette, then dropped the lighter back into his inside pocket.

He inhaled deeply, blew out smoke, then trotted down the steps and strode towards his car. He slid into the driver’s seat, slamming the car door closed, and held the cigarette between his lips as he fished for his keys, then turned the ignition. He peeled out of the drive, making sure to be as obnoxious as he possibly could, then rolled his window down once he pulled out onto the main road and settled back into his comfortable routine of smoking and driving, focusing only on the road in an attempt to forget the conversation from just a few minutes prior.

“Motherfucker,” he muttered under his breath. He punched the steering wheel angrily, cursing louder. He flicked the barely smoked cigarette into the night and let his head rest against the headrest. He rubbed at his temple just as his phone dinged, and he glanced at the message from Shawn that popped up on the screen.

got it

He let out a breath and gripped the steering wheel with both hands, his knuckles whitening slightly. He tilted his neck, cracking it, then sighed.

Jackson absentmindedly navigated the city streets home, pulling up against the curb when he arrived and cutting the engine. He glanced across the backyard towards the house; the light in his bedroom was on. Vanessa was still up. She usually was.

He carefully stepped out of the car, closing the door lightly this time, then sat on the trunk and waited. He reached into his inside jacket pocket, once more pulling out a cigarette and lit it, cupping his hands around it. He took in a breath, then turned his gaze as headlights came around the corner. He watched as Deacon’s SUV pulled up behind him and Shawn and Deacon stepped out. Shawn made his way toward him while Deacon pulled the painting out of the back seat.

“No trouble?” Jackson asked.

“Don’t worry, I got it!” Deacon shouted to them.

Shawn smirked and leaned against the car, watching Deacon struggle with the painting. “Nope.”

“Actually,” Deacon started, making his way to them. He dropped the painting at his feet and let it lean against the fence. “You gotta have a talk with your boy. Watching him flirt with the art girl was painful.” He groaned.

Jackson narrowed his gaze on Shawn. “Why were you flirting with the art girl?”

Shawn rolled his eyes. “Christ. I wasn’t.”

“He got her number somehow.”

Shawn punched Deacon in the arm.

“Stop fuckin’ punchin’ me!”

“Stop being a fucking idiot!”

“Knock it off,” Jackson growled. He straightened, pausing for a moment to inhale his cigarette. “Lose the number.”

“Bro, loosen up, will ya?” Deacon started. “Let the guy get laid.”

“I won’t say it again.” Jackson turned and headed toward the house. “Bring it in.”

Deacon groaned and picked up the painting. “Sorry, man, I tried.”

“Do you ever shut up?” Shawn hissed at him, following him toward the house.

“Jackson doesn’t control your life. Go get laid.”

“I’ll punch you again.”

“I’ll smash this ugly thing over your damn head.”

Inside, Deacon dropped the painting onto the couch. Jackson glanced up from the kitchen, then pulled out a knife. He made his way around the corner into the living room, then stabbed the back of the frame with the knife, ripping it open and destroying the canvas. Several sealed bags fell onto the floor, and he reached down to pick one up, opening it and inspecting the contents inside.

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“Well?” Deacon asked curiously.

“Nice work,” Jackson said. “Looks like it’s all here.”

“You want us to drop it tomorrow?” Shawn asked.

“I’ll take care of it.”

Deacon dropped onto the couch and kicked his feet up on the coffee table. “This calls for a beer. Chey!”

“Get it your damn self!” Chey hollered from down the hall.

Deacon grunted, pushed himself up off the couch, and made his way into the kitchen. He pulled out three bottles, opened them, and handed one to Jackson and one to Shawn. He leaned on the kitchen counter as Chey emerged from down the hall, and she jumped on his back, her hands draping over his chest and she kissed his cheek.

“Where’s mine?” she asked, looking between the three men and their drinks.

“Get it your damn self,” Deacon said with a teasing grin.

Chey rolled her eyes. “How’d it go?”

“Shawn picked up the art chick.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Shawn muttered.

“Who’s the art chick?” Vanessa emerged from around the corner where Chey had entered.

“We’re not supposed to talk about it,” Deacon said, turning his gaze to Vanessa. He winked and gestured toward Jackson with his chin.

Vanessa smiled. “Oh, is he being a pain in the ass again?”

“What else is new,” Chey said.

“You’re all the pains in the asses,” Jackson grunted. “And freeloaders.”

“We just made you bank tonight,” Deacon barked at him.

Jackson put out his cigarette, drank from his beer, then walked around them and down the hall with a simple ‘hmp.’

“So, art chick?” Vanessa asked again.

“It was painful,” Deacon grinned.

“I’m not calling her,” Shawn hissed.

“Why not?” Chey asked. “Fuck Jackson. He doesn’t own you.”

“That’s what I said!” Deacon shouted. “Guys gotta get laid. It’s a fact of life.”

Vanessa rolled her eyes and turned to Shawn. “You do whatever you want, Hunnie.” She pinched his cheek and grinned. “Just don’t be a dick to her, okay?”

“Listen to Mom,” Chey said. “You treat art chick like the queen that she is.”

Vanessa folded her arms over her chest. “I’m not even old enough to be your moms.”

“But you’re The Mom,” Chey pointed out.

“I hate it here,” Vanessa grumbled.

“But you love us,” Deacon sang.

“One of these days you’re going to literally drive my husband to drink.”

“Jackson’s a huge softie,” Deacon said. “He loves our shenanigans.”

“Does he, though?” Chey asked. “The guy isn’t even forty and he’s already graying. And those grays have names. Deacon and Shawn.”

“I’m a delight,” Deacon said. “His grays are his own damn problem.”

“I like them,” Vanessa said.

“That’s because you have daddy issues,” Chey muttered.

“Jesus Christ, Chey, what the fuck?”

Chey snickered. “Well, am I wrong?”

“Just because I don’t talk to him doesn’t mean I have Daddy issues,” Vanessa muttered. “And Jackson isn’t a… Daddy.” She cringed and shivered. “Ew. I hate that.”

Chey snorted. “Actually, he is,” she pointed out. “You two literally took in three stray kids off the streets and now you’re stuck with us forever.”

Vanessa shook her head. “I told Jackson it was a bad idea.”

“And now we’re his little minions,” Deacon said. “Making us pick up ugly ass paintings. That’s the job he gives us? We’ve literally blown up building, but tonight we’re picking up paintings. Is this punishment?”

”Probably,” Chey said. “If you didn’t complain so much, maybe you’d get better jobs.”

”If you told me twenty years ago my three adopted children were complaining about not blowing shit up for a living -“

”We’re in the mafia, V,” Deacon said flatly. “Obviously we want the cool jobs.”

Vanessa sighed and shook her head. “Where did I go wrong?”

“Probably by willingly marrying a man in the mafia,” Chey said with a grin.

Vanessa pressed her lips together and nodded. “Yeah,” she said slowly. “Love makes you do stupid shit, huh?”

“I’m starting to feel unwelcome,” Shawn muttered.

Vanessa smiled and kissed his cheek and he groaned.

“I’m going to bed,” Chey said. She tossed her beer bottle into the trash.

Deacon set his nearly empty bottle on the counter. “Sexy time?”

Chey rolled her eyes and made her way down the hall, giggling as Deacon chased her.

Vanessa shook her head and took Deacon’s bottle, emptying the remaining contents, and threw it in the trash.

“Oh my god, I am your mothers,” she muttered.

Shawn grinned and finished his beer. “You guys literally raised us. What did you expect?”

“Certainly not an army of minions,” Vanessa muttered. She sighed. “But I guess I knew what I was getting into when I married him.”

Shawn frowned. He tossed his beer bottle into the trash bin.

“So, why aren’t you gonna call the art chick? You’re allowed to have a life, you know,” Vanessa said softly.

“This isn’t exactly the kind of life you drag people into.”

She offered him a smile. “He dragged me in.”

“Pretty sure you forced your way in,” Shawn pointed out.

“Maybe.” She hesitated. “He just wants what’s best for you.”

“I know.”

“He doesn’t want you to deal with the shit he’s dealt with.”

“I know.”

Vanessa put her hands up defensively. “Yeah, I know. I sound like a gross mom.” She let out a breath through her nose. “I think you should call her.”

Shawn rolled his eyes. “I really need to move out of this damn house.”

Vanessa smiled. “Oh, you’re my favorite, you can’t do that.” She patted his head playfully and, without another word, she turned and left the kitchen, making her way down the hall and leaving Shawn alone.

She stepped into the bedroom where Jackson was already laying on top of the bed, stripped down into his shorts and staring up at the ceiling. She ignored him as she made her way to her dresser, removing her jewelry.

“You’re grumpier than usual,” she commented casually, not looking back at her husband.

Jackson closed his eyes. “I’m tired,” he said simply.

Vanessa frowned. She turned to glance at him. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“You have to tell me if something’s wrong.”

“You have to stay out of it and let me do my job.”

Vanessa sighed. She turned back to her dresser, absentmindedly rearranging her jewelry. “Every day I sit here and wonder if this is the day you don’t come home,” she started. “I would at least appreciate some kind of heads up if there’s trouble.”

Jackson sat up and she met his gaze.

“There’s no trouble,” he said.

“Right. That’s the motto of the mafia.”

“We’re not in the mafia,” he growled.

She rolled her eyes. “It’s been a long time, Jackson,” she started, her voice soft. “I don’t blame you for being tired.”

Jackson held his gaze on her for a moment, then dropped back down onto the bed with a heavy sigh. He turned over, turning his back to his wife. He listened as she moved about the room, opening drawers and changing out of her clothes. She climbed into bed beside him and put her arm around him, kissing his cheek.

“You can’t stop him from having a life,” she said.

“Yes, I can,” he said stubbornly.

“You couldn’t stop me.”

Jackson turned onto his back and stared at the ceiling. “You’re a stubborn, selfish woman.”

“Hey!” Vanessa pushed herself up and sneered down at her grinning husband. “I choose to think of myself as a romantic. I knew what I wanted and the dangers involved. I made the choice you would never have made for yourself.”

Jackson rolled his eyes.

“You deserve to be happy, Jackson. And so do those kids.”

“They’re not kids, V. They know damn well what this life is like. They chose to stay.”

“They chose family,” Vanessa said. “That’s something they never would have had if it weren’t for you. Hell, they probably wouldn’t even be alive if it weren’t for you. You gave them a second chance. It’s not fair for you to restrict them and stop them from living. They’re not your tools.”

“I know that,” Jackson growled. “And you know damn well that isn’t what this is about.”

“I know,” Vanessa said softly. “I just think you need to find a balance. They know how to keep themselves safe. Let them have some semblance of normalcy. Even if it’s just for a moment.”

Jackson said nothing. He continued to stare up at the ceiling. Vanessa settled back down into the bed, resting her head on his chest. She listened to the steady rhythm of his heart, and closed her eyes.