Filthy Marcellos: Giovanni

by Bethany-Kris

  Kim cringed, but at least her father couldn’t see it. “There were too many people. I felt suffocated.”

  “Your brother said you were at the Blackjack table talking to someone.”

  Fucking Cody.

  The bastard was lucky she didn’t turn around and chuck something at him. Kim loved her brother, but he was far too attached to their father to see how manipulative the man could be. At twenty-three, Cody still believed his father was the master of the goddamn universe.

  Kim was not stuck in a disillusioned world like her brother.

  “I played a game. Why?” Kim asked.

  “Just a game?”

  “I was counting cards as a trick to amuse the table.”

  “In Vegas, you know that’ll get your fingers cut off, sweetheart,” Nunz said with a chuckle.

  Kim was aware what getting caught counting cards in Vegas could get a person. Really, having her fingers cut off would have been better than the deal she was expected to make. Screw her father to hell and back for making a joke of it.

  “It was fine. I let the table keep my bet for fairness. It was just for fun.”

  “But you were talking to someone,” Nunz pressed. “Your brother said so. He wouldn’t lie to me, Kimberlynn.”

  “I’m twenty-one. Since when do I need a fucking chaperone?”

  Nunz lips drew a thin line. “You know since when. Don’t play stupid with me, girl. Tell me who you were talking with at the table.”

  “I think it was the youngest Marcello son. He was … respectful.”

  “Giovanni, you mean,” Nunz said, sighing.

  “He goes by Gio from what I understand,” her brother put in from behind them.

  Lovely. Everyone was getting a listen to their conversation.

  “Do you know his shoe size, too?” Kim asked, not hiding the dripping sarcasm for a second. “Maybe where he went to college, or his blood type?”

  “Touchy. Someone needs a bitch-be-gone pill.”

  “You know the rules, Kimberlynn,” her father continued, not paying the siblings' bitterness any mind. “Right now, you have to be careful about how you appear. There were many people who came down from Vegas for this wedding. It was unfortunate something came up and Franco was busy this weekend or he would have been here to watch you himself.”

  Kim shuddered, her rage melting into a low lying fear. Her life had been reduced to her being babysat. Her head patted as if she were a puppy when she did something good and a finger wagging in her face scolding her when she did something wrong. Her worth determined by how she appeared in public and her remorse gauged by her private actions.

  It was nothing more than a stupid mistake. Something to impress her friends on her twenty-first birthday. How was she supposed to know that specific casino was owned by one of the major crime families in Vegas?

  So what if she counted a few dozen games? It was only a couple of hundred thousand. Nothing to what the casino usually lost in a night. They probably wouldn’t have noticed if Franco Sorrento hadn’t recognized her playing at his father’s casino. He watched her all night. Kim hadn’t known who he was, but she enjoyed he was paying her attention.

  Snakes always were charming. And then the bastards strangled their prey to death before they ate them.

  Kim quickly learned her mistakes that night had nothing to do with money. Her actions were smeared with disrespect. She stole from a Cosa Nostra family. No apologies got her out of that one. Her father’s influence meant nothing, not that he tried to help.

  “I didn’t do anything wrong,” Kim said, steeling her expression. “I left him at the table, Dad.”

  “Good. Keep it up. You only had to make it through the weekend. After all, your time is up to make your decision.” Then, her father laughed. “Well, it really wasn’t much of a choice, was it?”

  “It’s not funny,” Kim said softly. “I hate that man.”

  “I’ve been told hate breeds passion. Maybe your feelings will change.”

  Kim could taste the bile hitting the back of her tongue. It stung like nothing else and tasted like shame. Franco Sorrento’s interest in her wasn’t because she was counting cards and he noticed. It was because he liked the look of her. He liked that she came from a family similar to his, so she must know how to act and behave. He liked that she wouldn’t have to be trained.

  It was disgusting.

  Kim’s choice was simple. She could marry Franco, or pay the consequence anyone else would for stealing from a mafia family. And it wouldn’t just be her who paid. Her entire family would suffer, too.

  Marriage was a huge weight on Franco’s shoulders. He recently turned twenty-nine. His life was La Cosa Nostra which meant following his father’s expectations. Marriage was one of those things, as far as Kim understood. Franco wasn’t interested in having a real marriage, just one he could manipulate and control.

  What he wanted was a well-trained doll. A pretty face and a quiet mouth. A body in his bed if he felt the need to use it and an appropriate figure beside him at whatever function he wished to attend.

  Franco repulsed Kim. Good looks, wealth, and connections did nothing for an awful man. It didn’t matter. Kim didn’t have a choice, now. Her time to choose was up.

  Chapter Three

  Gio could distinctly remember the first time a narcotic entered his body. It wasn’t a mistake or even a rebellious choice of a young teenager. No, not for those reasons. The bad influences had run rampant around him, but the drugs … those were just because he wanted to. Curiosity, mostly. Then, he continued to feed the need.

  Weed came first. Gio quickly learned he didn’t enjoy the slowed down effect the rank bud created. Instead, he liked to be high. Flying high, rolling high. It didn’t much matter how the feeling was obtained, so long as it made his overactive mind sing.

  There was once, just past his sixteenth birthday when Gio figured his father Antony had finally picked up on his son’s substance abuse. Gio suspected one of his two older brothers had a hand in urging on their father’s suspicions, never mind him getting caught for the first time using. Having a mob boss for a father didn’t afford him leeway on his more dangerous choices.

  “You ready, Skip?” Craig asked Gio, drawing him from his thoughts.

  Gio shoved in the mouthguard handed over to him and sneered in response. There were only a few things he truly enjoyed in life. Fucking, fighting, running his narcotics on the streets, shooting guns, and being the Skip. A capo for his father’s Cosa Nostra.

  He dealt with a hell of a lot lately. After Lucian’s wedding three months ago, everyone’s priorities shifted. The questions and expectations started up again. Cecelia, his mother, wanted him to settle down. His father wanted Gio to be more stable. Everyone worried. It was constant and annoying.

  Gio was in fucking control. His restraint when using was managed; he had himself handled. He was good. Really. His life was fine just the way it was. No one else seemed to see it.

  Somewhere, in the back of his mind when he was sober, Gio could distinctly feel the zinging hum a pretty blonde left imprinted inside his veins three months earlier. That was the only thing he didn’t like to dwell on too much. He had yet to duplicate that natural sensation she made him feel.

  A makeshift boxing match was exactly what Gio needed to get his head back into the game before next week. The meeting of the Commission with all the major crime families would be nothing short of migraine-inducing. At best.

  “Skip,” Craig drawled again. “Ready?”

  Jesus Christ.

  Wasn’t he always?

  Gio was revving from the blow and Molly he indulged in earlier.

  Yeah, he was fucking ready.

  • • •

  “Didn’t Ma hire a housecleaner for you?”

  The last thing Gio wanted to hear on a Sunday morning was his older brother. Wasn’t the raging headache punishment enough for whatever torture he put his body through the night before?

  Apparently not.<
br />
  “Seriously, this place is a mess,” Dante said.

  A scuffling sound followed his brother’s statement. Dante had kicked something across the floor. There was nothing Gio hated more than people messing around with his things. “Don’t touch my shit.”

  “At least you’ve got the shit part right.”

  Gio cracked open an eye and regretted it instantly. Pain flooded his head worse than before. Groaning, he hid back under the thin blanket and turned on the couch in an effort to go back to sleep.

  “Never should have given you keys.”

  Dante snorted. “You say that like a lack of having them would stop me from getting in if I wanted to.”

  Gio hated his brother a little more, knowing that was true. “Get out of my place.”

  “Can’t.”

  “Why the hell not?” Gio growled.

  “It’s Sunday.”

  “I am aware what day it is. So?”

  “Church, man. And at the rate you’re going, we’ll be thirty minutes late to Mass as it is. Ma will whip your ass if you’re not sitting in the pew, Gio.”

  Gio frowned under the blanket. “Didn’t she get the goddamn memo?”

  “Huh?”

  “The Pope excommunicated Mafiosi, Dante.”

  Gio had looked forward to sleeping in on a Sunday for the first time ever. Being Catholic for his family was about the religion and the image it provided to the public. They were good, God-fearing people. Certainly not the Cosa Nostra Marcello crime family running more than sixty percent of New York with an iron fist.

  “She’s convinced herself that doesn’t apply to us,” Dante said flippantly.

  That unconcerned, happy attitude of his brother’s made Gio want to reach out and punch Dante hard in the nuts. No one should be that pleased on a Sunday fucking morning.

  “Jesus, little brother.” Dante yanked the blanket off Gio. “What the hell did you do to yourself?”

  Gio squinted, wishing away the light again and willing his memory to come back. Nothing came to mind. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Ma’s gonna kill you,” Dante added like it was an afterthought.

  “For what, sleeping?”

  “No, that black eye and split lip. Being seen in church looking like you went a few rounds and smelling like it, too, no less.”

  Gio groaned, finally remembering his late-night boxing match at the gym and the party before. “I didn’t think I was going to Mass.”

  “Where’s Cain?” Dante asked.

  Cain, Gio’s faithful Rottweiler and loving companion, was the one thing that could get him up and moving. Today was no exception, even with his raging hangover.

  Gio whistled, sitting straight on the couch. Running his fingers through his dark brown, short hair, he could feel the remnants of his sweat and fight. Disgusting—that’s how he felt. A shower was definitely in order.

  Not two seconds later, a black and tan form sat on the floor beside Gio. Cain huffed hot breath. Big, black eyes watched his master expectantly. Gio was sure there was a hint of guilt behind the stare. The Rottweiler, as far as Gio was concerned, was unlike any other dog or animal he ever met. The pup wore his heart on his muscular, hairy leg. Sure, he could be one mean motherfucker when Gio needed Cain to be, but otherwise, he was a giant baby.

  “You were in my fucking bed again, weren’t you?”

  Cain huffed in response, nudging his nose along Gio’s jeans.

  “It probably smells like you now, you bastard.”

  Dante snorted under his breath. “At least he doesn’t ruin your shit.”

  Yet.

  It was only a matter of time before the dog started manifesting his desire for his master in more destructive ways.

  “If you don’t peel your ass off that couch and get ready for Mass, you’re going to be in more shit than you already are,” Dante warned.

  Fuck this day.

  • • •

  “Stop fussing over me,” Gio snapped, dodging his mother’s wet thumb. What was it with Italian mothers and their children? It wouldn’t matter if he was forty, she would still treat him like a baby. Gio didn’t know how his brothers put up with this nonsense. “I’m fine, Mamma.”

  Cecelia Marcello clicked her tongue chidingly. “Stop it, Giovanni. Your poor eye needs ice. What kind of mother would I be if I didn’t worry? Buono Dio, can’t you stay out of trouble for even a day?”

  No.

  Fuck. He wished that nauseous feeling in his gut would go away. Making it through church without vomiting had been a miracle. The Molly and blow weren’t mixing well with the liquor he slammed after the fight. Gio knew better than to mix that shit with alcohol, anyway.

  Control, Gio told himself. He had this shit under control.

  “I’m fine,” he repeated when Cecelia tried to use her licked thumb to swipe at his cheekbone again. Seriously, that shit was gross.

  “Really? Because the green color you’re sporting looks anything—”

  “Giovanni David Marcello!”

  Gio suppressed a shudder at his full name coming out of his father’s mouth. They were in a public place—the church’s front steps—and his father was not likely to give him a verbal thrashing in front of all the God-fearing people. After all, they faced these people every Sunday and the Marcellos had a reputation to uphold.

  But when Antony got him alone, it wouldn’t be the same story.

  Shit.

  Dante winced at his little brother and gently tugged on his mother’s elbow to direct her down the church stairs. Then, over his shoulder, Dante mouthed, “Just smile and nod.”

  Right …

  “My car, now,” Antony snarled in a hushed voice.

  Gio cringed. “Dante drove me. My phone is in his car. So is my jacket.”

  “You can get them at dinner tonight.”

  The look Antony stabbed Gio with did not suggest his order was up for discussion.

  Still, Gio tried. “Didn’t you come with Ma?”

  “Dante will take her home. At least two of my sons are responsible enough that I can count on them to do things without having to ask or check after them every fucking second, never mind worrying about when I can’t.”

  Fuck. This was turning into an even worse day.

  “Dad—”

  “Go. To. My. Car. Gio.”

  Each word had been enunciated between clenched teeth. Gio wasn’t dealing with Antony his father, but Antony his boss. That didn’t bode well. Antony was laid-back when it came to Gio and business. Gio was a good capo. One of the highest earners in their Cosa Nostra family. Antony had his temperaments and he could turn into the cold crime boss everyone was afraid of in a blink. Gio was no exception to that.

  “Fine,” Gio said, walking down the long steps of the church while his father followed behind in an angry mess.

  In the car, the silence deafened. Antony didn’t turn the engine on, instead gripping the steering wheel and staring outside like he wished the world would swallow him whole.

  Gio figured he should talk or his father’s anger would grow until it exploded. “I didn’t know we would be coming to church today after the whole Pope thing.”

  “Of course we would come,” Antony muttered with a scoff. “Do you know how much money of mine that comes into this church flows to the Vatican? A lot, Gio. It might be for charity, but trust that the Pope is taking his fucking cut. The church has always worked this way. It’s just as corrupt as everything else in this damned world. We’re Catholics, son. We’re always going to be Catholics whether we’re Mafioso or not. We’ll attend church like we always have regardless of the opinions coming out of Italy.”

  Antony glanced at Gio from the side, sighing. “Your eye looks awful. Learn how to use concealer to ward your mother’s worry off. Did you at least win?”

  Gio snorted. The amusement quickly faded. He couldn’t remember if he won the boxing match or not.

  “Well?” Antony asked.

 
“I …” Gio didn’t want to admit his memory loss to his father.

  “Oh, Gio.”

  “Probably,” Gio said to deflect his father’s sudden interest in staring at him like he was a lost little boy. When Antony treated him like a child in need of extra attention rather than a man who wanted to be left alone, Gio got sick of it fast. “I usually win.”

  “Giovanni.”

  Gio looked out the window, avoiding his father. “What?”

  “Business is good and the streets are still what you want to do, right? I could figure something else out if it’s not.”

  It was all Gio had ever wanted to do.

  “I love doing this. You know that. I’m not going back to school at twenty-five. That’s not going to happen.”

  “I figured,” Antony replied, scowling.

  The streets and being a capo were the only reasons Gio didn’t have his inheritance like his brothers did. Antony demanded his sons have an education and a career that didn’t involve the mafia to receive their inheritance. Gio dropped out of college two years in and put all his energy and time into being the Skip.

  Sure, his brothers were financially better off than him, but Gio didn’t want to live the same kind of high-end life Lucian and Dante did. Besides, his offshore accounts toted enough to keep him comfortable.

  “You should be proud of me, you know,” Gio said, trying to keep his voice level and the emotion out of it. “I work fucking hard. I provide for myself. I always have from the day I dropped out of college. I didn’t ask for anything from you. I did it myself because that’s what you would have wanted me to do.”

  Antony shook his head, sadness coloring his familiar green eyes. “And you barely keep your head above water all the while, Gio. You don’t know what it’s like for your mother and me. Worrying constantly. I don’t want to worry about you, son. I want to trust you’re capable of being an adult all of the time, not only part of it.”

  That pissed Gio off like nothing else. He didn’t want to hear a repeat lecture. “Fuck off. I’m done talking.”

  Antony’s hands slammed into the steering wheel so hard something snapped. Whether that was the car or a bone, Gio wasn’t sure. His father didn’t even flinch. “How long are you going to do this? Walking around in a haze all the fucking time. Living off your attitude and cocky bullshit keeping you going on the streets. I get you want to do things your own way. It doesn’t necessarily mean you’re going to be like Dante or Lucian. Damn it, Gio, I’ve realized that for years.”