Filthy Marcellos: Dante

by Bethany-Kris

  Filthy Marcellos: Dante

  Filthy Marcellos, Book Three

  by Bethany-Kris

  “Mafia is a process, not a thing. Mafia is a form of clan-cooperation to which its individual members pledge lifelong loyalty. Friendship, connections, family ties, trust, loyalty, obedience—this was the glue that held us together.”

  —Joe Bonanno,

  Former boss of the Cosa Nostra Bonanno crime family

  Dedication

  To my gram, for always being so supportive and for loving me as I am.

  Table of Contents

  Filthy Marcellos: Dante

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Other Books by this Author

  Coming Soon

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Control doesn’t always equal power.

  Dante Marcello had never been more aware of that statement until now.

  “I own forty percent of Marcello Industries. You can’t get rid—”

  “I can,” Antony interrupted calmly. “I own fifty. Giovanni owns ten. I’m paying you out, Dante.”

  Dante blinked, his hands balling into fists at his sides. The large wall-to-wall windows overlooked the city, a sight so familiar to him that he found it comforting. He spent eight hours a day, six days a goddamn week in this building. Marcello Industries had always been just as much his as it was his father’s. This didn’t make sense.

  “It’s time for you to stand on your own,” Antony said. “You’re capable, so show me.”

  “Stand on my own?” Dante’s anger vibrated through his entire body. “I’m twenty-eight-years-old. I’ve worked with this company since the day I graduated—”

  “You’ve worked for me.”

  “This is ridiculous!”

  “Is it?” Antony asked, opening his arms wide. “I’m asking you for something simple, Dante. That’s all.”

  “You’re upending my entire fucking life. Everything I’ve worked for.”

  “No, everything I’ve worked for. I want to see what you can do, now. Challenge me. Rival me. Surpass me. But you can’t be me, Dante. You have to be you.”

  His father pushed away from the edge of the desk, turned around, and grabbed a small slip of paper off the top. Antony held the check out to Dante, waiting patiently for him to take it.

  “Go on,” Antony urged.

  Dante eyed the check with too many zeros to count, his disdain making him sneer. “Fuck you. I don’t want your money, Dad.”

  “It’s your cashed out shares, so it’s not mine.”

  He couldn’t believe how unaffected his father seemed to be. Like this entire show was nothing for him.

  “Burn it,” Dante spat. “I don’t want it.”

  “You’ve rallied against everything I’ve asked of you. You said it, son. You’re twenty-eight—nearly twenty-nine. This is more than Marcello Industries right now. It’s only one thing. Think about it. If you won’t step out on your own willingly and begin your life, then I will force you to.”

  Dante swallowed the burning fury scalding his throat. “You’re talking about marriage. Again.”

  And doing in it a really shitty way, Dante thought.

  “Marcello Industries is just one thing,” his father repeated. “It’s a start, though.”

  “I—”

  “You’re capable, Dante. Show me.”

  • • •

  Dante slammed the office door open so hard it crashed into the wall with a bang. Gio stood from his chair, arm outstretched with a gun pointing at the door and the hammer cocking back. Cain growled from his spot at his master’s feet. The moment his younger brother knew who intruded on his space, the weapon lowered.

  “What in the fuck are you trying to do, get your head blown off?” Gio asked bitingly.

  “Did you know?”

  “Seriously, doing shit like that is liable to earn you a bullet, Dante. We’ve got issues on the streets right now, and the last thing I need is people rushing my office like a fucking idiot. You’re goddamn lucky I’m a see first and shoot second kind of man. Lucian or Dad would have popped your stupid ass.”

  Dante ignored his brother’s rant. “Did you know?”

  Gio set the gun to the desk. “I just asked—”

  “What Dad was going to do to me with Marcello Industries, did you know, Gio?” The expression on his younger brother’s face said he didn’t. Dante fell into the closest chair as bitterness raged. “I guess you wouldn’t. He doesn’t need your sign off. You’ve only got a ten percent share.”

  “That I don’t even use,” Gio said like his brother ought to already know. “I get a payout once monthly into an account I never touch.”

  Dante glanced at Gio. “What the hell do you do with it, then?”

  “Pay taxes on it and shuffle it around between other accounts to pillow illegal funds.”

  Made sense. Dante chewed on his cheek, irritated. “This is crazy.”

  “What happened?” Gio asked, resting into his chair.

  “He paid me out.” Dante winced, remembering the check he tossed into his father’s garbage can. “Tried to. I refused the money.”

  “How much?”

  “That’s what you want to know, really?”

  Gio shrugged. “Curious about the company’s worth.”

  “Four-hundred-million.”

  “Whoa.”

  “Yeah,” Dante said, sighing. “He’s in everything, you know. Marcello Industries has a hand in fucking everything. The last five years alone it’s doubled in value.”

  Gio cleared his throat, shooting Dante with a look. “Since you signed on after college.”

  “Exactly.”

  “But you’ve focused hard on developmental projects with real estate and investing. Dad goes all in everywhere else, including those.”

  Dante frowned. “What are you getting at?”

  “Your attention is better spent where you’re great and not just good.”

  “So?”

  “So, why would Antony keep you in a place that’s only going to hold you back by making you focus on several pictures instead of just the one?”

  “Fuck you,” Dante muttered, his anger coming back rapidly. “You don’t get it.”

  “Why, because I don’t own a twenty-million dollar condo on Fifth Avenue and I don’t want to? Shit, Dante, I can see Dad’s point, even if he has a crappy way of proving it. He’s going to make you do what you’re good at instead of eventually forcing you to take over a company you might not want in thirty years.”

  “It’s Marcello Industries for a reason, asshole.”

  Gio nodded. “Sure, but companies sell out all the time and he’s fifty-eight-years-old.”

  Dante canted his head, something in the lilt of his brother’s tone catching his attention. “What does his age have to do with this?”

  “Nothing. I didn’t mean it like that, I just—”

  “Liar. What aren’t you telling me?”

  Gio wouldn’t meet Dante’s stare. “Dante—”

  “Tell me, Gi
o,” Dante demanded.

  “A few months ago, after Johnathan’s Christening …”

  “What about it?”

  “It wasn’t just about Marcello Industries, was it? Today, whatever he said to you, it was probably more than just the business. Am I right?”

  Dante’s jaw ticked. “Maybe.”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  Dante’s opinion on the topic of marriage was well-known to his family. As in, he didn’t want to be married at all. His life was a thoroughly planned event and always had been. The most important goal he wanted to achieve was just beyond his reach—being the Don of the Marcello Cosa Nostra. He wouldn’t be considered until a woman stood at his side wearing a wedding band and toting his last name.

  It was completely fucking absurd, but that was the Commission’s demand.

  “Has Dad told you, yet?” Gio asked.

  Dante frowned. “Told me what?”

  “I can’t believe he hasn’t told you. We’ve got a Commission meeting in six months and—”

  Whatever patience Dante had left was gone. “Told me what?”

  “I’m not surprised he’s paying you out and forcing you into your own thing, especially where Marcello Industries is concerned. He’s ready to retire.”

  Dante’s mind fell silent, his thoughts leaving right along with his ability to talk.

  “Lucian is not going to take over the family. I’m too young and I’m not made for it. You’ve got six months to get your shit figured out. Have you been seeing anyone?” Gio asked quietly.

  Dante leaned back in the chair, the ceiling gaining his attention. “No.”

  “Not even for a quick fuck?”

  “Well, that’s not what you asked, little brother. Really, I don’t have much time for that at the moment, either.”

  “If someone is good enough to sleep with, why isn’t she good enough to date, Dante?”

  Dante could ask his brother the same goddamn thing about his past ventures with women, but Gio was married now, so the point would be moot.

  “It’s just marriage,” Gio continued. “What are you scared of?”

  Not being able to give a woman the normal things that came along with marriage and love. Failing at one thing in life that should come easy, but likely wouldn’t. Beginning something with someone only to have it end eventually.

  Dante wouldn’t admit those things out loud. “A woman isn’t going to make me a better boss.”

  “But she might make you a better man, Dante. And I bet that’s what you’re most afraid of.”

  • • •

  A week later, Dante found himself downing a rum and coke while listening to men bark at one another.

  “I’m telling you, there’s a huge problem on the streets right now,” Gio said, his frustration starting to show.

  “In your streets, maybe,” Lucian replied. “Mine are fine.”

  “Mine, too,” Leo, a capo, said.

  “Well, mine are seeing a hit,” Val, another Marcello capo at the far booth, put in. “I’m with Giovanni on this one. There’s something happening there.”

  “The coke, right?” Gio asked.

  “Mostly,” Val agreed. “It’s not selling at all. Blow sells, Lucian. It’s like fucking pop rocks candy.”

  “I know it sells well because I don’t have a problem selling it.” Lucian blew out a harsh breath, shooting Dante a look. “What do you think?”

  Dante shrugged. “We import the shit, so it’s hard to say.”

  “What’s the importing having anything to do with it not selling on the goddamn streets?” Leo asked.

  Dante was five seconds away from telling Leo to eat his gun. He had little to no patience for this nonsense today. Besides, it wasn’t supposed to be his day to deal with these men. Once a month, all nineteen of the Marcello capos gathered to pay their dues to Dante’s father. Seventy percent of everything they made cash-wise was handed over, drinks were had, and issues discussed. Antony, in all the years Dante could remember, had never missed a tribute.

  Chancing a glance at his watch, Dante realized his father was already an hour late. Practically unheard of for the Marcello Don. “Where’s Antony?”

  Every capo in the room perked at the question. None of the men seemed entirely surprised that Antony wasn’t there, but rather, interested in why Dante asked.

  “I thought you would know. Paulie isn’t here, either,” Gio said, his brow furrowing.

  “Huh?” Dante asked. “Why would I—”

  He shut his mouth before he said something stupid. Antony, Paulie, and Dante all held the three highest positions in their Cosa Nostra family. It was Dante’s responsibility to know what was going on with the other men around him, being his father’s underboss and all. Saying he didn’t know would only make him look like a fool.

  Something he surely didn’t fucking need.

  “Torno subito,” Dante said, excusing himself and pushing out of the booth.

  Dante made sure he was hidden from view when he pulled out his cellphone and called his father. He hadn’t spoken to his father in a week since their fight. It was unheard of for them, but he was still pissed off about Marcello Industries. Dante figured keeping some space would let his anger ebb.

  It hadn’t.

  “Ciao,” Antony greeted, his voice far too cheerful for Dante’s liking.

  “Where are you?” Dante asked immediately. “It’s tribute and your capos are waiting.”

  Fuck pleasantries. It wasn’t the time.

  “I’m taking your mother to dinner and a show. She bought a new dress. I wanted to show her off.”

  “What?”

  “I said—”

  “Dio, I heard what you said. Where the fuck is Paulie, then?”

  “Bowling.”

  Bowling?

  Bowling!

  Dante stared at the wall, wondering what in the hell had become of his life. “Are you serious?”

  “You can call Paulie and ask him which hall he’s at. And if you don’t believe me about my plans tonight, would you like to speak to your mother? She can tell you which movie we’re seeing after our meal.”

  “No, I don’t want to speak to my fucking—” Dante stopped himself, pinching the bridge of his nose as he tried to regain some sense of control. Or at least the semblance of it. “Please tell me it’s your age making your mind go, you forgot the date, and that’s why you did this to me today. Because otherwise, the only thing I can come up with is the fact you’re being an asshole over last week.”

  Antony was silent for longer than Dante liked before saying, “Did you just call me old?”

  “Dad—”

  “No, now you’ve pissed me off by calling me old. That’s unacceptable. I’m not coming to tribute, Dante, so deal with it like you would any other time.”

  “You’re here any other time!”

  “Am I really?” Antony asked.

  “Tell me, is this about last week?”

  “Cristo, son, come on. Why would I be angry about last week? I made the choice to pay you out, not the other way around. I wanted it to happen. It’s just tribute, Dante. You can fill me in later.”

  “There’s issues these men need to discuss with you,” Dante said, trying to make his father see reason.

  Nothing his jumbled mind came up with explained his father’s sudden behavior and lack of interest in his famiglia.

  “So, they can discuss it with you, Dante,” Antony replied quietly. “Like they have been for the last few months at every tribute.”

  Dante’s brow furrowed as he considered his father’s words. “But, you’ve been here.”

  “Staying in the shadows, yes. My involvement was very little. If you didn’t notice me letting you take the reins every once in a while, that’s not my fault. Get some observation skills. You’re going to need them soon.”

  Thunderstruck, Dante felt a headache begin to throb. “You could have called me, Dad. Given me a little warning you weren’t going to be he
re.”

  “Phone works both ways, son. I wasn’t the bitter one this week, you were. Instead of trying to talk it out with me, or even discuss what you wanted to do after Marcello Industries, you ignored me. I simply let you.”

  “You’re making me look like an idiot here.”

  “No, I’m making you look like a Don.”

  With that, Antony hung up the call.

  “Everything all right?”

  Dante slipped the phone in his pocket as he turned to face Lucian. His older brother’s approach had been quiet, but Dante knew he was there before Lucian said a word. “I don’t know.”

  Lucian’s brow lifted, amusement playing on the corner of his mouth. “That’s a pretty shitty answer.”

  “Dad’s not coming.”

  “I figured.”

  Why was everyone else completely unsurprised at Antony’s no-show?

  “I don’t think he’s going to be coming to any of these for a while,” Dante added quieter.

  “Figured that, too,” Lucian said, shrugging. “What’s wrong?”

  Dante met his brother’s unbothered stare. “Am I ready for what this means?”

  “Guess we’re going to find out.”

  • • •

  “Antony is indisposed with his wife and Paulie is busy, so let’s continue as we usually would,” Dante said.

  “Sure.”

  “Got it, boss.”

  “Back to the issue with the blow, then,” Gio said, nodding at Val.

  Dante didn’t show his surprise at the title of boss. Acting like he fit the bill seemed a better plan, anyway. “Yes, back to that.”

  Leaning back against the booth, Dante tapped his fingers to the table’s edge as the men spoke. Since Antony had made his status on his position clear to the men by not showing, as well as Paulie not coming to tribute, Dante’s new role was expected. Being acting boss meant a lot of things, but mostly, it meant he had control, and he needed to damn well act like it. So, instead of sitting in the booth like before, he stood at the ready, commanding.

  “There is no issue,” Leo stated, waving his hand dismissively in Gio’s direction. “He just doesn’t want to admit he might be losing a little bit of his touch, that’s all. Skip’s got problems, but only in his own mind.”