Filthy Marcellos: Dante

by Bethany-Kris

  The mess of crates and boxes wasn’t nearly as bad on the other side of the warehouse. It was a heck of a lot easier to make his way through and it didn’t feel like such a maze. Dante reached the open space where the car must have been parked in no time at all. In the back of his mind, he was still counting down. Maybe what, thirty seconds?

  The sight of the heavy bars barricading the front entrance closed sent rage swelling in Dante. A hand landed to his shoulder, making him shout. “Jesus, Lucian!”

  “Look,” Lucian said, nodding up at the top of the metal garage door. Dante followed his direction, noticing the door was lifted and closed by a mechanical motor. There was no button anywhere in sight, though. “We can pry it up, but it’s going to be hard.”

  “You got that last guy right?” Dante asked. Lucian nodded. “All right, let’s open this fucker and get the hell out of here.”

  Lucian tossed his Uzi to the side, bending down with Dante to pry at the bottom of the metal door. Lifting the sheets of connected metal was anything but easy. Every muscle in Dante’s body protested at the weight bearing down from the door. When the door was up to Dante’s waste, he nodded for his brother to go under first. With Lucian on the other side, holding the bottom of the door again, Dante quickly slipped out, too.

  The metal smashed down to the cement with a bang as soon as they let it go.

  Standing straight, Dante took notice of two things immediately. His wife’s coat, shoes, and the new knife was all tossed in a pile on the ground. Second, a familiar black car was parked, engine running and the back door open only feet away from the front of the warehouse. Lucian laughed at the sight of Gio’s car, but it was strained. Dante could hear it and it shredded his heart to pieces.

  They still didn’t have John.

  And God, where was Catrina?

  “Come on!” Gio shouted from inside the car.

  Dante and Lucian didn’t need to be told again. They jumped into the back of Gio’s car, landing one on top of the other. Gio pushed the gas pedal to the floor, forcing the backdoor to close and sending Lucian’s elbow jabbing with damning force into Dante’s rib. He kicked his brother off of him.

  “Ow, you asshole!”

  Lucian didn’t say a thing as he pushed himself up in the seat. “Where is my son?”

  “I think I know,” Gio said. “Maybe … Cristo, I hope so, anyway.”

  Gio didn’t sound like he was excited about his idea of Johnathan’s whereabouts, so that only worried Dante more.

  “Wh—”

  Lucian didn’t get to finish his question. The impact of the bomb going off behind them was like a wave of pressure hitting the back of their car. The volcanic-like sound from before had nothing on this blast. Both Lucian and Dante ducked down instinctively, though they were too far away to get any hit from the bomb, now.

  “Holy shit,” Gio hissed, the car jerking to the side as he took a sharp right turn. “Well, that makes cleanup on our end easy.”

  “Where are we going?” Dante asked.

  “To get your wife and John.”

  “He was in the car?” Lucian asked, his voice turning deadly.

  Dante could see Gio’s cringe as their younger brother said, “Uh …”

  Lucian slammed his hand into the back of Gio’s shoulder. “What? Tell me!”

  “When I first got the feed up, I watched who she said was Bruno put a large duffel bag into the trunk.”

  “A duffel bag?”

  “That’s what I saw, nothing else,” Gio said quickly.

  Lucian’s eyes turned practically black with his fury. Dante sunk into the seat, the anxiety beating hard in his chest again. He refused to show his fear, but it was hard to ignore it completely.

  Gio glanced into the rear-view mirror. “We’re not far from the GPS location for Catrina. It only went maybe three or four blocks before it stopped.”

  Dante stayed silent as the car weaved through back streets, warehouses flying by. Gio seemed to know where he was going without even looking at the map sporting a single red dot on his laptop in the passenger seat. Dante wasn’t surprised Gio knew the area. The shipping district has always been a specialty of his and Lucian’s.

  Gio slammed on the breaks and put the car in park, sending Lucian and Dante jerking forward. Dante didn’t need to ask why his brother had stopped so suddenly. A white car had half-parked in a narrow alleyway between two buildings. Something was happening inside the vehicle, because it shuddered with movement.

  Dante was pushing out of Gio’s car before either of his brothers. Lucian was right on his heels. He reached for his gun as he approached the car, but again, realized he had lost it. Dante didn’t give a shit if he had a gun or not.

  Certainly not when he saw a man he didn’t recognize choking the very life out of his wife in the front seat. Dante moved fast around the vehicle, rage simmering hot in his blood. His wife was one hell of a fighter because the man’s—Bruno’s—face was torn to shreds with scratches and claw marks.

  Dante yanked open the passenger’s side door at the same time Gio opened the driver’s. The first thing his brother did was find the latch and pop open the trunk. Catrina’s face was red, tears streaking down her cheeks as she tried futility to take in oxygen. The hands around her throat were raw from Catrina’s fingernails tearing into the skin.

  Instantly, Catrina’s wide, frightened hazel eyes met her husband’s above her. Shock registered in Bruno’s gaze at the same time.

  Lucian choked out a painful noise at the back of the car. “Oh, God, John. Papà’s here, John. Daddy’s here, sweet boy.”

  “You’re going to die,” Dante snarled, his fist snapping out and crunching against Bruno’s nose the moment the words left his lips.

  Gio seized the man’s legs, dragging him from the car as Dante grabbed his wife around the waist and pulled her out on his side. Shouts rang out from the other side of the vehicle before two hard smacks shut the fool up. Gio’s boot, likely.

  Dante’s hands fluttered over his wife’s face, noting the bruise under her eye and the split lip seeping blood. His anger welled harder as the tears fell from Catrina’s eyes again, her sobs growing in intensity. Dante had only seen his wife cry once.

  Catrina didn’t cry and he knew she wouldn’t want anyone, even family, seeing her in that state. Dante wiped the wetness from his wife’s face, kissing her bruised lip gently. “Shhh, I got you, dolcezza.”

  Catrina nodded wildly. “I know, you always do.”

  Yeah, and he always fucking would, too.

  “Crazy girl.”

  “I love you, bello.”

  “Ti amo, Catrina. Sempre.”

  “Always,” she repeated in English.

  “I thought you knew the rules,” Dante said, checking the awful hand and fingerprints around her pale neck.

  “I’m sorry,” Catrina cried, her sobbing starting up again.

  “No, you’re not.”

  Catrina shook her head. “No, I’m not.”

  Dante looked over his wife’s shoulder to see Lucian cradling a screaming Johnathan.

  “We gotta get out of here soon,” Gio said, resting his arms on the top of the car. “We still need to get the other car, too.”

  “He dead yet?” Lucian asked.

  “No, but he’s enjoying the taste of the heel of my boot right now.”

  Lucian passed a look at Dante, asking a question without even saying a word.

  Can I, or do you want it?

  Dante didn’t want to let Catrina go. “Take it, man.”

  Lucian moved around the side of the car, handing Johnathan to Gio. As Gio walked away, he covered his nephew with his coat. Lucian forced a severely bleeding and dazed Bruno to his feet. Dante didn’t bother to make his wife look away as the man was backed into the brick wall of the building.

  The gun his older brother loved—Lucian’s ever faithful Eagle—was shoved so far into Bruno’s mouth the man gagged.

  When Lucian pulled the hammer back, B
runo’s gaze flicked to Catrina.

  Catrina smirked and whispered, “Boom.”

  • • •

  Dante stood frozen to the spot in the entrance foyer of his parents’ home. His shoes felt as if someone had poured cement in them, making him unable to move. Catrina didn’t seem to notice his plight as she went about pulling off her jacket and booted heels, putting the items into the large hallway closet.

  Once she was done with her things, she began to undress Michel from his coat, hat, and boots while Dante held the boy. Michel babbled away while his mother fussed over him, most of his words unintelligible. One word, however, stood out above the rest and was as clear as day: papà.

  Michel had already taken to calling Catrina his mamma, apparently by the encouragement of a picture from the nanny as Dante understood. As far as Dante went, it only took the child one week to begin calling him papà. It was fucking surreal, beautiful, and terrifying at the same time. Why? Because Michel looked at Dante like he was his favorite and most important person in the entire world. For Dante, there were no two people more significant to him than Catrina and Michel. Not now.

  Michel grinned, showing off the beginnings of his eyetooth breaking out from the bottom of his gum. It was giving the kid hell and Dante knew it. He’d spent three entire nights up soothing Michel because the boy seemed to calm easier with Dante when he was in pain.

  Dio, the boy was his son through and through. Blood or not, he just was.

  “Are you nervous, bello?”

  Dante gave his wife a once-over, eyeing the scarf she wore around her neck to hide the yellowed bruises Bruno’s hands had caused a week earlier. At least makeup covered the fading mark under her eye and that split lip the asshole gave her was gone. It still didn’t help. Dante’s rage flooded fast and swift like a destructive wave just at the thought alone.

  But, this was their world. The man was gone, as was his threat. Very few people knew what had happened, and that was the best thing for them all. The less people who knew, the less people would talk amongst themselves. No need to have the possibility of the officials finding out. As it was, they had enough to deal with from the investigation from the accident.

  “Yes,” Dante finally replied.

  Catrina patted his cheek with her palm, drawing his gaze to hers. “Don’t be. They’re your family and they will love him because he’s yours.”

  Dante sucked in a breath. “Ours, you mean.”

  “Sì, but I’m not the nervous one here.”

  True, Dante thought with a smile.

  Dante knew his anxiety was pointless in some ways. Michel had already met most of his immediate family, like his aunts and uncles. Like it always did, no matter how hard they tried to keep the boy a secret until they had proper papers for him, word spread through the grapevine that Dante had adopted a little boy who was Catrina’s biological son.

  At least the right damn story was being told.

  Unfortunately, adoption would stain Michel in a few eyes, and Dante couldn’t have that. He had wanted to wait one more week of having their son before confirming the rumors, but they didn’t have a choice what with the whispers. Today, they would properly introduce him as Catrina’s son, hopefully making the transition of Dante adopting the boy easier in others’ opinions.

  Dante despised the fact that he needed anyone’s approval at all, but that wasn’t how la famiglia worked.

  Cosa Nostra was more than just a thing, more than a chosen profession. It was a culture of people who came together for one common goal; people who believed in the life they lived. They all existed under the constant guide of rules and expectations, with loyalty and honor being a man’s everything. Being a boss didn’t matter, not to the grand scheme of things. La famiglia was more than one man—it was every man. It always would be.

  Dante was ridiculously thankful for his mother, even if she had been difficult at first about his marriage. The very next moment after she heard about Michel, she came to meet the boy and like Dante, fell instantly in love. Cecelia gently pointed out that if she knew, others were probably learning about the baby, too. A large Sunday breakfast was organized by Cecelia in just a quick couple of days. The woman was a tyrant.

  Not their usual private affair with just the brothers and wives, but instead, it was an open invitation to anyone in la famiglia. There wasn’t an idiot on earth who would shun Antony Marcello’s wife. Dante knew an open invitation meant everyone.

  Guessing by the sounds of voices traveling through the large hallway, most of the people were already there.

  “Ready?” Catrina asked.

  Dante swallowed back his nerves and nodded. Mostly, he didn’t want people to reject his son because Michel was so beautiful and loved entirely by his father. Others should love him, too. “Yeah, bella.”

  Catrina offered her hand and Dante took it without question. Together they walked through the foyer and hallway, taking their time to get to the large kitchen connected to the dining room. The moment they came into view at the entrance of the kitchen, heads turned and voices muted rapidly.

  Michel, seemingly oblivious to the tension his father was feeling, tugged on Dante’s shirt collar and stuck the fabric in his mouth to chew. Dante chuckled, letting go of his wife’s hand to take the inedible clothing from his son’s mouth, and kissing his tiny nose.

  “No eating daddy, piccolo.”

  “No Papà,” Michel babbled.

  A throat cleared at the same time Catrina’s hand found Dante’s again. His nervousness dissipated as he turned Michel to face the room of people filling the kitchen and dining room. He wanted them to see his child’s face so they could draw their own conclusions about his looks, especially the fact Michel shared some of the same features Catrina did. It would help with their story, if nothing else.

  Most of the guests didn’t know about Dante’s inability to have children. It wasn’t their business to, for one. Still, Dante had to remind himself that at the same time, they also couldn’t possibly know how important the little boy in his arms was to him; how much he needed and wanted this child.

  “Who do you have there?” Antony asked, stepping into Dante’s line of sight with arms outstretched to take his newest grandson. He had already met Michel earlier in the week, but Dante recognized his father’s words as a way to break the ice. Dante appreciated his father’s effort.

  Dante smiled. “Mio figlio.”

  My son.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Michel squirmed in his father’s lap, trying as hard as he could manage to get out of the tight grasp Dante had on him. When he couldn’t, Michel let out an angry wail. It echoed in the church, likely drawing the attention of most of the parishioners.

  Cat resisted the urge to flip whoever was watching them the bird. She doubted Father Peter would appreciate that kind of behavior.

  “Ah, none of that, mio regazzo,” Dante chided their son quietly.

  “Hand him down,” Lucian said, reaching for his Godson.

  “Zio!” Michel cried, tiny fingers clenching in his uncle’s direction.

  Cat didn’t bother to hide her relieved sigh when Michel quieted with Lucian. Dante chuckled, his hand finding his wife’s in the pew. Church was always a little more difficult with kids in hand, she had come to learn. Babies had no patience for services that took up most of their morning.

  A morning that could be better spent by crawling around on the floor trying to find pieces of dirt to eat. Cat didn’t try to understand her son, she simply loved him.

  “Guess what, bambino,” Lucian said, bouncing a happy Michel on his lap. “I have a surprise for you.”

  Jordyn smiled at her husband’s side, watching the exchange. Johnathan napped in her lap, his favorite blanket curled around his arm and over his head, keeping his face shielded from the light of the church.

  Cat was grateful her brother and sister-in-law had forgiven her for the things she had done. Family, they said. That’s what it was all about—what the Marcell
os were all about. Last Sunday, Jordyn and Lucian had become Michel’s Godparents. Unfortunately, they had to wait a little longer than they liked for the paperwork to be in order, but once it was, they wasted no time getting their child christened.

  Nonetheless, Cat was happy. Tired running after her boy, missing her husband as he seemed to be working too often lately, and feeling stressed from being pulled in so many directions … but she was happy.

  “What surprise?” Cat asked Lucian quietly, glancing behind her husband’s back down the pew.

  Lucian shrugged. “Ask your husband.”

  Dante’s fingers woven with Cat’s tightened. “Michel is going to go home with Lucian and Jordyn after supper tonight.”

  Cat’s mouth opened to protest immediately, but the look her husband gave her shut whatever words she was going to say down. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Lucian and Jordyn, but Cat had yet to spend a night apart from Michel since they brought him home where he belonged a month ago. She wasn’t sure she was ready to leave him with someone else.

  “Dante, I don’t—”

  “No arguments,” Dante interrupted. “Now, be a good girl and listen to the priest.”

  Cat pinched the inside of her husband’s hand, annoyed.

  Dante grinned, his voice turning to a whisper. “There’s those claws of yours I love. Sharpen them up, kitten.”

  Sweet Christ.

  • • •

  As soon as they walked into the condo’s kitchen, Cat’s back hit the wall with a hard thump. The air left her lungs in a burning whoosh as the warm palms of her husband began exploring her curves. Instantly, Dante’s fingers curled into the hem of Cat’s dress, bunching the fabric in his grasp and yanking it up over her body. The coolness of the kitchen pebbled her skin and hardened her nipples beneath the lace bra she wore.

  That feeling didn’t last long. Under Dante’s intense gaze, Cat heated right back up in a flash. The tips of his fingers dug into her sides, traveling around to her backside where he squeezed the flesh of her ass roughly.