Filthy Marcellos: Dante

by Bethany-Kris

  “Just because,” Dante said huskily.

  “Might give you something to look at while they’re hauling you away, huh?”

  Dante felt his entire body slump into the wall. “Cat …”

  Catrina walked the shoes she’d chosen over to the stool and set both pairs down side by side. She wouldn’t look at him, and instead, kept her gaze zoned in on the leather stool. “You can’t leave me here alone. Not for that long.”

  Dante crossed the few feet of space between him and his wife in a blink and two long strides. He caught her hands in his own, pushing her back across the walk-in closet until her shoulders met the ceiling-high mirror. She gasped sharply when he kissed her painfully hard, drawing her bottom lip between his teeth to bite down. Dante didn’t speak his wants, he simply took from his wife because that was exactly how Catrina liked it. Her dress pooled to the floor with his pants, heels dug into his thighs when he lifted her against the mirror …

  And then she begged him to stay.

  • • •

  “Fucking teenagers,” Dante growled, stumbling over a pair of pink Nikes in the middle of his kitchen floor. “They leave shit everywhere!”

  Antony laughed on the other end of the phone. “How often do you say that in a day?”

  “More than I want to admit.” Dante kicked the fucking shoes under the table so they wouldn’t be in the way. “They’re worse than toddlers, Dad.”

  “Mmm, I know. I had three of my own, remember.”

  “We weren’t that bad,” Lucian said on his side of the call.

  “Well, I was,” Gio mumbled, still half-asleep.

  “You were,” Antony agreed with his youngest.

  Dante laughed quietly. His worry had led him to call his father, who had three-way called Lucian, who had then added Gio to the conversation to see if any new information had come in over the last few hours. None had.

  “It could be worse,” Lucian said.

  “Oh, how?” Dante asked.

  “You could be wondering where your son is tonight.”

  The line fell silent.

  “Give him time,” Antony finally said after a good thirty seconds. “Johnathan will come out of this difficult stage eventually. He’s just making his own path, son.”

  “My bet is he’s with that cute brunette he met at dinner,” Gio said quietly.

  “She’s connected,” Lucian said heatedly. “And he isn’t made, so it isn’t like he’s got a badge of fucking protection keeping his ass from getting shot because he wants to get his dick wet.”

  “I could give him his button,” Dante suggested.

  “Over my dead body. When I say he’s earned it, he can have it. He’s got some fucking growing up to do yet.”

  “Let him graduate first,” Antony put in.

  Lucian huffed. “I don’t get it. How did my kid turn out to be such a defiant little … Anyway, how, when Gio’s kid is practically a fucking angel?”

  Gio laughed. “My son is not an angel. Believe me. Andino just knows better than to hide shit from me or lie. Besides, there’s nothing he could do that I haven’t already done a dozen times over. I know when my kid is up to something, and he knows what I expect from him.”

  “And I thought Gio would be the lax one on rules and discipline,” Antony noted more to himself than his sons.

  “I didn’t say he had rules,” Gio replied. “I said I had expectations he knows to follow without me telling him to.”

  A door opened on the end of one of the other calls, but Dante wasn’t sure whose. Gio’s next words explained it. “Get up, Andino.”

  “Dio, what the fuck, Papà? Stop throwing shit on me.”

  “Watch that mouth of yours, stolto. Get up, I said.”

  “Why? It’s like … two in the morning!”

  “We’re going out. John, you know.”

  “Gio, you don’t have to—” Lucian’s words were cut off by his youngest brother’s dismissive grunt.

  “Too late, I woke the kid up and left Kim in bed alone so I guess you can owe me. Besides, you know Andino. Ride or die with John, right? Maybe I’ll let him knock some sense into the kid tonight when we find him.”

  Gio said his goodbye, promised to meet up with Dante bright and early, and then hung up his end of the call. Lucian was quick to say his goodbye shortly after, as well. It was only Antony and Dante left, then.

  “History repeating,” Antony murmured. “I can’t count the amount of times one of you boys kept me up like that. Hell, you’re still keeping me up worrying, Dante.”

  Dante smiled even though his father couldn’t see it. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be.”

  “What if—”

  “Let’s not start playing those hypothetical games, Dante,” Antony interrupted gently. “I know what you’re thinking, and I know why you called me, son.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes, and if after all this time, you still haven’t figured it out, you probably never will. You’re not like me, Dante. You won’t ever be. It doesn’t matter how careful you are, nothing is a guarantee for your freedom in this life. You chose it, now you handle it. With me, they tried hard. You were ten the first time they tried to put me in for five to fifteen. I got a little smarter each time.”

  “But you never spent any time behind bars, Dad.”

  “Lucky,” Antony replied, like it should have been obvious. “Your time totals up to a few months, Lucian’s got a year and a half under his belt, much to Jordyn’s dismay.”

  “Gio is the only one who hasn’t done any time of us three and that’s the biggest surprise of it all.”

  “Not really. Gio’s got a lot of my luck keeping his head above water. He always did. Good thing, otherwise he would have been dead years ago.”

  “Sprinkle some of that fucking fairy dust on me, huh?”

  Antony chuckled. “Trust your lawyer, son. I always did.”

  “My lawyer is Gio.”

  “Hey, I didn’t raise any fucking idiots.”

  • • •

  Two days later …

  Mob Boss Walks Away From Charges with Probation, the headline read.

  “Dante Antony Marcello, the alleged Cosa Nostra Don of the long-reigning Marcello crime family has again walked away unscathed on another round of charges.”

  Dante scoffed. “Unscathed, right. Two years of probation isn’t totally unscathed.”

  “Stop with your complaining,” Catrina ordered, reaching over to smack Dante’s shoulder from where she stood. “Volunteer at a goddamn animal shelter or something. You like cats.”

  “I hate cats.”

  “You like dogs.”

  “I hate dogs.”

  “Shut up, Dante. You’re working my last nerve.”

  Not wanting to piss his wife off and send Catrina into one of her tirades, Dante sipped from his hot coffee. His son and daughter milled around the kitchen, listening to their mother read the morning paper while they readied for school. Thankfully, his kids were too interested in the news article to be arguing back and forth with one another. Dante’s story was front page, as it usually was when something went down publicly in the Marcello family.

  Catrina continued to read. “The prosecution cites Dante Marcello’s previous arrests and convictions as reasons for why the purported Don should have been looking at actual time behind bars. The judge on the case declined to comment. When the man of the hour left the courthouse, he remained silent as the hoard of media gathered waiting for a statement.”

  Dante sighed, glancing up at the ceiling. “His wife, on the other hand …”

  Catrina grinned wickedly. “I said no comment, Dante, just like you told me to.”

  “And gave them the finger at the same time!”

  Catherine and Michel snickered from where they now sat on the edge of the counter.

  “Is there a picture of that, Ma?” Michel asked.

  “No,” Catrina replied, tossing the paper to the table. “Too bad, I might have like
d to keep it.”

  “Don’t rule it out, yet,” Dante muttered.

  “I guess uncle Gio got that bribe through, huh?” Catherine asked.

  Dante caught his wife’s gaze at their daughter’s question, his words from days ago being silently said again. Neither he nor Cat had mentioned to Catherine a thing about Giovanni paying anyone off to get Dante a lighter sentence. It was yet another hint as to their daughter’s observation skills and interest in their business.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Catrina replied, giving her daughter a smile that was anything but innocent.

  “Sure, Ma.” Catherine jumped down from the counter, plucking her messenger bag up from the floor. She waved at the forgotten newspaper in the middle of the table. “You should clip that and hang it on the fridge or something.”

  “Catherine, I don’t need to be reminded of this every damned day,” Dante said, shaking his head. “It can be thrown out.”

  “But we’re Marcellos, Papà.”

  “So?”

  “We might as well own it.”

  About the Author

  Bethany-Kris is a Canadian author, lover of much, and mother to three very young sons, one cat, and two dogs. A small town in Eastern Canada where she was born and raised is where she has always called home. With her boys under her feet, a snuggling cat, barking dogs, and a spouse calling over his shoulder, she is nearly always writing something ... when she can find the time.

  Find her on www.bethanykris.com, Facebook, her blog, or Twitter - @BethanyKris.

  Sign up to Bethany-Kris’s New Release Newsletter email list to receive notifications when new releases are out.

  Acknowledgments

  I owe so many people so many thanks, hugs, and love for their work, time, and effort with this series. Elle, Dixie, Tracy, you know I love and adore you. And thank you for loving and adoring me, too.

  To my readers, you have my sincerest, most heartfelt gratitude and always—always—my love for making these stories what they are when you read them. I put them down to paper, but your enjoyment makes them come alive for me. That means more than you know.

  To the real Filthy man who inspired these brothers—Lucky, I hope you’re resting well up there.

  Finally, to my hubby and sons who listened to me key these stories out, went without me for dinners, drives, and family time just so I could get these brothers out of my head. Thank you. And I love you for being a constant and unwavering support for me, D.

  Be Filthy,

  —Kris

  Other Books by this Author

  The Russian Guns Series

  A Russian mob boss and his Italian mafia princess made Russian queen battle through threats, death, betrayal, and life to keep their indomitable, merciless crime family and their love alive. Through it all, they hold tight to the one thing they need the most—each other. But how do you survive hurting the one person you love with your entire soul just to save them?

  The Arrangement, Book One

  The Life, Book Two

  The Score, Book Three

  Demyan & Ana: A Russian Guns Novella, Book Four (Standalone)

  Shattered: A Russian Guns Novel, Book Five (Standalone)

  For more information, visit Bethany-Kris’s website at www.bethanykris.com.

  Coming Soon

  The Chicago War

  A Filthy Marcellos Spinoff

  Deathless & Divided (Book One)

  Reckless & Ruined (Book Two)

  Scarless & Sacred (Book Three)

  Breathless & Bloodstained (Book Four)

  Copyright © 2015 by Bethany-Kris. All rights reserved.

  WARNING: The unauthorized distribution or reproduction of this copyrighted work is illegal. No parts of this work may be used, reproduced, or printed without expressed written consent by the author/publisher. Exceptions are made for small excerpts used in reviews.

  ISBN: 978-0-9937797-5-6

  Cover Art © AS photo

  Editor: Elle Leigh

  This is work of fiction. Characters, names, places, corporations, organizations, institutions, locales, and so forth are all the product of the author’s imagination, or if real, used fictitiously. Any resemblance to a person, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.