Filthy Marcellos: Legacy: A Legacy Prequel

by Bethany-Kris

  The Marcello family home was massive.

  “Passcode, please,” a robotic voice commanded from the speaker Gio was talking into.

  “Seven, two, six, nine, five, five,” his uncle replied.

  “Please speak your name clearly for voice recognition.”

  “Giovanni David Marcello.”

  The speaker buzzed for a split second before the gate shuddered and began to open automatically. Gio pulled the car through the opening the moment the vehicle could fit through. It never failed to amaze John how careful and protective their family was about keeping their private lives hidden from public view. He understood, of course, but it was still amusing.

  “Voice recognition?” John asked. “When did Antony have that put in?”

  “A year ago.”

  “Why?”

  Gio stilled in his seat. “Just because, I suppose.”

  “Are you being purposely difficult, or what?”

  Quickly, Gio put the car into park at the mid-way point on the driveway between the gate and the house.

  “He put it in because he’s not young, John. He’s eighty-seven and he doesn’t like to be reminded of the things he’s not capable of doing at his age. He’s not quick on his feet, his eyesight is terrible, and he wants his wife to feel safe.”

  “What happened to the guard he had?”

  “You’ll see,” Gio muttered as he put the car in drive again. “Just don’t say anything to him about his age or the changes. It bothers him and then Cecelia gets pissy.”

  “I got it.”

  “Good.”

  John found the guard in question the moment the front entrance to the Marcello home was in full view. Dressed in all black, the man rested beside a dark sedan with a cigarette in one hand and a gun at his waist. John knew the man had to be the guard because no one else was permitted to smoke in front of the Marcello home. They had areas designated for that sort of thing.

  “He’s keeping him closer,” John noted.

  “Yeah.”

  “Any particular reason why?”

  Gio shrugged. “You can never be too safe.”

  Why didn’t John believe that?

  “Hey,” Gio said quietly.

  John gave his uncle a look. “Hmm?”

  “You good?”

  “Yeah.”

  His tension was still there, dancing hand in hand with his anxiety. Three years in lock-up was a long time to be gone. How many things had changed since he’d went to prison? How much more distance had he forced between him and his family in that time?

  Gio turned the car off and put his hand on the door handle. “For the record, John …”

  “What about it?”

  “I thought you made the right choice three years ago.”

  John’s brow furrowed. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “When your father bribed the judge with the option of an institution or jail time. I thought you made the right choice.”

  Well, that was not what John expected to hear.

  “Why is that?”

  “Because despite how irrational everything you were doing seemed to be, I don’t believe for a second that any hospital in the country would have sorted you out like prison did. Thirty days in an institution with a couple of therapists, new meds, and little else wasn’t what you needed. Time was what you needed, John. You still got the doctors, you got the meds, but you also got the break. You made the right choice.”

  John let out a slow breath. “Who else feels that way?”

  Gio laughed. “I know what you’re asking without outright asking it.”

  “So?”

  “Your mother is probably at the front door about ready to blow it down and come out here.”

  John nodded, knowing his uncle wasn’t going to answer his question. “I better get my ass into the house before she comes out.”

  “Yeah, probably. I bet your father is waiting, too.”

  “We haven’t talked a lot since I went in.”

  “All you had to do was pick up the phone, John.”

  John glanced at the mansion. “I know.”

  “Lucian thinks you made the right choice for you. In case you were wondering.”

  “I wasn’t.”

  “Lying is a terrible habit, Johnathan.”

  It was.

  But John was too damned good at it.

  Chapter Three

  “Oh, il mio ragazzo!”

  John barely heard the words come out of his mother’s mouth before he was engulfed in tiny arms that squeezed him nearly to death. For such a tiny thing, his mother was strong as hell. She literally knocked him off balance, forcing them both to spin in a half circle so they were facing the front door and not the large entryway like before.

  “Hey, Ma,” John said, letting her crush him for all she was worth.

  Gio grinned as he strolled on past.

  Asshole.

  He could have helped John a little. Physical expressions of emotions and John had never mixed well together. Not unless he was the one doing the expressing. And when he physically expressed emotions, it usually never ended well for anyone involved. Mushy, lovey nonsense didn’t do very damned much for him, either.

  Jordyn squeezed her son harder. “I missed you.”

  “You saw me a few months ago, Ma.”

  “So?”

  John bent down when Jordyn finally loosened her grip around his chest and gave his mother a quick kiss to the cheek. “So nothing, Ma. I missed you, too.”

  Jordyn’s face lit up with happiness.

  Guilt stabbed at John’s insides.

  He didn’t verbally express his feelings very well, either. He felt a lot of shit, and that was just the by-product of his disorder, but processing, understanding, and communicating his inner thoughts and emotions was difficult. It had clearly been too long since he’d given any affection to his mother if her joy over a simple admission was any indication.

  “Liliana couldn’t make it down from Chicago with Joseph,” Jordyn said as she fiddled with John’s crooked tie. “She tried, but she couldn’t get out of the shifts at the hospital.”

  Liliana, John’s younger sister, had married a man involved with the Chicago Outfit. John barely remembered the wedding, as he’d been right in the thick of his manic episode.

  “But she’s coming down next month,” Jordyn added.

  “Lucia?” John asked.

  “She’s here,” his mother said about his youngest sister.

  “And Cella?”

  John’s other sister, also married but to a man who was unaffiliated to the mob, had never been very close to him. He wouldn’t be surprised if she hadn’t shown up for his welcome-home-slash-birthday party.

  “She’s here, sneaking food while everyone else waits to eat,” came a darker, familiar voice from behind John.

  Jordyn took a step back from her son. John spun on his heel only to come face to face with his father.

  For John, it was like looking into an aging mirror. As he grew up, almost everyone he knew felt the need to point out how much he resembled his father. A twin, they said. Hazel eyes that matched John’s looked him up and down. His father smiled a little, making the sharp lines of his features soften briefly. Even at sixty, Lucian Marcello stood tall and straight, matching John’s height at six feet, three inches tall. Lucian commanded a room with his no-nonsense demeanor and his blunt attitude. He could also be intimidating with his quietness and watchful eye.

  “Son,” Lucian greeted.

  “Hey,” John replied.

  “You look good.”

  “I hope so.”

  “Seems prison has its benefits, hmm?”

  John let the comment roll off his shoulders, knowing his father hadn’t meant it as an insult. “I think it did for me.”

  “How was the drive?”

  “Long,” John answered.

  Lucian chuckled. “With Gio, any drive is long.”

  “He talks a lot.”

&n
bsp; “That he does.” Lucian jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “As I said, Cella is here and sneaking food. We’re letting it go what with the pregnancy and all. She has to feed the baby.”

  John cleared his throat. “I hadn’t known she was pregnant.”

  “Phones work, John, even in prison.”

  Ouch.

  That comment didn’t roll off like the first one did.

  “Lucian,” Jordyn said, coming to stand beside her son. “Don’t.”

  Lucian’s jaw tightened before he frowned. “Mi scusi, I’m sorry. That was out of line, son. I’m happy you’re home. We all are.”

  John wished he could say the same, but for a split second, he was back to feeling like the outsider in his family again. No one in particular made him feel that way directly, but the disconnect he experienced with his own father made everyone else seem distant, too.

  “John!”

  The shout of his name drew John’s attention away from Lucian.

  John stiffened when his cousin, Andino, moved past his uncle with a wide grin. Andino stood toe to toe with John. Before the incident that landed John in prison and nearly took Andino’s life, the two cousins had been inseparable.

  Ride or die, their family said. Because the two cousins always found trouble together. They had always been close, best friends even, and one mistake ruined it all.

  At twenty-eight, Andino was the closest cousin in relation to his own age that John had.

  “Jordyn,” Lucian said with a pointed look in his wife’s direction, “… why don’t we go let everyone know that the man of the hour has arrived.”

  “Sure,” Jordyn replied.

  With a squeeze of her hand on John’s arm, his parents disappeared.

  “It’s good to see you, man,” Andino said.

  John smirked. “And you, cugino.”

  Andino grinned at the Italian word for cousin. “I would have made the trip up to see you, but I wasn’t sure if that was good for you.”

  “I wouldn’t have turned you away, Andi.”

  Andino held out a hand.

  John passed it a wary glance.

  “John?” Andino asked.

  “Yeah?”

  “We’re good, man.”

  Just like that, three words ripped away the concern John had about his friendship with Andino.

  “Are we?” John asked.

  Andino didn’t drop his hand. “Family first, John.”

  John shook his cousin’s hand. Home started to feel a little more real. The distance keeping John and his emotional attachments to his family at bay began to close.

  “I hope you don’t mind a crowd,” Andino said.

  John cocked a brow. “I never do.”

  “Good, because the whole damn city might as well be here to welcome you home.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Open invitation to anyone in la famiglia, man,” Andino said, chuckling. “I don’t think anyone refused it.”

  Huh.

  Chapter Four

  “Johnathan!”

  John turned on his heel at the sound of his grandfather’s tired, gravelly voice. Antony Marcello smiled widely.

  “Grandpapa,” John greeted, taking the hand his grandfather offered.

  Antony, despite his eighty-seven years and withering size, still had his strength. He pulled John in for a quick, tight hug before releasing him just as fast.

  “How was it?”

  John didn’t even need to ask what his grandfather meant. “Terrible, but I managed. The first few months were hell because of …” Trailing off, John glanced around the room at the guests he’d been greeting. “Well, you know why.”

  Antony frowned. “I do.”

  Despite John’s very public meltdown years ago, his issues weren’t widely known in their circles. That was by John’s choice, and not anyone else’s. He wouldn’t be looked down upon or thought of as a lesser man in Cosa Nostra because of his problems.

  Simple as that.

  John smiled as his uncle came up behind his grandfather with a stern expression.

  “Papà,” Dante said as his hand landed to Antony’s shoulder.

  Antony scowled, but didn’t turn. “Sì?”

  “You’re supposed to be resting. It’s why Ma got you the chair, remember? Then you could sit with everyone, and not be on your feet.”

  “Goddammit, Dante, I am not as old as—”

  “I didn’t say a thing about you being old, Dad.”

  Antony didn’t look pleased. “You don’t have to. I can hear it in your voice.”

  John chose not to get in the middle of the father and son’s argument.

  “Hear what in my voice? There was nothing.”

  “I wanted to greet my oldest grandson. Everyone else already has,” Antony muttered.

  “I’m sure John was making his way over to you,” Dante said. “Weren’t you, John?”

  “Yeah, boss.”

  Dante pursed his lips before going back to his father. “Seriously, go sit down. You’ll have lots of time with John over the next week. I’ll make sure of it. Lucian will, too.”

  Antony seemed as though he was going to continue arguing, but when his wife came into the entertainment room from the attached dining room, he quickly patted John on the shoulder and departed. Slowly, of course. Antony didn’t move very fast at his age.

  “Cecelia keeps an eye on him,” Dante said more to himself than John.

  “Good thing someone does.”

  “She’s the only person he won’t argue with.”

  John chuckled. “Yeah, he never did.”

  Spinning back around, Dante looked John over. “Gio mentioned you have probation to do and report for.”

  “A couple of hours a week. I report in on Fridays.”

  “That’s going to make things difficult for us, John.”

  Johnathan met his uncle’s gaze, unbothered. “I know, boss.”

  “I expect you to be careful and clean with business.”

  “Cut me some slack, all right? I’m not an idiot. I will handle it all.”

  Dante sighed. “You’re still a Capo, John. You still have work to do. I’m still your boss.”

  “I’m aware. So, let me do my job.”

  “Why do I feel like there’s more to this than you’re saying?”

  John leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms. “I get a pair of babysitters now, huh?”

  Dante’s shoulders stiffened. “Don’t look at it that way.”

  “How else do you want me to look at it?”

  “In a way that says your family cares and is concerned, John.”

  “I did my time. I’m straight, clean, and clear in the head. I’m the third oldest Capo in the family, but I don’t even have a crew anymore. Don’t you think that’s a little unfair?”

  Dante opened his mouth to speak, but John held up a hand to stop him. It was rude, and frankly, terrible of John to do that to a Cosa Nostra Don.

  “Don’t bother,” John said quietly. “I get it.”

  “You’ll get it all back,” Dante replied. “I just want to make sure you can handle it this time around. That’s all, John.”

  Once again, it all came down to trust.

  John had no one to blame but himself for that.

  Chapter Five

  “I have to start looking for a place,” John said.

  Andino took a drag off his cigarette, and eyed his companion in the Lexus. “I told you that it was all right if you stayed with me for a bit.”

  “I like being alone, Andi. It’s not about you.”

  “Fine. You’ve only been home a couple of days, John. Give it a bit of time. You’ve got a lot of adjustment to do. Work into it all slowly. You don’t have to do it all at once.”

  John disagreed. He wanted to get back to his old routine of things as quickly as he possibly could. Part of that was not being under his cousin’s watch all of the damned time. It wasn’t Andino’s fault, because the man was just follow
ing orders. But John felt suffocated all the same.

  “I still need to find my own place.”

  Andino tossed his nearly finished cigarette out of the window. “We can do that.”

  “Good.”

  “So hey, I’ve got to handle some business over at one of my restaurants. Are you interested in coming or do you have things to do?”

  John shrugged. “I’ve got shit to do.”

  “I’m not giving you my car.”

  Laughing, John said, “I don’t need it, asshole.”

  But he did need to get his own and soon. It was in the works.

  “I’ll take the bus,” John added. “The warehouse is only a couple of blocks from here.”

  “Careful and clean, right?”

  John glowered. “Back off.”

  “I’m just making sure.”

  “It’s on the up. It’s your goddamn guys I’m working with.”

  “I know,” Andino said. “But not all of those fools are good, either. I’ll see you later.”

  John climbed out of the Lexus without another word to his cousin. As Andino pulled away from the side of the road, John strolled down the sidewalk to where the bus stop was, and waited. Less than ten minutes later, a bus heading straight into the heart of Hell’s Kitchen pulled over, and John stepped into the vehicle.

  Pulling out a phone from his pocket, John dialed his father’s cell phone number as he walked toward the back of the bus with his eyes on the ground.

  “Ciao,” Lucian said when he picked up John’s call.

  “Hey, Dad.”

  “John.”

  “I’m not going to make it for dinner. Give Ma my apologies.”

  Lucian sighed heavily. “Why not?”

  “Business in the Kitchen.”

  Technically, it was a lie. He didn’t have to work today if he didn’t want to, but he needed something to do other than be under his cousin’s watch. John simply didn’t want to go through another round with his parents and their concerns. He needed space and time to breathe. He needed to be his own person without everyone else’s worries and influence.

  His parents didn’t understand.

  “Breakfast tomorrow then,” Lucian said.

  “I—”

  “It’s not a request, John,” his father cut in harshly. “When you flake on your mother, I expect you to make it up to her.”