by Bethany-Kris
Which was fine because Marcus fully understood his duty to his family and this legacy. He accepted it long ago, but that didn’t mean he was at that place yet. And it didn’t help to have fucking magazines writing bullshit about him every single time he left his place to go out and have a good time.
The bigger problem was that since Gian, their father, had taken a step back in the public eye as the boss heading the family after his arrest years ago to deflect attention, even more of it was placed on Marcus. Constantly. His brothers liked to joke that Marcus was boring. He didn’t do anything—stayed in, walked the line of their rules, never bending them even the littlest bit, and always doing everything that was expected of him.
That wasn’t entirely true.
Everything he did was judged.
Dissected.
Interpreted.
And Marcus refused to give people more shit to talk about.
Simple as that.
“Ignore it,” Chris said with a sigh, finally tossing the magazine back to the desk, done with it. Marcus wished he could do the same but shit just wasn’t that easy for him. “We’ll get the lawyers to send them a warning, and they’ll back off for a bit.”
Yeah, but for how long?
That was the real question.
“Vanna gets a kick out of it,” Bene said, pulling his phone out to read something on the screen when it buzzed. “Makes bets with me about how many lies she’ll find each week.”
Marcus’s jaw ached. “I’m so glad my frustration is her amusement, Bene.”
His brother shot him a look, arching a brow. “Hey, it’s not like that.”
Yeah, he knew.
Marcus was just ... a little sore about the topic.
“And watch your fucking tone about my wife,” his brother added.
He had all he could do not to roll his eyes, but Marcus held it back. Because that’s not what twenty-nine-year-old men with the status of an underboss did, even if that’s all he fucking wanted to do in that moment.
“You know it’s not about Vanna,” he said quietly.
Bene shrugged. “Yeah, I got it.”
And it wasn’t.
Truly.
It took a while, and the first Guzzi son of their generation being born to Vanna and Bene, given the same name Marcus held because that was their tradition ... but Marcus moved past what happened all those years ago.
And he loved his godson.
Like nobody knew.
“How’d the meeting in Quebec go?” Chris asked.
“Could have come along, being a Capo and all.”
Chris smirked. “Yeah, but they don’t even wear suits, so ...”
“Alessio doesn’t wear a suit,” Marcus returned, referring to Chris’s twin’s one spouse, “and you sit down to dinner with him all the time.”
“I also don’t want to kill Les, you know?”
“Fair enough. And it went fine. I assume they’re going to keep pushing the line, but as long as they don’t jump all the way over it, then I will ignore them for the time being.”
“You think that’s smart?” Bene asked.
Marcus dropped into the chair beside the man. “They’re not worth anything else.”
“For now.”
Right.
That couldn’t be forgotten.
Bene waved his phone. “Someone sending out reminders about the meeting tonight at the mansion. What’s that about, anyway? Since when does Papa call meetings in the middle of the week anymore?”
“Don’t know.”
Both his brothers’ gazes turned on him.
“What?” Chris asked.
Yeah, he was just as confused as to why he didn’t know what their father’s meeting with the made men of the Guzzi organization was about.
“You heard me,” Marcus said, “I don’t know what the meeting is about.”
Bene frowned. “Huh.”
That’s about how he felt, too.
Just huh.
And it wasn’t a very good feeling to have. Marcus hated not knowing. Especially in this life.
“But don’t be fucking late,” he said, standing from the chair and readying to leave. “Never be late when the boss calls, yeah?”
Another thing off his ever-growing list. Checking in with his brothers. He had to do that. Always did it. Who else would? Marcus took care of his family, no matter what. It’s just what he did. No excuses.
“You’re just like dad,” Chris called at his back.
Marcus waved a hand over his shoulder.
Was that supposed to be a bad thing?
• • •
His father was ignoring him.
Marcus was sure of it.
Although, he didn’t have time to call his father out on the fact because Gian kept moving from man to man at the dinner party—he thought throwing elaborate dinners was the best way to bring all his men together—always out of reach of Marcus, not even giving him the option to ask him for five minutes alone to talk. Not to mention, Marcus also didn’t have the time, considering with all the made men in the family in the same room, everyone seemed to have something to say to him. Or a request to make. A complaint to be let known.
With Marcus being the underboss for the family, he was usually the one left to delegate the men. Whatever they needed or their nonsense, it was left to him to handle it however he deemed fit best for their organization. Usually, he didn’t mind that so much. That was easy shit for him—he handled it no problem.
Tonight, however, it irked him. Because it kept him away from his father.
Who was clearly ignoring him.
“Did you listen to a word I just said?”
Marcus frowned, cursing himself internally for not paying better attention to his mother. A sin in and of itself in the world of Guzzi men considering Cara might as well have been the religion their father preached to his army of sons all their life. It didn’t matter that they went to church every Sunday and prayed in the pews at mass ... their mother was their whole world. When she spoke, the rest of them tended to listen.
“Sorry, Ma,” he said, giving her a smile from the side that he hoped charmed away any of her displeasure. “My mind is ...”
“On other things?”
“Everywhere, really.”
“Can it be back here with me for a minute?”
He did just that, no questions asked. Placing his drink to the decorative table along the wall, he turned to face his smiling mother to give her every single bit of his attention for the moment. He could go back to dealing with all these men, their issues, and the reason for his father ignoring him later.
His mother needed something. That came first, always. Love, then duty. It was their way.
“What, Ma?”
Cara’s bright eyes showed her amusement as she smoothed back some of the wayward strands of her bright red hair. In her navy dress, surrounded by the wealth of the mansion they stood in, she looked like every inch a queen.
As she should, like their father would say.
“Chris mentioned something about a magazine—”
He made a noise under his breath. “It’s nothing, we’ll handle it.”
“Well, that tells me all I need to know.”
“Which was what?”
“That it bothered you.”
“Of course, it bothers me.”
“But why ... because they speculate, or because they tell lies? Either way, it’s easy to ignore it, Marcus.”
Right.
If only shit was that simple.
“It bothers me because they don’t know my life, but they act as if they do. And that is what I don’t appreciate, Ma. Yes, I can ignore it ... I often do, but then I see another one, or like today, someone jokingly shoves it under the wiper on my car, and it just pisses me off all over again.”
Cara reached up and patted his cheek with her warm palm. “I’m sorry.”
“We’ll handle it.”
“Right, well ... they’re only tr
ying to get readers and sales, so be easy.”
Mmhmm.
He’d try.
“No promises,” he murmured.
At the sight of his father slipping back into the dining room, Marcus was quick to give his mother a kiss on her cheek before he excused himself. He followed after Gian with the intent of finally getting the chance to speak to him about this meeting, which so far had been for nothing, and why his father seemed to be ignoring him.
But by the time he got back inside the dining room, his father was already at the front of the room, heading it like a proper boss should. Lowball glass in hand, he raised it just enough so that the ting of his knife hitting the side of it echoed throughout the space. The noise quieted all the chatting men. Just like that, every gaze in the room turned on the boss who was ready to speak.
They needed to listen.
Marcus stayed back near the entrance, knowing better than to move around when his father spoke to the rest of the men. He didn’t want to take attention away from the boss just because he felt the need to take a seat at the table with the others. Besides, he could stand just fine, and his legs worked perfectly.
He wasn’t paying attention to whatever his father said, instead scanning the faces of the men at the table because that’s what he usually did. It wasn’t that his father became unimportant to him, but quite the opposite. He would learn what his father said later, although he usually already knew exactly what would be said at these meetings. And so, that allowed him the chance to observe the men around them and look for any possible issues while he did so.
It was habit, nothing more.
And so maybe that was why when the gazes of the men at the table suddenly turned on him, like they all knew he was watching them, Marcus looked to his father for an explanation. Gian, still talking, finally had his words heard by Marcus, and his reason for this meeting came into sharp clarity all around the board.
“I will be taking a step back from being the active boss of this family, if only because it’s time, and I think it’s time for someone else to step up—Marcus, of course. I will still make the final decisions when I decide I need to step in until everything becomes final with a new boss taking over, but from here on out, Marcus heads this family.”
He wasn’t quite sure what happened after that or what the others had to say. He was still trying to catch up to speed, and what it all meant.
No. That was a lie.
Marcus understood perfectly well what it meant. So did his father.
Gian nodded his way, saying, “And this gives him time, oui? Time to figure out the details he needs to satisfy this family, and our expectations. There is not a deadline on this; we’re beginning the process, that’s all.”
Yeah, he heard him loud and clear.
So, why did it feel like a timer had started?
Marcus didn’t have time to think about it. Men started talking, and Gian moved away from the table. Someone came into his line of vision, a hand reaching out to clap him on the shoulder. Soon, his brothers, the ones that remained in their organization, Chris and Bene, were there too, ready to chat and give their congratulations.
It wasn’t until much later that Marcus finally got the chance to speak with his father. Long after the men had left the mansion, and the dinner party was over. He sat on one side of his father’s desk, and Gian rested behind it. The two stared at each other for a long time, neither willing to speak first.
Eventually, Marcus murmured, “You could have given me a heads up.”
“For what, something you knew was coming?”
“Or that you planned to do it tonight.”
Gian chuckled. “Someone has to keep you on your toes, Marcus.”
He loved his father.
He did.
People often said they were twins, and considering Marcus was the only one of his brothers that didn’t have an identical twin, it really said something. Right now, though, he thought in moments like these he was nothing like his father.
“You’ll have time to get everything settled,” Gian said, “I give my word.”
Marcus nodded. “All right.”
“I know you have a lot going on—”
“I’ll handle everything.”
He always did.
Gian smiled a bit. “I have no doubt, fils. On another topic, though, could you do me one more favor?”
“What else is there?”
“Something for your mother.”
“Not for business?”
“No, something just for her ... our anniversary, but I can’t be too close to the project, or she’ll find out. She always does.”
Marcus had every reason to say no. All his duties, this big shift in the family, too, that would surely change his entire life even more than it already had. He could have said no, and he doubted his father would complain about it.
Still, he said, “I’ll do whatever you need, Papa. You know that.”
It’s who Marcus was.
He didn’t know how to be anything different.
2.
“Knock, knock.”
Cella grinned at the familiar voice of her older sister, finding Liliana standing in the doorway of her office at her design studio. “Finally made it to my side of town, huh?”
After her husband’s death, Cella relocated to Rochester, which was a good six hours away from her parents’ home. So, when her sister made the trip in from Chicago to visit, sometimes her and Cella passed each other by more often than not when six hours was a long drive to make just to visit for an hour or two. She understood, and never blamed Liliana, but she wished the two of them got together more often than they did.
“Still loving Rochester more?”
Cella shrugged. “Really, I just don’t want to relocate my studio again.”
Not entirely a lie.
It would be a lot of work, and more than she could currently afford to do what with her long list of clients—and the waiting list she had recently started—for her interior design business. She specialized in everything from personal spaces, to commercial. And when she needed it the most, her work had been there to give her an escape from the grief that seemed ever-present for those first couple of years after William’s death. It helped that here in Rochester, there weren’t memories she shared with him.
Essentially, she started over.
Hit a restart button.
If only it had been that easy.
“Did Joe come with you this time?” she asked.
Liliana smiled. “He had something to take care of in Chicago ... last minute, and all.”
“Too bad.”
Joe, her sister’s husband, was a quiet man. Very there, in presence, considering his large size, the fact he was covered in tattoos, and just his stare alone could quiet a person. Yet, with her family, he turned into a different man, kind and welcoming. Tiffany adored her uncle, who was also her godfather. She didn’t get to see him nearly enough.
“Tell him no excuses, he needs to see Tiff before she starts kindergarten in the fall,” Cella warned.
“Will do. I think he’s planning a weekend trip, anyway. We’ll let you know the details.”
“Great.”
“Hard to believe you’re going to have a kindergartener in what, five months?”
Cella blew out a heavy breath, staring hard at her sister. “Thanks for reminding me.”
“What? I thought you’d be excited for that.”
She was.
God.
She honestly was.
At the same time ... “It’s been me and her for so long. It scares me to think for six hours a day, she’s going to be away from me.”
“She’s in daycare now.”
“Not the same,” Cella said, shaking her head and causing the wavy strands of her newly styled, long balayage to fall over her shoulders. “This feels like ... well, like she’s growing up.”
“Kind of the point, isn’t it?”
Cella laughed. “You know w
hat, I can have feelings about her starting school. Just let me have them, Liliana.”
“Who else points out to you when you’re being totally ridiculous?”
No one.
And she liked that just fine.
“Anyway, we’re doing lunch, right?” Cella stood from her desk, one she used only for paperwork and things of a similar nature. Most of her work was done on her smart design board that covered an entire wall in a connecting room of her studio, or on one of her illuminating tables when she really needed to nail things down in a specific way. “So, let’s stop wasting time. God knows when we’re going to get the chance to do this again because I have to get home in lots of time to pack for this weekend.”
Liliana gave her a look as she grabbed her purse before crossing the floor to stand with her sister in the doorway. “Well, that answers that for me, I suppose.”
“What?”
“Ma said she didn’t know if you were coming to the showing at Lucia’s gallery this weekend, so I hoped that meant you probably were but hadn’t found time to let them know.”
Yeah.
“Can’t make it,” Cella said. “I had a client come in as a favor to Dad, although all I was given for it was an address and time to be there—in Toronto. The check cleared, a very nice check, so I am inclined to take the job. I let Lucia know, and she doesn’t mind. Just hadn’t thought to mention it to Ma.”
“Boo.”
Cella followed behind her sister as they headed for the front entrance of her ground floor studio. In the large building, there were several different businesses set up. Upstairs, a ballet studio for young dancers stayed open for most of the day, but she swore they were so light on their feet at times that she didn’t hear a thing. Besides, even if she could, she loved her studio and wouldn’t be giving it up for nothing.
“And you don’t know who the client is?”
She didn’t respond until the two of them had stepped out onto the street, she locked the studio’s front doors, and the late April breeze brought with it the scent of spring clinging to the air. “Dad assured me everything is on the up with it ... and it’s not entirely unusual for big name people to contract me for a design job through third-parties, but especially if they want to make sure everything is going to stay quiet.”
“Are you taking Tiff?”