Authors: Bethany-Kris
Antony (20 page)
“If he says sorry to Gio first,” Lucian compromised.
“I’ll make sure he does.”
“All right.”
“Want to come back out?” Antony asked.
Lucian didn’t move. “Not yet. I like it here.”
“Do you?”
“Yeah.”
“I didn’t know you spent time in my office.”
“Reminds me of you,” Lucian said quietly.
Huh.
Well, then …
Antony cleared his throat of the emotions thickening it up and threatening to keep him quiet. Reaching up, he plucked an apple off the desk that Cecelia had left there earlier. “Here,
topino
, let me show you how to work this thing and then you can keep it. I don’t need it anymore, anyway.”
Lucian handed over the pocketknife. “You’re gonna give it to me?”
“Well, yes. My father gave it to me. I should give it to one of my boys, too.”
“Oh.”
“Do you not want it?” Antony asked.
“Yes, I want it.”
“What’s wrong, Lucian?”
“You’re kind of like my dad, right?”
“Yes,” Antony murmured.
“But … like how you’re Gio and Dante’s
papà
, I mean. Are you like that for me, too?”
“If you’re asking do I love you in the same way I love them, then yes, Lucian. From the very second I knew you existed.”
It was the truth.
“Oh,” Lucian said again, eyeing the pocketknife Antony was using to peel the apple.
“Ask me whatever you want, Lucian.”
“Sometimes it’s better to listen,
Papà
.”
Antony damn near cut himself at the sound of Lucian finally recognizing him as his father. He caught the slip quickly enough and kept on peeling.
“You’re right, son. It is.”
Antony paced the length of his office, frustration running rampant through his blood.
Lucian was the good one. Antony knew it from the start. Between the three Marcello
principes
, Lucian had been the easiest to raise of all his brothers. Giovanni had issues, some that frightened his father. Dante was stubborn as shit, and that irked Antony to no end.
Lucian, however, was the goddamn easy one.
This didn’t make sense.
“You’re absolutely sure?” Antony asked.
“Yeah, Boss. He asked one of the guys to do a trace. I guess Lenny was kinda surprised about it because Lucian never asks for anything, usually. He handles shit himself or goes to one of his brothers, but maybe—”
“This was something he didn’t want them knowing about and he couldn’t do himself,” Antony interrupted, sighing. “All right, then. I want whatever your guy found sent over to me in a file and don’t let Lucian know about it. If he asks, say you haven’t found shit on this … Jordyn Reese, is it?”
“So the documents say,” replied Antony’s man.
“Fine, send it to me. I’ll look it over.”
Lucian wouldn’t be all too impressed that Antony found out his little secret, but he would have to suck it up and deal with it. Antony had a few quirks and one of them was knowing every little detail he could about his son’s personal lives where women were concerned. Well, women that might be invited into the family folds in some way.
Apparently, a woman had caught Lucian’s eye but he was keeping it from his mother and father for whatever reason.
“Got it, Boss.”
Antony hung up the phone and rubbed at the tension headache beginning to pound at the base of his skull. Turning his phone on again, he said, “Dial Paulie.”
The call only rang twice before his old friend picked up.
“Hey, Boss.”
“Evening, Paulie.”
“What’s up?”
“Lucian’s hiding something from me. I don’t like it.”
Paulie coughed. “I need a drink, I think.”
“Me, too.”
“What kind of thing?” Paulie asked.
“A woman. She’s involved with that goddamn biker gang we’re having issues with.”
“Shit.” On the other end of the call, Antony could hear Paulie dropping ice cubes into a glass. “That makes things tricky, huh.”
“How does he even know this girl?” Antony asked, more to himself than his friend. “Really, where would he have met her? This is ridiculous.”
“Why?”
“I have a dozen and one reasons why, Paulie!”
“Like?” his friend pressed.
“She’s not Italian if her surname is any indication.”
“Goddamn, we both know you really don’t care on that front as long as he’s happy.”
True enough.
“She’s involved with these bikers,” Antony said again.
“So?”
“So!”
“Stop it, man,” Paulie said quietly. “What is it, really?”
“He’s hiding it from me,” Antony grumbled, unhappy and bothered.
The whole damned situation bothered him in ways he couldn’t explain.
“Lucian doesn’t hide things from me, Paulie. He never has. I don’t like it.”
And he didn’t like that a woman was the cause.
“Maybe he thinks you won’t approve or something,” Paulie suggested.
“What’s there to approve of? He doesn’t even know this woman!” Antony threw his arms up, fed up with the day. “It’s … if he’s interested in her, which I highly doubt the feelings are actually valid given he doesn’t know her, then it’s an infatuation.”
“Was Cecelia an infatuation?” Paulie asked.
The question was posed so quietly Antony nearly missed it.
Except he couldn’t.
“You know she wasn’t, Paulie.”
“You didn’t know Cecelia. You knew of her, but you never even met her until that night at the Catrolli mansion. And from that fucking moment, you were on for that girl, Antony. Deny it.”
“I can’t.”
“Exactly, so shut up about it.”
Antony let that comment slide.
“Listen, this is difficult for—”
“Imagine how it feels for Lucian,” Paulie interjected gently. “He’s a twenty-seven-year-old man, Antony. Let him breathe. Let him figure out what he wants.”
“I hate you right now,” Antony told his friend.
“So be it.”
Paulie hung up the phone before Antony could allow it.
Antony let that shit slide, too.
Turning on his heel, Antony froze. Cecelia stood in his office doorway with her arms crossed, her eyebrow cocked, and a knowing expression.
“
Tesoro
.”
“What did you do?”
Antony shrugged. “Nothing.”
“You butted in on something again, didn’t you?”
“No,” Antony said quietly.
“Liar.”
“Leave it alone, Cecelia.”
“Who did what this time and why did you feel the need to insert yourself?” his wife asked.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You’re a terrible liar.”
“You’re a beautiful one.”
“Your sweet talk won’t make me forget you’re hiding something.”
Antony scowled. “Lucian’s doing background searches on a girl involved with a biker gang. He tried to do it on the low so I wouldn’t find out. Why would he do that? I’m not sure, but obviously he doesn’t want me to know.”
“What’s the problem?” Cecelia asked.
“Well, for starters—”
“Nothing,” his wife cut in firmly. “There is no problem, Antony Marcello. We have always made a conscious effort for our sons’ happiness to be the most important thing, no matter what they wanted or needed to achieve it. If this girl, whoever she is, makes Lucian happy or he thinks she might make him happy, take a step back and let him have her.”
“I’m not trying to keep him from anything,” Antony argued.
“You are.”
“I am not.”
“You are.”
“I am not, Cecelia!” Antony blew out a harsh breath, gritting his teeth in the process. He hated raising his voice, especially to his wife. “I am not, okay. But this feels like John to me in some way,
Tesoro
. This feels like him. I don’t want Lucian to end up like his father.”
“You don’t know that he will.”
“He’s hiding it,” Antony growled. “That reeks of John.”
“Maybe he’s just trying to figure out what he feels.”
Antony looked his wife over. “I didn’t have to figure out anything when it came to you.”
“He’s not us, Antony. But like we’ve always said, he’s still a Marcello through and through. He’ll catch on quickly enough.”
“You think?”
“I know,” Cecelia said, winking. “I’m always right.”
Well, Antony always let her be right.
He didn’t mind.
“Come to bed,” his wife demanded. “Deal with this tomorrow.”
“This is important, Cecelia.”
“I’m important, Antony.”
She was.
“Come,” Cecelia said with a nod.
Antony followed. He always would for Cecelia Marcello.
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.
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www.bethanykris.com
,
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@BethanyKris
.
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Other Books in the Filthy Marcellos Series
Filthy Marcellos: Lucian, Book One
Filthy Marcellos: Giovanni, Book Two
Filthy Marcellos: Dante, Book Three
Filthy Marcellos: La Cosa Nostra is not just a choice of regime and routine, it’s a culture. Born as mafia royalty, the Marcello brothers were raised ingrained with the beliefs and rules of what it meant to be a Mafioso prince. It is for life. Their status is considered a given right. They will always be these people. They will always be Marcellos.
For more information on the Filthy series, visit Bethany-Kris’s website at
www.bethanykris.com
.
• • •
Excerpt from
Filthy Marcellos: Lucian
• • •
Out of the corners of his eyes, Lucian did see part of her bare shoulder and the black curls hiding her face, though. It wasn’t so much the amount of flesh she was showing as it was the peeks of what looked like a cherry blossom tattoo crawling over her shoulder and dipping down her back where it disappeared from his sight.
“Hello, guys. I’m Jordyn. I’ll be serving you tonight, or something close to it. What’ll it be?”
The sultry tone of her voice was something Lucian and his body noticed the moment she spoke. It was almost like a mixture of innocence and experience, if that were possible. She didn’t sound entirely bored, but she didn’t sound like she was in it to win it with her job, either.
Dante looked to his father, his earlier comment about not consuming the drinks being silently said again. Antony must have took note.
“A bottle of Jack, unopened. Four—” Antony stopped up short, his lips tugging down into a frown as he passed a glance towards Gio. The youngest brother certainly didn’t need to be drinking tonight. “Make that three glasses. We’ll pour.”
Leaning forward was the worst mistake Lucian made since waking up that day. He certainly hadn’t expected to see
her
again. At least not in a place like this. She was on his mind all damned week, those eyes of hers, cream-like flesh, and a mouth that just at the sight alone, make his own water.
What’d she call herself? Jordyn, was it?
Merda
.
Shit was right—he was in so much of it.
Suddenly, Lucian was not in the zone like he needed to be.
He was so incredibly
fucked
.
Also, Lucian realized he was right about his first assumption when he thought she had ink under her dress that day at the confessional box. Cherry blossoms started somewhere beneath the lace and leather bottoms she wore and trailed up over her side, before crossing over her left breast which was also covered by nothing but a lace and leather brassiere, and then curved over her shoulder.
There was another tattoo, too, but in the darkness, Lucian couldn’t read the scripted words.
Strangely, the immediate rush of possessiveness that flooded his veins surprised him. She was still so beautiful, like crazy. The more skin his gaze crawled over, the tighter his pants became. Lucian caught himself wondering what those blossoms would taste like under his tongue.
Yeah, he was not where he needed to be. This unknown woman knocked him off kilter and she probably didn’t even know it. What was wrong with him?
Unfortunately, his father seemed to realize his son’s abrupt change in posture and mood. “Lucian?”
At the sound of his name, the girl’s—
Jordyn
, he reminded himself—eyes flashed to meet his in the corner, those dark lashes of hers blinking rapidly like she also didn’t believe what she was seeing. Lucian swallowed the thickness building in his throat. Thankfully, Jordyn didn’t act like they had ever met or seen one another before. She simply went on doing her own business.
“Unopened bottle of Jack and three glasses. Anything else?” she asked, avoiding Lucian’s piercing gaze.
“Yes,” Antony said, still watching Lucian closely. “The owner is Ron Daney, correct?”
Jordyn stood a little stiffer, her shoulders squaring. “I beg your pardon?”
“The owner is Ron Daney, Vice President of the Brooklyn chapter of The Sons of Hell,” Lucian said gruffly, trying to swallow back the huskiness forming. “We’re not ATF or the feds, let’s just be clear on that, sweetheart. Ron, he’s in tonight, yes?”
Jordyn nodded warily. “Always is.”
“Good,” Antony replied with a grin. “Send him a drink, whatever he likes. Do be sure to tell him it’s from a guest. Antony Marcello and his crew. Do not mistake my name when you tell him. Be sure to point me out so he sees me. Understood?”
“Got it.”
With that, the woman Lucian simply needed to glance at to turn his skin ablaze and his heart stuttering, was walking away.
She didn’t look back.
