by Bethany-Kris
“I’m not spun glass, Antony,” she said, backing into his groin.
Antony groaned. “Don’t tease me.”
“I won’t break,” Cecelia pressed.
“Fuck.”
“That’s the idea.”
Where had his innocent wife gone?
“Tell me if—”
“I will,” she interjected softly. “Always.”
Antony found her hands with his own and drove them down under her body. He spread their fingers over her fleshy lips so she could feel his cock slamming into her and how her juices soaked his length.
“Touch,” he demanded as his thrusts turned harder, sending the sweetest cries echoing from her lips. “Touch yourself, Tesoro. Feel me inside of you, how wet you are for me, and how much your body loves it when I fuck you. Feel.”
“Oh, God.”
“Play, Cecelia. Learn your body. I want you to know it, too.”
He felt her fingers stroke at her pussy, smearing her wetness along her sex and up to her clit. The moment she came in contact with that throbbing nub, Cecelia jerked into the bed and her walls shuddered around his cock.
“That … there,” she muttered.
“Yeah, there. So good, Cecelia. Sex is more than procreation. It’s pleasure. It’s need. It’s connection. Keep playing. I want to hear all the sounds you make as I fuck and you touch.”
She did and it was fucking lovely.
Antony took his time loving her and letting her learn her own body and the things she liked. Every slap of skin on skin sent him spinning higher. All of her little noises and sounds took him straight to a peak. As she came undone around him for a second time, he was already gone, too, emptying his come as deep as he could manage into her depths.
“More,” he heard her order through the ringing in his ears.
Yeah, a monster.
She was his, though.
PART THREE: LA COSA NOSTRA
Chapter Nine
May, 1986
Antony dropped Cecelia to her feet on the floor. The large foyer was empty, much like the rest of the home.
Well, a mansion was more like it.
Cecelia did a little dance, throwing her arms up into the air as she shouted her joy. The sound bounced off the walls and echoed back. Antony just laughed.
“Marcello big,” Cecelia said, turning to face her husband.
“Yeah, Marcello big.”
It’d taken two years for him to build their home. It damn near broke his bank to do it, but Antony found there was no house that did Cecelia justice. And God knew he fucking looked. Nothing fit her. Nothing was good enough for his little queen.
So yeah, he built her the palace she wanted.
They lived in a smaller home closer to her parents for the better part of two years while earth was broke, foundation was poured, and wings were built. Cecelia made three trips a week to Tuxedo Park just to check on the progress.
She wanted big, so she had to wait for it.
“You’ve got a lot of work to do, yet,” Antony warned.
Cecelia spun a circle, beaming with happiness. “Don’t care.”
“Cecelia …”
“Don’t care, Antony.”
“Bella, the house is empty. We don’t even have a bed, yet.”
“The walls are up and painted. The heating works. The lights are on. I don’t care, Antony.”
Antony smiled, shaking his head. “You’re crazy.”
“You are, too.”
“Crazy in love with you.”
“Precisely,” Cecelia agreed.
She turned to face him again, lifting her brow in a suggestive manner that promised he was going to like what came next. Crooking a single finger at him, Cecelia’s grin grew wide.
“Come here,” she demanded.
Antony did as she wanted, bending down to capture her mouth with his.
Pulling away from the kiss just before it could really get good, Cecelia cocked a brow. “There’s a pool, right?”
“You know there is. You picked the goddamn tiles for it. Indoor and heated.”
“You built me a house,” she whispered.
“I did. Happy birthday, Tesoro.”
Cecelia leaned up and bit his jaw teasingly. “Time to work on filling it, Antony.”
• • •
July, 1986
Antony kept Cecelia’s hand tucked into his elbow as they walked their guests through the home. They’d yet to have a housewarming party, but Cecelia demanded on inviting a couple they considered to be mutual friends over for a dinner.
He didn’t know Jean and Lissa all that well, but Cecelia apparently did. Lissa was a friend from the private high school Antony’s wife attended while Jean was the woman’s husband. They seemed nice enough at first, but that didn’t last long.
He’d decided over that dinner the two in question weren’t really friends at all. The snarky comments and the constant need to compete with the things Cecelia and Antony had was annoying and petty.
Who needed fucking friends when you had enemies like that?
Cecelia brushed it all off, but Antony was taking inventory. The more comments that were made, the more hurt his wife seemed to be. Antony couldn’t stand to see Cecelia hurting over anything and certainly not a bunch of trivial, jealous friends.
This was why Antony didn’t have friends, honestly. The ones he did have were connected to Cosa Nostra and had been in his life for longer than he cared to remember. Cecelia wanted normal friends. That, or she was somehow trying to disconnect a part of their life from la famiglia. Antony didn’t know how to break it to his sweet little wife, but that wasn’t ever going to be possible.
They were both Cosa Nostra born.
Better to accept that shit and move the hell on.
“Beautiful, but such a shame,” Lissa murmured, eyeing a particular painting on the wall.
Cecelia had a taste for art and Antony didn’t mind feeding into his wife’s whims. She worked damn hard to finish school and between her job at the art gallery and her part-time career in home decorating, she was always busy.
He was proud of her.
“I beg your pardon?” Cecelia asked.
Antony slipped his hand in beside his wife’s and squeezed. For the most part, Cecelia was the proper woman in all aspects. She had class, understood respect, and stood at his side like the formidable, unmoving cornerstone he needed. The woman standing across from Cecelia could learn a lot from Antony’s wife, as far as he was concerned.
“Oh, I was just thinking …” Lissa trailing off, smiling in a way that seemed a bit too nasty for Antony’s liking.
“What, Lissa?” Cecelia asked, annoyance coming through.
Antony figured his wife had taken just about all she was going to from her friend.
“I’m just trying to figure out if this is a step up or a step down for you, Cecelia. I mean, come on, you’re a Catrolli, hon. Did Daddy refuse to build you the house you wanted because you married down? I mean, I know you married into the Marcellos, but they’re certainly not Catrolli blood.”
Married down?
What in the honest fuck?
Antony couldn’t even speak he was so goddamn stunned.
This woman had balls.
Cecelia, on the other hand, barked out a laugh like he’d never heard before. She turned to her husband, standing up on her tiptoes to press a kiss to his quiet lips. “Antony, will you escort our guests out, please? I’m getting tired.”
Antony could plainly see the hurt warring in his wife’s gaze and that only pissed him off something fierce. If there was one thing he couldn’t stand, it was Cecelia’s pain. That was just unacceptable and the person who caused it would surely regret doing it.
“Sure, Tesoro.”
“But—”
Antony interrupted whatever Lissa was going to say with a wave of his hand. “Follow me.”
He walked the couple to the front of the Marcello mansion, waiting patiently and quietly
as the two gathered their belongings and put on their shoes. Before they could leave, he blocked the front door with his six-foot, three-inch frame, knowing damn well these two people had a good idea of exactly who he was and the kinds of things he was involved in.
After all, if they knew the Catrolli family, then they knew the Marcellos, too.
Antony figured it was time to let them in on just how filthy a Marcello could play.
“Before you go, there’s a couple of things you should be aware of,” Antony said with a dry, bored tone.
“Oh?” Lissa asked.
“Sì. Between Cecelia and me, trust that she is the nice one of us two. She’s the respectful one. She’ll turn her cheek and smile when you piss her off. I, however, will not.”
“Excuse—”
“Shut your mouth and listen,” Antony said calmly, smiling all the while. “We’ve certainly sat through enough of your nonsense tonight, so I believe it’s time for you to put up with some of mine. While she didn’t show it, you upset my wife earlier. That’s unacceptable to me and you should know that I cannot be held accountable for my actions regarding those who hurt Cecelia Marcello in any way.
“When I built this home, I did so with the knowledge there had to be certain features added. For my business, you understand. I needed a few specific additives, like a basement so thick a person’s screams couldn’t be heard.”
Antony didn’t blink at the fear draining the color from the woman’s face or the shocked silence taking over her husband. Turning, Antony opened his front door and stepped to the side, giving the two permission to leave his home. Quickly, the two scampered toward the freedom offered and the natural instinct driving them away from a killer.
Because yeah, it didn’t matter what species you were, even humans knew when a predator had them in their sights.
Antony was a quiet man. Quiet men were a little more dangerous than the rest. He certainly hoped these two realized it now, as well.
“Oh, and one more thing,” Antony said, facing the two as he stood in the doorway watching the two freeze on his front entrance. “If you ever get the pleasure of stepping inside my beautiful wife’s home again, I suggest you keep your attitude and jealousies in check and well-hidden, or we’re both going to learn just how loud you have to scream before Cecelia can hear. Have a wonderful night.”
Antony slammed the door.
• • •
December, 1986
Antony counted the money, each bill slapping to the table one after the other in quick succession. The phone on his desk rang, but he ignored it for the moment. By the time the last bill hit the table, the call stopped. Antony counted through the money a second time just to be sure he hadn’t fucked something up.
The phone rang again.
Cursing, Antony pointed at the idiot standing in his doorway. “Don’t you fucking move, cafone. We’re not goddamn well done, yet.”
Johnathan laughed from his spot on the couch. “He won’t be going anywhere, Tony.”
Antony picked up the call and turned his back to the room. “Ciao, Marcello speaking.”
“Antony?”
The sound of his wife’s voice, soft and tired, had Antony instantly worried. It wasn’t like Cecelia to call him when he was away from the house. He had business all over the city and he worked his crew for the Catrolli crime family out of several restaurants, so where he was varied day by day.
“Cecelia, I’m kind of busy right now.”
“I know I’m not supposed to call you at work.”
“I don’t mind, but I’m handling something. Where are you, at the house or your parents?”
“The house, but—”
“I’ll call you back in a few, all right.”
“Antony—”
“Later, Tesoro.”
Antony hung up the phone and turned back on the associate who had undercut his weekly dues to his Capo by nearly eight-hundred-dollars. That shit couldn’t be had. Antony loved the streets. Sometimes it was long fucking hours, the stress was high, and his crew could be a bunch of little pricks, but being a Capo like his father had once been gave him a sense of accomplishment.
It was one thing to have a button in la famiglia, it was an entirely different thing to have a position.
“Where’s the rest?” Antony asked the fool who was picking at his fingernails and avoiding looking at his Capo.
The guy didn’t answer.
John sighed, eyeing the twenty-year-old kid. “How much?”
“Eight,” Antony answered.
“Shit.”
“Yep. Did you skim it, or not make it?” Antony asked.
“Didn’t make it.”
Antony nodded once. “I figured.”
Antony opened his desk drawer and the guy flinched, making his Capo chuckle. Fear was the perfect motivator when it came to running the streets. Any Capo with a lick of damn sense knew it. The best way to control men you couldn’t watch after twenty-four-seven was to make sure they knew what would happen when they did wrong, regardless if you were there to witness it or not.
In business, Antony was volatile. The violence came like second nature. He’d always been a little ruthless about his work and crew. He took no shit and nothing less than perfection and obedience was acceptable to him.
This kid knew it, too.
Antony pulled out the knife from his desk and stood from his seat, walking across the room until he was in front of the soldier. “Your hand, give it to me.”
“But—”
Antony snatched the guy’s hand and dug the tip of the blade straight into his palm until it was bleeding and damn well hurting. Shouting in surprise and pain, the guy tried to pull away, but Antony held firm, pressing the knife into the man’s hand and closing his fingers around it in a tight grip.
“Hold onto this for me, would you?”
“Wh-what?” he guy stuttered, looking back and forth between Antony and his own bleeding hand rapidly.
“Stop making me repeat myself. It’s completely unnecessary and absurd. You have four hours to make that eight-hundred and deliver it to me. While you’re doing that, make sure you keep this on you. Don’t forget it somewhere or drop it once. Just hold it.”
“Why?”
Antony shrugged. “If you don’t come back here with my money, I’ll use it to kill you with. Better you know what’s coming, right? I will see you in four hours and if not, you’ll see me. Go.”
The guy was out of the office before Antony even blinked.
John laughed from his spot on the couch once the guy was gone. “I’m so glad I don’t have to deal with fools like that, anymore.”
“Spoiled little underboss, that’s what you are.”
“Vaffanculo, Tony,” John muttered, flipping Antony the middle finger. “Instead of dealing with guys like him, I have to deal with assholes like you.”
“You like it.”
John smirked. “Yeah, I do.”
Antony took his seat again, kicking his heels up on the top of his desk. “How’s the wedding planning going?”
“Kate’s a crazy fucking tyrant, but that’s nothing new.”
“And the boss?”
“Vinnie’s letting her do whatever in the hell she wants. I just have to show up, you know.”
“Cecelia planned ours in three months. What the hell is Kate doing that she needs a year or more of time to get it done?” Antony asked.
John shrugged. “Outdoing her sister.”
Antony scoffed. “That’s impossible, you know.”
“Two different women, man.”
Without John needing to outright say it, Antony could see it written all over his friend’s face. Regret was a heavy burden to carry and duty was an impossible monster to bury.
“Is it worth it?” Antony asked quietly.
“Is what worth it, Tony?”
“Being the boss, I suppose. Is all of this worth it?”
John released a slow breath. “If Kate doesn’t som
ehow kill me first, yeah, it’ll be worth it.”
Antony chuckled. “Come on, that’s never going to happen.”
“I still have a wedding night to get to yet, Tony.”
“Point taken, John.”
John tipped his head in the direction of Antony’s office phone. “Call your wife back.”
Antony knew he should. He reached for the phone, but a knock on the opened office door stopped him. Another member of his crew had stopped in to drop off the weekly dues to their Capo.
“Later,” Antony said to John.
Business first.
Always.
Chapter Ten
April, 1987
“Grovattis are having a few problems with some Capos in the family,” Vinnie informed his men as he licked his thumb and counted bills. “I want you all to stay the hell out of that shit, we don’t need to be in any kind of war with another family. Certainly not now. Let their boss handle it.”
Antony leaned in closer to John. “Since when has your father been having issues?”
John made a dismissive sound. “Months. The Calabrese are planning on his seat. Usual shit, different day. My father will handle it, or he won’t. Wait it out, I suppose.”
Antony didn’t want to admit it to his friend, but Carl Sr. Calabrese was a nasty fucker when he wanted to be. Then again, maybe John just didn’t care if his father’s seat as the Don of the Grovatti family was usurped by a Capo.
It was hard to say.
That, and unimportant to the Catrolli family.
“What about you?” Antony asked.
“What about me?” John laughed under his breath. “I’ve done everything my fucking father wants. I’m over his shit. He can clean his own messes, I have my own family to protect, you know.”
“Yeah, I get that,” Antony replied.
“Where’s Cecelia tonight?”
“Home.”
Alone, Antony held back from adding.
