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Lucian (Filthy Marcellos #1)(3)


"So, what's up?"

Antony finished off his glass of whiskey before speaking. "About ten after twelve tonight, there was a shootout between the authorities and the motorcycle gang The Sons of Hell I've been keeping an eye on."

Lucian's interest was definitely peaked, now. "Oh?"

"Outside my casino."


"That's ridiculous."

Antony nodded shortly, anger clouding his face. "I don't mind their business. I've let them do their nonsense on my territory because really, it's not affecting me. They pay a healthy due to the Capos to keep their peace and place, just like every other drug or weapons dealer working inside my territory does. They follow my rules. I don't fault them on that."


"But?" Lucian pressed, knowing it was coming.

"But this is different," Dante said from behind. "It puts us in a spotlight we don't need right now. We do all of our business on the low, and the last thing we need to be, or even thought to be, is affiliated with a motorcycle gang famous for their bloodshed and drugs."

"Like we're not?" Lucian asked.

Antony chuckled. "At least we're well-dressed sinners."

Well, money did give them that.

Lucian still didn't feel like he was getting the whole story. "What am I missing?"

"They've gone too far this time." Antony sighed, a weariness reflecting in his green eyes. "This war they've declared on the NYPD has certainly kept the police off our backs for a little while. But it's bad, Lucian. A young couple was picking up a friend at the casino. They had a baby in the back seat of the sedan. The young family was killed, as were three police officers, and one MC member."

Oh, shit. Lucian felt a sickness rise in his gut like a poison. "Dad, you can't blame your-"

"They aren't the first innocents to be killed in this mess the MC created," Antony continued, unaffected. "And while we all understand that collateral damage happens, they clearly don't know when to quit. I will not have my businesses and family affected from their mess."

"We're going to make them quit," Dante said, coming to stand beside his brother's chair.

"What, pull a Montreal?"

A couple of decades earlier, an Italian crime family in Montreal, Canada stepped in during turf wars between rival gangs to put a stop to the bloodshed and violence. Oddly enough, it worked.

Antony gave him an unhappy look. "I wouldn't say that. This isn't a couple of kiddy gangs tossing lead at one another. This is the police, and a well-known, well-organized motorcycle gang that has over one-hundred-fifty clubs all across the United States and some in Canada. It's not exactly going to be an easy thing, but it needs to stop."

Fear was a great motivator.

The Marcello family was surely big enough to pull weight here.

"No, probably not easy," Lucian agreed. "But what is?"

"I want it finished," his father said finally, a sadness coloring up his tone. "Let's sit down and make a list of names-important ones. We can easily set something up to meet with the President of the club and whoever else he wants there."

"And if they don't take your  …  advice  …  seriously?" Lucian asked.

"We'll start crossing off names until they do," Dante finished for their father. 

Sounded simple enough, didn't it?

It rarely ever was.

Chapter Two

Church was always a fucking spectacle.

Lucian understood the importance his mother and father held for religion, respected them for it even, but that didn't mean he particularly liked it. Mass on Sundays was a four hour-at least-event because the congregation of their church was massive. It never ended.

But, why Lucian disliked the event the most, was because he felt like a flea under a microscope. The Marcello family had attended this church ever since Antony's great-grandfather stepped off the boat from Sicily ninety-something odd years earlier. They were big donators to the church, not to mention the many charities it funded.

After all, they had so much money when others had so damned little. Apparently the church didn't give a crap where the money came from, or how it was made, so long as pockets were always filled.

The congregation knew, though. Or it sure seemed like it.

It probably didn't help that without question or prompting, the very front pew was reserved only for Antony's family. No one ever took their place. By the time they arrived to the church, it was nearly filled. Walking past row after row of people who couldn't help but stare and whisper was annoying.

They were recognizable faces. Each Marcello son toted a fortune behind his name and an aura of danger mixed in with a heavy dose of charisma and charm. It didn't seem to matter their name also carried the weight of organized crime and a Cosa Nostra legacy. Good looks, a cocky as hell smirk, and a nice car fixed all the concern right up. They were a handsome bunch; fit, and tall. Always with fitted suits that cost more than what most people who attended the church made in a month.

Socialite magazines labeled them all as three of New York's finest bachelors. Rarely were they photographed with women when they did go out, but that was of their own choosing. It was easier to let the public speculate on the more private accesses of their lives than give a full show. Besides that, none of the women they did mingle with were the kinds of females any of the boys wanted the public eye to consider as anything but exactly what they were.

A fuck. Something dirty and quick. One hell of a fun time.

Definitely not a woman they'd take home to Antony or Cecelia. And if they wouldn't take her home, it was a well-known fact their mother and father didn't want to be reading about the extracurricular activities their sons may or may not be having with said females. It was a respect thing.

Another rule to add to the pile.

Pretty damn simple.

Resting back into the pew, Lucian sighed, frustrated. The seating arrangement for their family always followed the same order every Sunday. His mother would always sit to Antony's left, while Dante sat to his father's right, followed by Lucian, and finally Gio. It was, basically, the family's hierarchy.

It didn't matter that Antony was the Don-the boss of the Marcello crime family-Cecelia was the boss of their family. In no way was the hierarchy meant to denote anyone's importance in the family, so to speak, but it showed very clearly who was who.

Cecelia was the wife and mother. The very most important person to all of the Marcello men. She was Antony's chosen partner, his equal. Dante, both in the mafia business and private affairs, was his father's right hand man-the underboss to the family. Lucian, a capo, was his brother's. Gio, also a capo running his own crew on the west side, came at the end. It wasn't that the youngest son couldn't handle being given more responsibility but what he did, he did especially well. His young age gave him the ability to relate to the younger men in his crew. They respected him a hell of a lot more than some of the older guys.


Everybody knew when Antony would finally hand over his position, his title of boss would go to only Dante. Lucian, on the other hand, would second his younger brother as his underboss. Gio's fate was still undetermined, but that was his own choice. It had always been that way, even when they were all children.

Today, however, the seating arrangement in church was different.

Lucian was sitting at his mother's side, while Gio was sitting where Dante usually would beside their father. Dante, seemingly unbothered by the change in scenery, sat at the end, giving the very bare minimum he could manage of his attention to the priest.

It wasn't the change of seating that put Lucian on edge. He didn't give a flying shit where he sat, really. He was sure many people in the congregation were curious about the sudden change after over a decade of the family sitting in exactly the same order, but he didn't care. It was the fact that sitting two seats down from his mother like he usually would, Lucian could at least stare at the intricate paintings covering the walls, or the high vaulted ceiling. There, he could lose himself in anything other than the drawling drone of a priest who was preaching to a man who cared very little for the words being spoken.

But no. Sitting beside his mother meant Lucian's attention was being thoroughly monitored.

He was going insane.

A gentle touch of his mother's hand to his knee drew Lucian from his thoughts. She had given his distracted mind just enough time to hear Father Peter ask for the congregation to stand one last time and join him in a final prayer. As he stood, Lucian gave his own silent prayer of thanks for the long morning coming to an end.

Damn, he was hungry as hell.

The prayer, as familiar as the church he stood in, was spoken quietly and surely. Making the sign of the cross with two fingers across his chest, Lucian echoed, "Amen."

Unfortunately, when he turned to leave like everyone else was doing, Cecelia blocked his way in her own motherly way, her hand coming to rest on his arm. "Sit, dear," his mother murmured softly.