Purchase (#FREE with #KINDLEUNLIMITED): Amazon
Synopsis: 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.
Family first. God second.
From bosses and sons, to husbands and lovers. Made men, fathers, and killers. Life is a chess board in Cosa Nostra and these men are the kings.
You can’t be a Marcello if you’re not filthy.
The Complete Collection features the short novel Antony, and the three full length novels Lucian, Giovanni, and Dante. It also includes the 20k prequel to the Legacy series, featuring the Filthy Marcellos next generation.
FILTHY MARCELLOS: COMPLETE COLLECTION EXCERPTS
“What did they do, forget the ‘H’ when they spelled your name on the birth certificate?” Cecelia asked, a teasing smile lighting up her pretty features.
Antony chuckled, holding out his fork full of cheesecake for her to take. He waited while she drew the sweet bite from the utensil, her lips wrapping around the fork in a way that had his darker urges rising. He quickly reminded himself of the enforcer two booths away, readjusted his position in the seat, and cleared his throat. Yeah, he needed to get as far away from those fucking thoughts as he possibly could.
Cecelia was innocent. Antony needed to keep that forefront and center. He sure as hell wasn’t, but she was. Why she wanted anything to do with him, he wasn’t sure.
“No, they didn’t forget to add it in,” Antony finally replied.
Cecelia used the tip of her thumb to wipe away a bit of cream at the corner of her mouth. Antony’s gaze instantly zoned in on that innocent gesture and she didn’t miss it. Cecelia’s smile turned into a knowing grin.
Something inside of him said she wasn’t totally innocent.
“Like Cleopatra,” Antony explained.
“Cleopatra and Antony. My mother was a romantic. I was lucky I didn’t end up with Romeo for a name. She had a thing for couples who gave everything up for love.”
“Including their lives,” Cecelia mused.
“Exactly. What’s love without a little tragedy, as the saying goes. My brother got the namesake and I ended up with Antony.”
Cecelia chewed on her inner cheek, smiling in that sensual way of hers all over again. “I think I like Antony more, anyway.”
Her hand found his thigh again. “Take me dancing this weekend, hmm? Somewhere fun. I never get to do fun things, anymore.”
“I can do that, Tesoro.”
Whatever she wanted, he’d give.
“And maybe …” Cecelia trailed off with a sly hum.
“Maybe what, Cecelia?”
She leaned up and kissed him before he’d blinked. Soft, warm lips pressed to his and that was it for him. Antony was gone. She tasted like sugar and innocence. Pureness right down to her blood and bones. His cock jerked to life under his slacks the higher her hand rose on his thigh and the harder she kissed him. Quickly, her lips parted and he took the chance to deepen the kiss for the brief moment he could.
She didn’t pull away.
He was going to dirty this girl up so bad.
Antony bet she’d like it.
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?
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?”
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.
“What’s your name?”
“My friends call me Kim.”
Gio tasted the name on his tongue. Silently trying it out in his mind to see if he thought it truly fit the girl, or if she was just lying to appease him. She didn’t necessarily have a reason to be lying about her name.
“Just Kim, huh?” Gio grinned. “Kim with no last name?”
“I am tonight. Tomorrow, I’ll go back to being whoever I need to be.”
Something in the lit of her tone stopped the heart in Gio’s chest for a split second. There were too many times in his life when he wished he could be someone different. That he didn’t have so many eyes watching and expecting something from him. Days when it was easier to let people see him crawl out from the bottom of a bottle than to show his other failures.
Gio was the troubled one. The black sheep. He was lawless and mostly, he loved it. Often times he didn’t think things through, but he was cunning as hell and able to get himself out of most bad situations he ended up in.
He was also careless, but never carefree.
A dichotomy in a world where everyone had to be just perfectly so. Where everything needed to be explained and understood.
That wasn’t Gio.
“I get that,” Gio finally said.
“You should be in the ballroom dancing and celebrating with your brother and his new wife,” Kim said, sparing him a glance that waged a war with his insides in just a look.
“It’s just not you, hmm?”
The side of Gio’s lips quirked up into a smirk. “Something like that.”
Gio tapped his finger to the table again, interrupting the dealer without even considering he should just fold his hand. The king of clubs popped up and sent his hand bust. Gio should have expected that. He probably should have held his hand last draw, but someone had him otherwise distracted.
The longer Gio stared at Kim, the drunker he felt. On what, he wasn’t quite sure. He’d taken all different types of illegal substances in his life and downed more than enough alcohol to know a buzzed out, high feeling when it came along. This girl only needed to be within sitting distance of Gio to get his nerves stirring like drug or drink had been infused straight from her air to his.
That was crazy.
And he wanted to know why.
“Miss?” the dealer asked Kim.
It was only then did Gio notice her hand. A three and an eight. Eleven. How fucking lucky was that? The dealer had stayed at seventeen, the house limit. Everyone else at the table had either folded, stayed, or gone bust. Kim, though, had not. She only needed to beat the house, and really, she had a pretty damned good chance of doing just that.
Kim smiled at Gio, the sight almost too innocent to be true. “Forty percent chance I hit a number lower than a five. Five percent says it could be a six. Fifty-five puts it high enough to beat the house. It’s a risk. A little too close to fifty-fifty for some. Which would you choose, Giovanni?”
How did she know his name?
You never knew who the shark was.
“I’d take a card,” Gio replied.
“Me, too.” Kim nodded at the dealer for another card and didn’t even bat an eyelash when a jack turned over. “Keep my bet for the house,” she told the dealer with a shrug. “I was counting. It’s unfair to the game.”
Just as easily as she’d slipped into her seat at the Blackjack table, she was suddenly getting up to leave. Gio reached out and snagged Kim’s wrist in his palm without even thinking about it. Like her reaction to the card game, she didn’t seem all too surprised at his interruption of her exit, either.
Who was this fucking girl?
“You didn’t answer my question,” Kim said quietly, the heat of her skin soaking into Gio’s palm like a drug.
“Why wouldn’t you do what your brother did and pick both?”
“I wouldn’t do this at all,” Gio stated with a pointed look to the entrance separating the dance hall from the casino section.
“The wedding thing, or the marrying thing?”
“Why does it matter?”
Kim shrugged. “It doesn’t.”
Gio doubted that. “Maybe it’s just not my thing, Tesoro.”
He didn’t miss the recognition twinkling in her eye at his use of an Italian endearment for one’s sweetheart. Did she understand what the word meant? Treasure. Dear. Darling. Gio couldn’t think of another time when it’d slipped so easily from his mouth, yet he heard his father call his mother that every day of his life.
“Or maybe I’m not the marrying kind,” Gio added.
“Maybe you just haven’t found the right one to tame you, yet.”
A smirk crept over his lips. “The fun isn’t in the taming. It’s in the attempt.”
“Sì,” she agreed.
Kim pulled her wrist from Gio’s grasp without another word. He wasn’t entirely sure this was how he wanted their odd encounter to end, considering the bubbling attraction curling around his senses and the lust pooling in his gut. Even still, he rested back in his chair and watched blue peep-toes walk away from the table without even a single glance back.
When she disappeared into the influx of people moving into the casino room from the ballroom, Gio turned back to the table.
“Mr. Marcello?” the dealer said, gaining Gio’s attention once more.
“Hmm? I think I’m done for the night.”
“Ah, no, sir. On the table, Mr. Marcello. It was underneath her cards when I picked them up.”
With those words, the man handed over a key card. The fancy script of a hotel’s name was scrawled across the front in golden embossed letters. The hotel directly across from the plaza they were currently in. On the back, a floor and room number were printed above the barcode.
Hell … Gio did like to take his risks, after all.
What was one more?
“Are you drinking?” Dante asked, his tone rough.
Dante blinked, stunned. The thick Italian accent coating her words set him back a step. He hadn’t expected that and for some reason, it put him on edge.
“It’s a club, dolcezza. There’s isn’t much else to do on a Thursday night when you’re sitting at the bar.”
She smiled sweetly—too sweetly. “Oh, I’m doing more than sitting, bello. And I don’t need to drink to do it.”
Her voice was demure, her words rolling off her tongue quietly, but surely. The straightness of her back in the stool spoke of class while her blatant regard of him gave an air of confidence.
She dazed him.
Dante wasn’t accustomed to that.
A soft pat-pat-pat sound gained his attention to where her finger hit down on the bar. On the inside of her left index finger, one word was tattooed in fancy black script: Queen.
The edginess burrowed in deep again. When things felt off for Dante, they usually were. This woman made his insides scream it. Both in a good and bad way.
Dante chanced a glance back at the table where his brothers were standing, readying to leave as they pulled on their jackets. They were still talking, though. But the man who had annoyed Dante the most—Gaetano—wasn’t paying Lucian or Gio any mind. No, he was watching the woman at Dante’s side.
Not with interest, as if she may have caught his eye by chance, but instead, he looked at her with the familiarity of a friend.
Dante’s thoughts raced when what he really needed was for his mind to be silent. During the entire meeting, none of the men had spoken of their boss in direct context or out of it. The Marcello brothers had continually referred to the unknown leader of the group as a he because that’s what they assumed they were dealing with in whatever game the men were playing.
Dante was only now realizing they were wrong in doing so.
“You know, you surprised me,” the woman said, drawling her words out with a sensuality that could make a man’s mouth water. Again, she dragged her gaze from Dante’s leather shoes to his green eyes. “You’re much more handsome in person than I thought you would be, Dante Marcello.”
Three things in life made a man most vulnerable: sex, love, and children.
Sex occasionally led to love, and for some, it also led to children. As Dante was incapable of having children, he had no interest in love. Sex, however … well, that was something he simply couldn’t do without.
It was just too damn bad the need left him exposed, and it had to be now he learned the lesson to never think with his cock when business was in play.
The woman swiveled fast on her chair at the same time Dante lurched toward her. He found himself between her thighs, crowding her back forcefully to the edge of the bar, nearly pushing her off the stool. The magnum he always kept hidden at his back in a holster was seated in his palm before the woman could speak and the barrel pressed under her chin at her throat.
Dante ticked the gun at her jawline, making her tilt her head back under the weight. She stared him head-on, unabashed and unafraid, smirking mischievously. Her hazel eyes danced with amusement and menace.
He hated how her unfazed attitude at his warning only made him hot.
Something sharp nipped at Dante’s groin. Without needing to look down, he could feel the blade of a knife threatening to cut into his balls.
Jesus fucking Christ.
“Go on, cock your hammer back, bello,” she urged low. “You wouldn’t be the first to try and take a bite out of me, Dante. I’m not a little girl who frightens easily.”
“Who the fuck are you?” Dante demanded.
His gun dug harder into her jaw. Her knife reacted accordingly at his sac.
“What do you want from me?”
Catrina flashed white teeth in a wicked smile. “I heard you need a wife.”
FILTHY MARCELLOS PLAYLIST
Bethany-Kris is a Canadian author, lover of much, and mother to three 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, snuggling cat, barking dogs, and a hubby calling over his shoulder, she is nearly always writing something … when she can find the time.