Giovanni (32 page)

“
Mmhmm
. Me and you and anywhere I can have you. Practice,
bellissima
. It makes everything perfect.”

When Kim turned to run away with breathless laughter already beginning to fill the hall, Gio was right on her pretty heels. He caught her around her waist just behind the couch before they both tumbled over onto it.

Kim didn’t need any practice, he knew.

For Gio, she was already perfect.

About the Author

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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Coming Soon

Filthy Marcellos: Dante

Filthy Marcellos, Book Three

Dante looked around the table of men, finally coming to an understanding. None of these men were the boss of their operation. Not a single one looked to any other man around them for permission to voice his opinion, a direction for which he should take, or a leader to make the final call on the sit-down.

This entire charade could have been avoided had Dante realized this sooner and his very valuable fucking time wouldn’t have been wasted. Nothing pissed him off more than someone wasting his goddamn time.

“This is done,” Dante said, pushing his seat out and standing.

None of the men stood with him. It was yet another sign that not one of them felt as though they were the person holding the power.

Sickening.

Giovanni glanced up at his older brother with a furrowed brow. “But—”

“But nothing,” Dante snapped, his irritation swelling.

“Dante, we don’t have answers, yet. I want to know why there is shit in my streets that isn’t mine and is taking away business and cash from my crew.”

“Exactly.” Dante flicked his hand dismissively at the guests who had done little during the sit-down but talk them in circles and piss him off. “And from these fools, we’re not going to get anything.”

“Hey,” Gaetano growled. “Fools is a pretty strong word for a small group of men who infiltrated a quarter of your territory in less than a couple of months and managed to undercut your bestselling product by nearly half.”

Dante’s gaze narrowed in on the asshole he wanted to make choke on the barrel of his gun. Playtime was over. The Marcello Cosa Nostra didn’t bother to make nice with little start-up crews like this. They simple took them out.

It was a call he would have to make. Not that he particularly liked it, as it was always better to make peace than spill blood in their world, but he would make the choice, nonetheless.

“When the Marcellos demanded this meeting, we did so with the intention of speaking boss to boss,” Dante said, keeping a calm façade but boiling on the inside. “That was the agreement set up for this night. Instead, what we found was a bunch of thugs playing with drugs who clearly don’t have the first clue about the force they’ve just come up against in the Marcellos. So, we’re done here. There’s nothing more to talk about.”

“Oh?” Gaetano asked.

“Yes, oh. It’s like this, I gave your boss the chance to speak with me face to face so he could explain his motives for being in our streets and he didn’t come. Whatever his reasons for not showing, I don’t give a good goddamn. Shunning a boss is not acceptable in Cosa Nostra and it doesn’t make a single difference to me if you are
la famiglia
or not. When you come into
my
territory, you’re automatically agreeing to play by
my
rules.”

Something akin to a sneer twisted at Carlos’ lips beside Gaetano. “But you’re not actually the boss, either, are you, Dante?”

“Acting boss is just as good as being boss. It means I make all the choices. And since you’re sitting in a club my brother owns, on streets we run, and in a territory our family controls, it would be wise for you to remember you are not the one with the power here.”

Lucian’s lips drew thin as he too stood from the table. “You’re sure this is what you want to do, Dante?”

Dante nodded. “This is it. Care to finish this nonsense out for me? I need a fucking drink after this shit show.”

“Will do,” Lucian said.

“Do be sure they understand the consequences of this farce, too. It’s a fucking travesty when people waste my time. Like I don’t have enough damn problems as it is.”

“Got it.”

Dante left the group at the table without a backward glance. Their nonsense was dropped from his mind the moment he decided they weren’t worth the effort to keep trying to plow them for more information.

At the bar, he rapped his knuckles down to the top and caught the bartender’s attention. “Crown. Three fingers. Neat.”

“Coming up, Boss,” the guy replied.

It didn’t matter how many times Dante was called that, it still hadn’t quite sunk in. Everyone else around him didn’t seem surprised at the shift going on in the Marcello family but him. Antony had set him up well.

Dante suppressed his smile, turning his back to the bar so he could watch his older brother lay into the idiots at the table across the room. Quietly enough that no one else could hear, but guessing by the severe expression Lucian sported as he railed into the men, his brother was doing what he did best: inciting fear.

Maybe he should have stayed at the table just for the show.

Out of the corner of his eye, the curve of a trim waste melding into shapely hips that were covered by a tight bodycon-style black dress drew Dante’s attention.

Dark red curls hanging below her shoulders framed the woman’s profile, but did little to hide her features. Skin the color of peachy cream, ruby colored lips just full enough to set into a natural pout, and high cheekbones gave her the appearance of sweetness and innocence. But her body, that dress, and the black, peep-toe five inch stilettos tapping a beat to the barstool spoke entirely of sin and sexuality. She kept her gaze on the bar top, dark lashes fanning over her cheeks while the ghost of a smile played at the edges of her mouth.

Dante’s throat tightened right along with his slacks and the longer he stared at the woman, the more his interest peaked. The night had been a shitty one, so why not end it in a good way? Like between that woman’s thighs.

Dante turned as the bartender produced his drink of choice. “On the house, Boss.”

“Thank you.”

Sipping on the whiskey, Dante pushed away from the bar, interest fully focused on the woman three stools away, and made his way down. When he slid onto the stool beside the redhead and placed his tumbler to the bar, a sexy, almost knowing, smirk curved her lips.

Her hazel eyes regarded Dante from the side, taking him in slowly. She looked him up and down and didn’t even try to conceal the fact she was. His lust burned a little hotter at the sight. There was something about women who knew what they wanted and didn’t hide their intentions that turned him on like nothing fucking else.

Red manicured fingernails, the same shade as her hair and lips, dragged along her outer thigh to the hem of her dress, forcing Dante’s stare downward.

Cristo
, she had gorgeous legs.

He bet they would look even better wrapped around his waist.

“Are you drinking?” Dante asked, his tone rough.

“Not tonight.”

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’s 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 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.

“Catrina Danzi.”

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.”

Copyright
© 2015 by Bethany-Kris. All rights reserved.

WARNING: The unauthorized distribution or reproduction of this copyrighted work is illegal. No parts of this work may be used, reproduced, or printed without expressed written consent by the author/publisher. Exceptions are made for small excerpts used in reviews.

ISBN: 978-0-9937797-4-9

Cover Art © Viorel Sima

Editor: Elle Leigh

This is work of fiction. Characters, names, places, corporations, organizations, institutions, locales, and so forth are all the product of the author’s imagination, or if real, used fictitiously. Any resemblance to a person, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.