Authors: Bethany-Kris
“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 somehow 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.
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.
“You’ve been away a lot lately,” John noted.
“Work.”
“Too much, maybe.”
“Mind your home and I’ll mind mine, John.”
“Just saying, Tony.”
Christ.
Antony rubbed at his forehead, annoyed. He’d purchased two more restaurants the past year and bought shares into a start-up investment and development company. The company was a learning curve, while the restaurants took up more time than Antony had to give. He was still working on that goal of owning half of New York in one way or another, after all.
Then, there was Cosa Nostra.
La famiglia
didn’t ask for time, it simply took it whether Antony wanted to give it or not. Being a Capo meant Antony was on call for the boss, his men, and other Capos who were older than him no matter what. It didn’t make a damned difference if he just got home after being gone for a half of a week and the phone rang the moment he walked in the door. If it was Cosa Nostra, he had to go.
Cecelia didn’t say much, but it had to be hard for her.
Fuck.
Antony wished he had the time to ask.
Marriage was tough. He was learning a person had to work just to make it work. He didn’t even have the goddamn time to make it work.
“Yeah, I need to figure out some guys that are trustworthy enough to take over some of my shit,” Antony muttered to John.
All the while, Vinnie kept running off at the mouth about tribute, cash, and the usual nonsense. Antony would normally pay attention to his boss—the rules were what they were for a reason—but tonight he just wasn’t in the mood for any of it.
“I might be able to help with that,” John replied. “You can’t manage everything, Antony. Give up a little control. Sit back, enjoy what you’ve got, and make them pay you.”
“I like to work.”
John chuckled. “Well, then I suppose you need to find a balance.”
“How long is that supposed to take?”
“You’re asking the wrong man. I still haven’t found mine. Between Kate, my family, and Lina being—” John cut off abruptly at the mention of his mistress’s name, tossing Antony an apologetic look. “Never mind, sorry about that.”
Antony sighed. “Still running around with her, huh?”
“I love her,” John said simply. “You love Cecelia. To me, it’s not any different.”
“Isn’t it?”
“Not to me. I love her like you love Cecelia. I have to handle my business where she’s concerned. I can’t just turn my back on her, especially now.”
Antony’s confusion climbed higher. “What’s so important about now?”
“Nothing,” John said quickly.
“John.” Antony faced his friend and turned his shoulder to the rest of the room as if to block the men out from their conversation. He knew it was just the suggestion of privacy, but Antony still lowered his voice when he asked again, “What’s so important about now?”
John’s hazel gaze wouldn’t meet Antony’s. “You’ve made your position clear in regards to how you feel about my choices with Lina, Tony, so leave it alone. Besides, the less you know, the better.”
“Is something going on?”
“Nothing bad.”
“Something good?” Antony asked quieter.
“Something really good,” John said with a small smile. “Something amazing, even it was stupid of me to let it happen. But I still can’t tell anyone.”
• • •
August, 1987
“The night before Paulie’s wedding we got hammered,” John said, cutting through the top of a thick cardboard box. “The night before yours we got hammered.”
Antony helped his friend open the top of the four other boxes and pull the crap out on top that hid the guns beneath. “Your point?”
“Why the fuck are we working the night before mine, huh?”
“John—”
“I don’t even like the fucking woman and unlike you two, have every reason to want to get hammered, but instead, I’m working.”
“Antony!”
“Shit,” Antony hissed, shoving the fillers back into the boxes quickly as Cecelia rounded the attic stairs. “Hey,
bella
. You need something?”
Cecelia put her hands to her hips and surveyed the boxes Antony and John stood in front of. “How many more of those are you going to shove up in here?”
“A couple more,” Antony answered.
“What’s inside?”
“Nothing—”
“Antony.”
“—important,” he finished.
Cecelia’s pretty pink lips pursed in her frustration. “Why can’t it go … somewhere else?”
Because the other warehouses were full of shit Vinnie couldn’t get rid of yet because it was tagged as hot and would draw attention being sold on the streets. No one wanted the cops finding a trail that would lead back to them. Antony had the biggest attic. This worked.
“Cecelia, go back downstairs,” Antony said firmly.
She didn’t budge. “Antony.”
“
Tesoro
, just look the other way.”
“This is my home, Antony.”
“Mine, too.”
Cecelia frowned and it cut Antony straight to the fucking bone. There was nothing he hated more than upsetting her. Unlike most women, buying her pretty things didn’t make Cecelia Marcello happy, either. Not that she didn’t like jewelry and whatnot, but it didn’t make up for his late nights, lack of presence at home, and the silence in-between.
Truthfully, he’d been gone a lot lately, too.
La Cosa Nostra came first.
La famiglia
was a demanding bastard.
Antony didn’t know how to explain that to his wife.
“We’ll have them gone within a couple weeks,” John said.
“Give or take,” Antony added.
Cecelia still didn’t seem all too pleased. “Fine, whatever.”
With that, his wife turned on her heel and disappeared back down the stairs.
John hummed under his breath. “She seems moodier than normal lately. It’s not like Cecelia to outright question your business like that.”
He had a point. Cecelia usually turned cheek to the shady dealings that went on around her. Antony always appreciated it.
Antony sighed. “She’s pregnant.”
“What?”
“I didn’t fucking stutter, man.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah.” Antony shrugged. “She just hasn’t told me yet.”
John’s brow furrowed. “How in the hell do you know, then?”
“I just know my wife. She’s pregnant. Probably scared. We still haven’t finish decorating all the rooms in this house because it’s too big to fill and we’ve lived here for a year already. She knows there are guns in her attic and drugs in the basement. We’re not living a fucking dream life here. It’s real and I’m not here every morning for her to wake up with. This is going to be a huge change.”
“Wow.”
“Someday you’ll understand.”
John cleared his throat, laughing weakly. “Yeah … someday.”
Antony turned to his friend, curious. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing, Tony. Means nothing. Let’s finish this shit, yeah?”
“Yeah. Maybe then we can get a start on getting you hammered.”
John snorted. “Make sure I’m good and fucking drunk tomorrow, too.”
Antony wished his friend was joking, but he knew he wasn’t.
• • •
“John is out,” Antony informed his wife. “I probably shouldn’t have let him drink that much, but I don’t blame him.”
Cecelia didn’t act like she heard him say a thing. Instead, she kept washing dishes in her kitchen fit for a queen.
“Cecelia?”
“What, Antony?”
“I’m sorry about … earlier.”
Cecelia dropped the dish rag and turned to face her husband with hurt marring her beautiful features. “Was that so hard for you to tell me?”
“Huh?”
“That right there. An apology, Antony. Was that so hard?”
Antony lifted a single shoulder. “No.”
“Okay, so do it more often. Use words or something. Anything but silence and gifts I don’t want or need. I don’t want excuses for whatever you’re doing, but you need to use your words with me, too. I just … do you understand what I’m saying right now?”
Antony didn’t know what to say.
“Don’t you remember what I told you?”
“When?”
“On our wedding night,” she said, clearly angry.
Clearly his confusion was not what she was looking for.
Cecelia waved at him as if to dismiss him. “Never mind. Leave me alone for a while, please. I’m tired and I want to get this done so I can go to bed.”
No, Antony didn’t think so.
“Cecelia, don’t do that. I get I’m not around enough lately and that I’m spending more hours away from the house than I am in it with you, but I can’t help that. You knew who I was before we married. You knew that this was a part of the deal,
Tesoro
.”
Cecelia sighed heavily. “I know. I just …”
“What?”
“I need you here more, Antony.”
“When are you going to tell me, huh?”
Cecelia shifted on her feet, looking more uncomfortable by the second. “About what?”
“You know what. I might not be here all the damn time, but I notice shit all the same when I am, Cecelia. Like the fact you haven’t cooked eggs in a month and how you’re sleeping in until ten instead of being up at dawn like always. Because yeah, when I’m not here in the morning to wake you up, I’m calling to say hello. You’re not picking up. I worried and came to check once or twice. You’re exhausted, you’re not feeling well, and when I am home, you’ve got little to no interest in me.”
“That’s not true!”
“Yes, it is,” Antony argued. “When was the last time we fucked, Cecelia?”
“I—”
“A while,” he interjected sharply. “Why won’t you tell me you’re pregnant?”
“Because I miscarried eight months ago, but you were too busy with everything else but me to notice!”
Antony’s heart stopped. “Miscarried?”
“I wasn’t very far along and apparently it’s not uncommon for the first pregnancy,” Cecelia said as if she were breaking bread and not delivering the heartbreaking news. “I wanted to wait until I passed a certain point in this one to tell you.”
“Cecelia, I’m—”
“Don’t,” his wife interrupted. “I don’t want to hear your apologies, Antony. I just want you to realize there is more to our life than work, the mafia, the drugs you think I don’t know about in the basement, and the guns in my goddamn attic. There is more to us, okay. There is.”
Before Antony could say another thing, Cecelia left her spot at the sink and the dirtied dishes still needing cleaned, pushed past his stunned form in the entryway, and disappeared down the hallway.
They’d tried ever since they married to have children. In fact, they never actually actively prevented anything. Both Antony and Cecelia were devout Catholics and attempting to prevent a pregnancy in some way went against God’s will. Children were gifts, treasures to be cared, loved, and adored.
He wanted children. What he didn’t want was for his wife to suffer through the process of finally having one.
It took him far too long to wake from his stupor and follow his wife. By the time he did, Antony had no fucking idea where she had disappeared to in their large home, but he went to their bedroom first. The door was closed and since it was also locked, Antony figured he picked the right place. He knocked on the wood, leaning his shoulder against the door.