Page 6 of Lucian

“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.