December 10th
The front door slammed under Dante Marcello’s heavy hand. Usually, he wouldn’t be doing that kind of shit, but damn, lately he needed some kind of an outlet for the irritation that just kept building higher and higher.
As a crime boss, it was no longer acceptable for him to use physical violence when he needed or wanted something done. He was expected to act as an example for his men, and behave accordingly. He was meant to talk. Talk like it was his friend, talk like it was fine, and talk until he got what he wanted done.
Just fucking talk.
Dante was so done with talking at this point that it wasn’t even funny.
Perhaps if all he had to worry about was talking, it wouldn’t be such a goddamn issue. It wasn’t just his Cosa Nostra, though. It was his legal business, too. Work that just kept piling up. Issues that kept weeding their way through cracks he couldn’t fill.
Nonstop nonsense.
Frustrated that yet another work day had left him with more things added onto his to-do list, and nothing actually solved. He should’ve been happy to be home. Except he wasn’t.
Dante was a lot of things—stubborn, difficult, and particular.
He was not, however, an idiot.
His problems with work outside of the house had started to bleed into his home and family life. He saw it every day he came home—like today—and his kids didn’t greet him at the door. Never mind his wife, who was probably just about at her wits end where he was concerned, too.
Dante shrugged off his jacket, and eyed the empty hallway. The best part of his days was this moment right here … or, it should be.
His kids didn’t come running. His wife wasn’t waiting at the end of the hallway. He barely heard a sound other than the faint hum of the television in another room.
Cinnamon and sugar clung to the air as he put his shoes into the rack. Fresh pine wafted through the living room entryway as he passed it by. Compliments of the tree he had gotten a man to pick up and bring to his home.
All the scents of Christmas.
It should have been the most wonderful time of the year.
Wasn’t that what the song said?
Right.
Fucking joke.
Dante hadn’t gotten five damn minutes this year to even enjoy the season. He hadn’t been able to shop for his wife or kids—never mind his brothers, their wives, or his parents—other than some online browsing. At some point, those online purchases would be delivered to his house, but it was looking like he would have to pay someone else to wrap the damn things for him.
Yeah, it sucked.
Usually, he would help his wife decorate. He would be the one to grab their tree while Michel tagged along to demand it be perfect all around. He would hang the high ornaments, and lift Catherine up to put the angel on top.
Not this year.
All of that had been done without him. Not by his choice, of course, but it was still done.
And Cat!
Catrina cooked—she cooked the best things around this time of year, and Dante barely got to taste any of it.
He fucking hated it.
Dante supposed that wasn’t helping with his mood, either. He felt like he was missing out on something that usually made his kids and wife happy. He wasn’t there to help them, or watch their excitement grow as Christmas came closer.
Add on his mood to make them wary, and it was just crappy all around.
Dante found his wife in the kitchen. Catrina didn’t look up at his entrance, and instead, focused on the book she was reading while she sipped what looked to be hot chocolate from her favorite mug. He could smell hints of peppermint, too, so it was probably one of those specialty ones she liked.
In the kitchen, the scents of cinnamon and sugar were far heavier. It almost made his mouth water, but he had other things on his mind at the moment.
“Where are the kids?”
“Hello to you, too,” Catrina murmured, never looking away from her book.
Dante’s gaze narrowed. “Evening, Cat. My day was shit. How was yours?”
“Fine.”
“Until now, right?”
At his unneeded, rude response, Catrina set her cup down, closed her book, and slowly turned in her seat to face Dante. He didn’t need to be told by her to know he had crossed a line with what he said.
Still, it was out there now.
He couldn’t take it back.
“Excuse me, bello?” Catrina asked calmly.
He always liked how even when she was raging pissed—which she clearly was now—how she could both let her tone cut him with its sharpness while also calling him handsome. She did it without batting a lash.
“Your day,” Dante said, wondering what in the hell he was doing and where in the fuck he planned to go with this. “I bet it was a lot better before I got home, huh?”
Catrina cocked a brow.
Dante didn’t back down. “It’s like the kids, too. I come home, and they’re anywhere but here lately. Upstairs in their rooms, outside, or wherever else. As long as it’s not next to me, then they don’t care. Right?”
“Perhaps your attitude and moods lately are a bit much for them, Dante. They’re kids, not little robots. They can tell when their father is not up to his usual self, and they don’t want any part of it. Can’t blame them, really.”
“No shit.”
Catrina sucked air through her teeth in a hiss, and her gaze darkened. “That’s your response to what I just said?”
Dante side-eyed the stove, and noticed the red light and timer. “Are you cooking something? It smells good in here.”
Catrina stood from her chair, and tipped her head to the side. She pointed a single red-tipped stiletto fingernail at her husband with a nod, like she just had some bright idea. As though she knew exactly what he was up to.
“What happened today, bello?”
“The usual fucking shit,” Dante muttered.
“And you’re pissed.”
“Of course. It’s a regular thing for me now, isn’t it?”
Catrina came closer, and so did her pointed finger. “So you thought to come home and pick a fight with me, is that it?”
Dante blinked.
His wife stood her ground.
“You need an outlet,” Catrina added, “and it’s me.”
“Can’t be the kids. Can’t be people at work. Can’t be useless fucking made men who don’t listen.”
“So it has to be your wife.”
Dante lifted a single brow. “You’re the only one who might be able to fight or fuck this mood out of me, Cat.”
His wife smirked a bit.
“The kids are with Antony, by the way. He took them to see the parade.”
Great.
Yet another thing he missed out on this year.
“Can we yell a little before we start?” he asked.
Catrina shrugged. “As long as I get to go first.”
He didn’t mind that a bit.