Chapter 3

Catherine Marcello’s favorite spot in her family’s large home had always been her parents’ office. It was a comforting place for her because she had spent so much time inside it. As a child, she used to hide under her father’s desk and play for hours on end until one of her parents came to find her. Despite having a house with too many rooms to fill, her parents—Catrina and Dante—shared an office space.

But she wasn’t a child anymore at thirteen-years-old.

As Catherine got older, she understood exactly why her parents shared an office space together. Or rather, she got nosier.

Instead of playing with her tablet or toys, she snooped through the papers on the desk, or flipped through the folders inside the drawers. She knew it wasn’t exactly right, but she figured it wasn’t all that wrong of her to do, either.

Her parents would have said so, otherwise. They had no problem telling her what she could or couldn’t do for any other thing. Plus Dante and Catrina never made any real effort to hide the things they left behind in their office for Catherine to look through.

Catherine wasn’t entirely sure when she realized the truth about her family. Maybe it was when she was five, and a bodyguard was waiting to pick her up after kindergarten in the afternoon. Or maybe it was over the years, during the many family dinners, when business between men was quietly discussed. Maybe it was when Catherine asked her father why her mother flew out to L.A. twice a month for years, only to have Dante simply say, work.

What kind of work?

What does she do?

Can I go with Ma?

Dante would laugh off his daughter’s questions and shake his head with a wink. “Someday, maybe, reginella,” he would say, although he never sounded very honest when he said it.

Perhaps Catherine really understood the darker truth about her family when people used titles like Queen or Don in reference to her mother or father. Very rarely did people use her father’s name—it was almost always Don or boss. The only people Catherine had ever heard call her mother by her name were very close friends and immediate family. To everyone else, Catrina Marcello was Queen. Or, Regina. Her mother even had that word tattooed on the inside of her pointer finger.

That was also how Catherine had gotten her pet name—reginella. Her mother’s little queen.

Those titles her parents had were always spoken with some level of respect, handed out without question, and never with hesitation. As though they earned them.

She was not dumb.

She was actually quite sly.

Or, that’s what her daddy always said.

Between the things she heard and saw over the years, the way people talked about her family, and through her own snooping, Catherine knew all there was to know about the Marcellos. Organized Crime. Mafia. Cosa Nostra.

It wasn’t really a girl thing, so she pretended like she didn’t know when she needed to. Sometimes, though, her curiosity got the better of her, and she dared to ask about things she knew she probably shouldn’t. Like why her mother was clearly in with the family business.

That was how she learned Catrina was a Queen Pin. A drug dealer of the highest caliber, dealing to the most elite clientele.

And that was damn near the end of the discussion.

At least, from her mother’s side of it.

Catherine was too curious, and too interested in what all of that meant, to let it drop.

That was why she found herself snooping through her mother and father’s office again because Catrina didn’t want to talk. Catherine wanted to know.

She figured she wasn’t asking for much.

Catrina’s trips had slowed over the last year, too. Catherine noticed. Her mother wasn’t flying out as often, and she spent more time taking phone calls in private. She didn’t know what any of that meant, but she did know how to snoop to find enough pieces to put it all together for herself.

“What are you doing in here?”

Catherine looked up at her almost seventeen-year-old brother’s voice. “Looking for something.”

Michel’s brow furrowed. “Looking for what?”

“I don’t know. Something.”

“In Ma and Dad’s desk?”

“So?”

“You shouldn’t snoop. They don’t look through our shit.”

“Says you.”

“Go away, Michel.”

“Don’t be a bitch, Catherine.”

“Don’t you have someone else to annoy?” Catherine asked.

She went back to digging though the desk. She hadn’t lied to her brother, technically. She didn’t know what she was looking for until she found it. That was usually how it worked.

“If they didn’t want me to look, they would keep the door locked,” Catherine muttered under her breath.

“That is a shitty justification for your nosiness.”

Catherine shot her brother a glare. “Go away.”

“Nah, I’m good.”

“I hate you.”

“It’s mutual.”

Catherine pulled out a thin, leather black notebook from the very bottom drawer. Actually, it was more like a journal. Flipping it open, she found pages upon pages of names and addresses. Some of the names, she recognized, but only because of their star attraction.

Celebrities.

She blinked.

Another page flipped over in her hands.

A sports star turned actor.

A musician.

Michel came up beside her, and pointed at a name she didn’t recognize. “Former president’s son.”

“President of what?” she asked.

He laughed. “The country. How did you pass into eighth grade this year?”

Catherine blinked again, and chose to ignore her brother’s jab. “What is this?”

“Ma’s black book. You know, clients.”

“For drugs?”

Michel shrugged. “Yeah.”

“There’s a lot of names in here.”

“She was good at what she did.”

“Was,” Catherine said.

“Huh?”

“You said was. Past tense. See, there is a reason I passed, asshole.”

Michel rolled his eyes. “I don’t know much about it all, just that she’s not as active as she used to be. It gets boring after a while, maybe. I don’t know, ask her.”

“I do. She tells me nothing. That’s why I—”

“Snoop, yeah I got it.”

“How do you know?” Catherine asked.

“Because I hear shit, so I ask shit,” Michel explained.

“Who do you ask?”

“Mostly cousins, like John or Andino, and sometimes Uncle Gio when he’s in a good mood.”

Huh.

Catherine filed that info away for later.

“Really, though, you shouldn’t snoop,” Michel said, taking the black book and putting it away. “There’s some things that are better left alone, Catherine. Some of this is a lot of that, if you get what I mean.”

“But—”

“And you’ve got school tomorrow.”

She scowled. “So do you.”

“Yeah, but I’ve been attending the Academy since sixth grade. You’re only getting transferred in this year. I’m in the upper Academy, so I won’t be around for you to ask me a million questions or to keep your ass out of trouble.”

“I do just fine on my own, thanks.”

Michel nodded. “Sure you do.”

“I don’t want to go to that stuffy school anyway.”

Her father took her out of her all girls private school, and decided to transfer her into the Academy of Westforth for her eighth grade. That meant all of her friends were left behind.

“Point is,” her brother said, “you don’t want to be tired and stupid walking around tomorrow. Some of those kids are a bunch of shits, too much money and too bored for their own good. With a last name like Marcello, some of them just want to see how far they can push before you push back. Keep an eye open, that’s all.”

“We’ve got too much money, and we’re bored half the time, too.”

Michel smirked. “Maybe you’ll fit right in, then, but who knows? You’ve got too much mouth sometimes. It gets you in trouble.”

It did not.

“Liliana will be there,” Catherine said of her cousin.

She was only one year younger than Liliana.

“Yeah, that’ll help,” Michel said as he headed for the door. “Another one with too much mouth in this family.”

Asshole.