Cross shifted from second gear into third as he drove down familiar roads. Old buildings in need of repair passed them by, and the Range Rover’s headlights lit up the quiet streets of Brooklyn.
“This is not a great part of town,” Catherine said.
“No.”
“Do you spend a lot of time around here?”
“A bit,” he admitted. Catherine turned in the passenger seat to look at him, making Cross take his gaze off the road for a split second. A burning curiosity stared back at him. “What?”
“Did you know my brother was dealing drugs at school when he attended?”
“Catherine, I know which teachers will slip you a Xanax before an exam, and which ones will give you a grade to keep your spot on the team.”
She cocked a single brow. “Yeah, but that’s not what I asked.”
“My point just flew right over your head, didn’t it?”
“Don’t be an asshole, Cross.”
He sighed. “Yeah, I knew. I mean, everybody knows who to go to when you want to get something of a certain type. The Academy is full of rich kids with too much time and money on their hands, and parents that are too busy to pay attention. It’s not a big surprise.”
“That kids use drugs? No. That my brother was supplying? Kind of.”
“Like I said, to you, maybe.”
Though Cross was kind of shocked Catherine hadn’t known Michel Marcello had been supplying the Academy kids with whatever their poison of choice was for nearly as many years as he attended the place. Before him, it had been his cousin John, from what Cross understood. Since Michel was still around, and still had the time to deal, Academy kids still called on him when they wanted something to spike their fun.
Cross wasn’t sure who would pick up after Michel was done. He also didn’t care.
“Is it not surprising to you because you know what my family is involved in?” Catherine asked quietly.
Cross made sure to keep his expression neutral as he replied, “I mean, that depends.”
“On what?”
“On how you want me to phrase what I know—do I know it because everyone knows the Marcello surname is attached with crime, or because so is mine?”
He didn’t miss the way Catherine nodded to herself and settled back into the passenger seat as though she had got her answer without asking it.
“But yeah,” he said, “that’s why I’m not surprised Michel deals.”
“Oh.”
Cross shrugged as he cut the wheel to turn off into an abandoned row of buildings that went on for a good block or two. Their destination was coming right up. “Somebody’s got to supply the demand, Catherine, and Michel happened to be the one with the right connections, and people knew where and who to go to. Just because Michel is brilliant in the book kind of way—or that’s what people say about him—doesn’t mean he’s dumb in other ways. He knows what he’s doing, and he’s probably got his own reasons for doing it. Who knows? Ask him.”
“I did. He said he likes money.”
“Shit, that’s a good reason, then.”
Catherine side-eyed him. “Do you?”
“Hmm?”
“Like money, I mean.”
Cross smirked. “I like it well enough.”
“Well enough to sell drugs?”
“Where is this conversation going?” Cross asked.
Catherine shrugged. “I’m curious—we come from the same world, don’t we? I know what that means to me. I’m privileged. I always have been. My family is respected, but not for reasons people talk about, and they’re feared, for those same reasons. It means sometimes my father’s face is on the news, or in the papers, and I have to pretend like it isn’t. I wonder what it means to you.”
“That’s not exactly the same question, Catherine. It is, in a way, but it isn’t at the same time. Do you get what I mean?”
“No.”
“Why not?” he asked.
“Because I’m a girl, and you’re very much not. I think you have a whole different perspective on everything just because of that, Cross.”
“Then yes,” he said in a murmur, “you know exactly what I mean. You want me to fill in details, that’s the difference.”
“Did you know who I was and who my family was before?”
“Yes.”
“And you never wanted to talk or ask about it at all?”
Cross waved a hand, and said, “We have rules, okay. We don’t talk—”
“About family or business, I know.”
“Then don’t ask.”
“I asked about you, so.”
Clearly, she was not going to drop the conversation.
“To me, it means my priorities are different at times,” Cross said quietly, “and not entirely the same as yours or an outsider’s might be. I have goals, but they won’t match yours. I have interests, but they’re not necessarily acceptable or appropriate. It means my morals are skewed sometimes, and I stretch boundaries a lot more than I should—usually until they snap all together. You’re right, it’s different because I’m a guy, but it’s not any less smothering, Catherine. Trust that.”
“I never said it was smothering.”
“But it can be.”
“Yeah, it can be,” she agreed.
“Do you really care?”
Catherine glanced over at him. “About what?”
“My last name. If I’m like you. Would it ever make a difference?”
“No.”
Cross grinned. “Oh?”
“But it might make it better, so yeah, maybe it would make a difference.”
He didn’t ask why. He didn’t really need to. It made things better because it was good to have someone who understood without needing to have everything explained.
“What is this place?” Catherine asked as he finally pulled the Rover to a stop.
Old, rusted train tracks started just twenty feet ahead of the Rover. The entire place was basically abandoned, with overgrowth piling up and buildings starting to fall down.
“Not really sure what it is,” Cross said, “but I learned how to drive stick back here a few months ago. Zeke got fucking hammered out here one night; I didn’t have a choice but to learn how to drive a stick shift real fast. Sometimes there’s parties out here, but not Academy kids—I only know a few of them, through Zeke. They drag race through here, too. Really just depends.”
“Nobody here tonight.”
“Nope. Too bad, though; these parties are way better than any Academy one I’ve been to.”
Catherine laughed. “You lie; you’re the king of the school, Cross. You’ve got more friends than—”
“I don’t like people all that much,” Cross interjected, “but they like me. I can’t help that.”
“You liked me,” she said.
Cross tipped his head to the side, catching Catherine in his line of vision. “Like, Catherine. And you’re not the same.”
Catherine stared out the windshield. “Do you bring other people here?”
“You mean people like—”
“Girlfriends.”
Cross barked out a laugh. “I don’t have girlfriends. Stop making me tell you that. And no, I don’t.”
“Would you bring me back? I mean, when there’s people and whatever?”
“Yeah,” Cross said without even thinking about it. He had the distinct feeling Catherine would enjoy it, for a whole bunch of reasons. “You only have to ask, you know.”
“I will.”
“Good.”
Catherine sighed. “I have to head back soon.”
“Don’t worry about it. And hey, stay away from pricks like Derik.”
“Pardon?”
Cross shrugged. “He’s not looking out for you in any way that doesn’t benefit him. He only wants what he can get from you because that’s what he sees as your worth, not what you’re willing to give. There’s a difference, Catherine. Just stay away from guys like him.”
“And what, be with guys like you?”
“I didn’t say that, either,” Cross murmured.
Catherine’s mouth quirked up in a grin. “Yeah, but you didn’t have to. Also, I kind of already figured that out. About him, I mean.”
“It’s more than just him.”
“I know,” she said simply.
Cross sat straighter in the seat, noting the time. Without a word, he put the Rover into first gear and pulled a U-turn on the old road.
“Would you teach me?” Catherine asked.
“To what?”
“Drive stick.”
Cross pumped the brake pedal just enough to slow the vehicle to a crawl. “Have you ever driven anything?”
“A side-by-side on vacation. Is it different?”
“A bit.”
A lot.
“It’ll take more than a five minute drive to learn,” Cross added, “but I can help, and you can get a feel for it, if you want.”
“Help how?”
He bent over the seat and unbuckled her belt. Not bothering to explain his motives, he grabbed her around the waist and pulled her into his seat, and onto his lap.
“Gas, brake,” Cross said, nudging her foot to the pedals in question. “This is the clutch, and I’m going to handle that for tonight.” He put Catherine’s hand on the shifting lever, and his overtop hers. “This is where we shift from one gear to the next, up or down depending on the speed you want; you’re not going over second, so keep a light foot.”
“Wait, I need to shift, steer, watch the road, and—”
“Not wreck,” he said, chuckling, “and yeah, all at the same time. That’s not even all of it, it’s just what you’re going to do tonight, with me helping out. Also, you actually need to have at least one hand on the steering wheel to keep the car on the road, so maybe do that, babe.”
The affectionate term slipped out of Cross’s mouth before he even realized he had used it. Catherine didn’t seem to mind, though.
“Shouldn’t it be two hands on the wheel?” she asked.
Cross set his free hand to her thigh and squeezed. “Extra hand here, if you need it.”
“Yeah, but my other hand is on the gear shifter.”
“It isn’t always,” he explained, “just for right now. Brake, gas, let’s go.”
Catherine pressed hard on the gas, and the Rover’s engine growled loudly as the vehicle lurched forward with force. She let out a yelp, a nope, and tried climbing off Cross’s lap before the damn thing even stopped again. He hit the brake, kept her firmly on his lap by holding around her waist, and tried hard not to laugh.
“I don’t like it,” Catherine said, “I don’t want to try again.”
“Too bad. Not so heavy footed, remember. One more time.”
“But—”
“One more time, babe, come on. Push easy, don’t just slam down on the gas pedal.”
She listened the second time around, going easier on the gas, and letting the Rover actually crawl forward slowly.
“A little more gas,” Cross ordered.
“But then it’s going to go faster.”
“That’s the point. You wanted to try, Catherine.”
Her elbow hit his rib hard.
Cross tugged on her hair in response.
“Hear that higher growl?” he asked as the Rover finally got decent speed.
“The engine, you mean?”
“Yep, when it sounds like that, you need to up a gear. Pump the clutch, move up a gear, that’s it.” He did exactly that, and kept his hand on hers overtop the shifting lever as he shifted into gear and said, “Second gear just like that.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t actually do it.”
“You will next time. I’ll get you out here again.”
And he would, as long as she asked. For the most part, Catherine didn’t mind driving, it seemed. She steered just fine. She only needed to be comfortable with everything else, he figured.
“Slow down a bit,” Cross said, “and we’ll put it back in first. It’s basically the same thing.”
They repeated the process twice more, shifting up a gear, and then going back down. Cross took his hand off Catherine’s on the shifting lever to let her shift herself, when she heard the engine’s sound change, and without his direction.
It was only once he had them safely stopped, that Catherine finally let go of the wheel and shifting lever.
“I did it.”
“Sort of,” Cross agreed.
Her elbow came back to hit him again, but he caught it, tucked it into her side, and gave her a quick kiss on her cheek before he could think better of it.
Catherine stilled on his lap. “Was that my congratulations or something?”
Cross laughed and kissed her cheek again. “Or something.”
Her head turned just enough to catch his gaze under the Rover’s interior light. “Cross?”
“What?”
“Did I really break your heart?”
“Completely,” he admitted.
“I didn’t mean to.”
“Yeah, I didn’t mean to let you, either. Not entirely your fault, I guess.”
“I’m sorry,” she said.
He shrugged it off. “Doesn’t matter.”
Like a quick little kitten, Catherine turned on his lap so that she faced him.
“I’d like to kiss you,” Catherine said suddenly.
“Then you should definitely do that.”
She met his gaze, held it long enough to quiet him, and then kissed him without saying a thing. It was not like the kisses he remembered—she wasn’t as tentative or hesitant, but instead, knowing and confident. Her fingers fisted into his jacket while her tongue slipped in to war with his. She still tasted like sweetness, cherries, and heat, though.
Not entirely the same.
But still so damn familiar.
Cross smirked against Catherine’s smiling lips as she pressed another soft kiss to his mouth.
“I am sorry,” she whispered. “It does matter.”
“It doesn’t matter at all as long as you don’t do it a second time, babe.”
“What does that mean?”
Cross kissed her again, and she didn’t shy away. She sighed sweetly when his fingers tangled into her silky-soft hair. He didn’t entirely know what he meant.
Not them, her, or why he found all of this so damn easy when everything else with anyone else was so fucking hard.
“Cross?” Catherine asked, her lips grazing his with her words.
Her question was still ringing in the back of his mind.
What does that mean?
“I guess we’re going to find out.”
Cross hated waking up to the sound of men shouting at one another first thing in the morning. He had a gun hidden between the box spring and mattress, and he was seriously considered pulling it out just to shoot off a round into the ceiling. He cracked his eyes open, and glared at his open door.
Why the hell was that open? He closed it the night before. His goal before the day was out would be to get a lock on that door.
Rolling over in bed, Cross grabbed his phone charging on the stand. He shot off a single text message to Catherine.
Any trouble for last night?
Nope, came her answer. Michel didn’t say anything.
Cross grinned. Where are you?
Church, was her reply.
Cross cursed under his breath, knowing one of the reasons his father was probably pissed. He’d slept in, and didn’t get up when he was probably told to for Sunday Mass. Hell, he didn’t even remember being woken up for it, but no doubt, he had been.
You’ll be back at school tomorrow, right?
Cross looked over Catherine’s text. Yeah.
Okay.
He knew what she was worried about without even asking. Stop worrying what other people think. They don’t matter.
What are we, was her next question, or what are we even doing?
Us, he texted back.
Catherine didn’t reply right away, and the yelling outside his bedroom door got louder.
“You’re supposed to be keeping a fucking eye on him.”
“And I do, Cal, when I can. At this point, he’s seventeen goddamn years old. He’s already been in the mindset that he was going to do whatever the hell he wanted to from the time he was twelve! Give him room to move, you said. Let him learn on his own, you demanded. Congrats, because this is what it’s gotten you; a kid that doesn’t listen, won’t follow rules, and can’t be controlled. That’s not my fault.”
“Yeah, well—”
Cross rolled off the bed, strolled across the floor in bare feet and boxer-briefs, and slammed his bedroom door before he could even hear the end of whatever Calisto was saying to Wolf. He didn’t have time for this nonsense first thing in the morning.
“Cross, get out here!” his step-father shouted.
“Nah, I’m good.”
“Cross Nazio—”
“You’re going to wake the whole goddamn house, Cal,” Cross called back as he grabbed clothes.
“It’s almost twelve in the afternoon! Get out here, son.”
“Nah, I’m still good.”
Cross swore he heard something crash in the hallway outside his bedroom door, but whatever. It wasn’t him breaking shit, which meant his mother wouldn’t have a fit to him about it. Winning. Besides, the door didn’t even have a lock, and Calisto could just come right in if he wanted to.
It wasn’t like Cross made this hard.
“You know what, no. He’s not going to get his ass killed by someone else. I’m going to be the one to do it,” Calisto said.
“You say that, but—”
“Shut up, Wolf!”
Great. Now they were back to yelling at each other. Cross stood in the middle of his bedroom, arms full of clean clothes and a towel, and stared at his bedroom door. He listened to his step-father and mentor shout at one another for a good minute before he decided enough was enough.
At least for him.
“Fuck this shit,” Cross mumbled to himself, heading to his attached bathroom. It was way too early—even if it was nearing noon—for this nonsense. “Fuck all of this stupid shit.”
Cross made quick time showering and getting dressed. He wasn’t surprised at all to find his step-father and Wolf were still barking at one another when he walked out of his room. They had moved their argument to the downstairs.
His mother gave him a side-eye as he passed her by in the kitchen. She held out a plate of pancakes for him to take as he followed the shouting voices, but she didn’t say a thing to him. Her expression was more than enough to tell him he shouldn’t even attempt to speak to her, either.
Cross found the men in his father’s office.
He stood in the doorway while they yelled at one another, and shoveled pancakes into his mouth all the while. After a shower, and some food, he was finally awake.
The yelling was tolerable at that point. Barely.
“I am too busy,” Calisto barked at Wolf, “and that’s why I depend on you to help me the hell out with him.”
“Again, I do, but not twenty-four hours a day, seven days a goddamn week. That’s impossible. Tomorrow is Monday, his suspension is up. He’ll be back to school, Cal, so we’ll figure something out from there to here. Simple.”
Wait … what?
“Who’s doing what now with me?” Cross asked from the doorway.
Calisto turned angry eyes on Cross in an instant. “When I tell you to do something, you do it.”
Cross took another bite of pancakes. His mother could cook like nobody’s business, which meant when he was eating her food, nothing else was more important at that time.
“What didn’t I do?” he asked.
“Earlier, when I told you—”
“You can’t just wake me up with all that nonsense and think I’ll be pleasant, Papa.”
Calisto’s molars crunched, he was grinding them so hard. “You are a real piece of work, Cross.”
He shrugged. Because, yeah. This wasn’t news.
“What’s the fucking problem?” Cross asked.
Calisto rubbed a hand over his face, and waved his other one at Wolf. “You … you say something because I am over this whole day.”
It was only a little after noon.
“A bit early to be calling it a day,” Cross noted.
“Dial back the smartass,” Wolf said with a heavy sigh, “and do it fast, Cross.”
“Whatever.” Cross set his empty plate on the side table, and dropped down onto the leather couch. Both men stared at him as though he had grown a second head. “What?”
“Where were you last night?” Wolf asked.
“A party.”
“Where?”
“In the city.”
“How did you get there, Cross?”
Ah. Well, shit. “Took the Rover,” Cross admitted.
“You don’t have your license!” Calisto snarled.
Cross lifted a single shoulder. “It was there, I can drive, and I wanted to do something. I’ve been in this damn house all week.”
“That is not a justification for you to steal—”
“Can’t steal something that’s already mine,” Cross interrupted.
Calisto blew out a hard breath, and glared at the far wall. “You could have called any enforcer in the Donati family, and they would have driven you anywhere. Instead, just because your mother and I were out last night, and you could, you took the Rover. Tell me how right I am, Cross, I dare you.”
“Well, do you want me to or not?”
Because that kind of sounded like he shouldn’t.
“Sincere question,” Calisto mumbled against the palm of his hand, “do you even hear how fucking rude you are when you speak?”
“Sometimes,” Cross said. “Mostly, I’m just being honest, and I can’t help how that sounds.”
Calisto nodded. “All right, Cross, the Rover is gone.”
“Gone how?”
“Locked away in storage.” Then, Calisto barked out a laugh. “And, no, not in the damn garage. So don’t go breaking into there or causing some kind of destruction to get it out. It’s across the city somewhere you don’t need to be. And you won’t find a single person in this family who will tell you where it is. So keep your keys because you’ll only get it back when you finish your goddamn driving hours with your instructor, and not a day before. Is that understood?”
Apparently, he was going to have to do the stupid hours whether he wanted to or not.
“Why would you do that, Cross?” Calisto asked.
“I told you why.”
“Just because you wanted something to do.”
“Well, yeah.”
His step-father rolled his eyes skyward. “You’re killing me, Cross. You’re literally going to kill me someday. You’re going to give me a stroke or something, I know it.”
“That seems a bit dramatic.”
“No, no it’s really not.” Calisto scrubbed his hand over his three-day stubble. “You only went to the party and back?”
“Eh, sort of,” Cross uttered under his breath.
“What was that?”
Here comes more yelling … He could have lied, but somehow whenever he lied Calisto always found out. He wasn’t sure how his step-father did that shit, but it never failed. It was just better for Cross to tell the truth and get the yelling over with from the jump.
“I went driving down to the abandoned row in Brooklyn for a bit,” Cross said.
“What?”
“The party got boring.”
“Cross—”
“It was better than us driving around the city, wasn’t it?” he asked.
Calisto stilled.
Cross realized his mistake instantly.
“Us. Who is this us?”
“Catherine.”
Calisto’s eyes narrowed. “Catherine who? I swear to Jesus if you say who I think you’re going to say, Cross, I swear …”
“I could not say it, and we could pretend like I did.”
“It’s the Marcello girl because of course it was, Cross. You’ve got a death wish. That’s what it is. You don’t know any better. Killing me here.”
“Okay,” Wolf said, stepping in between Calisto and Cross, “Cal, go take your wife out for the day and relax. I’ll have Cam and this little shit taken care of today.”
“I kind of have plans,” Cross said. Or, he would make some.
Wolf laughed darkly, pointing a finger at Cross with a cold smile. “No, you don’t. Your father has let this nonsense with you go on for too long. From today onward, Cross, you’re not getting out of my damn sight. And when you are out of my sight, it will be because you are at school, or with someone we’ve chosen for you to be with. Nothing more, nothing less.”
“But—”
“But nothing,” Wolf interjected firmly. “Here’s the thing, Cross, you want to be a made man, but there’s a hell of a lot more to it than following me around and your last name. It’s about goddamn time you learn respect, and just how much it’s worth in this life. Get your shit, and make it fast. We’ve got things to do today.”
Cross knew when to pick battles. This was not one of them.