Cross tried to take in air, and only aspirated on water. Gunfire echoed all around him, and the colors of fire lit up the sky as explosions made the waves choppier. Chaos and confusion surrounded him.
Every time he thought he was gaining his bearings, another swell of water came, and he would be pulled back under. The current was too strong. The waves, too high. The water was too black.
He couldn’t breathe.
He couldn’t see.
He couldn’t swim.
It didn’t help that his shoulder was aching for a reason he didn’t know, and he couldn’t fucking find Catherine. He couldn’t even call out to her.
Cross tried to break the surface one more time as another wave crashed over him, but he only swallowed more sea water.
Exhaustion swelled through his body like the water sucking him deeper. Days of no sleep were finally starting to catch up to him. As hard as he tried to get higher, he could tell he was sinking lower.
He was sure, as his vision failed and water rushed his lungs, the earth finally quieted around him. He couldn’t be sure, but he thought it was silent again.
Yet, he only thought of Catherine.
“Come on, come on … fuck, come on, Cross.”
The sound around him was muffled, as though someone had put ear muffs over his ears. Cross didn’t like that at all.
“Get in this fucking boat, Dante!” a woman screamed.
“I’m coming, Cat. It takes more than three seconds to move fifty feet, okay?”
Cross could taste salt in his throat, and it burned. He wanted to gag, but the reflex just wouldn’t come. He tried to take a breath, but it felt like something was caught in his esophagus, and blocking the pathway for air.
“Cross! Cross, please!”
Why was she crying like that?
Why was Catherine crying?
“Move,” a familiar voice uttered.
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Zeke mumbled.
“That’s the fucking problem. Move.”
Hands on his chest pushed hard.
Hard enough for him to feel it.
Hard enough to hurt.
“If I break one of your ribs, I’m sorry,” Dante muttered.
Three more pushes.
Then another.
Cross wasn’t entirely sure what was happening, as his eyes wouldn’t cooperate and open, and the rest of his body seemed to be useless. He still couldn’t get in a breath, and when air was pushed into his mouth, it met the same, blocked fate.
“His pulse is damn weak,” another man said. “You might damage his heart with CPR while there’s a pulse.”
“Not at this point,” Dante replied. “He’s blue around his mouth, not breathing, and his heart will stop altogether soon. It’s worth the risk right now. I do not want to explain to his father and to Catherine that at best, I did not try, or at worst, I chose to wait until he was altogether dead before doing anything at all.”
Those compressions against his chest came harder still, and Cross was sure one of his ribs cracked. He didn’t mind because shit, that blockage in his throat and lungs came rushing out.
It wasn’t a blockage at all.
It was water.
His lungs had been full of water.
Cross felt himself be shoved onto his side as he choked and vomited way too much salt water. Hands smacked his back, and voices rushed louder in his ears as one drained of water. Every inch of him hurt. His throat felt like someone had dumped fire down it. Each breath he sucked in ached like nothing else, but shit, he kept sucking air back like it was the best goddamn thing he had ever had in his life.
Next to Catherine, it was.
“Well done, Dante.”
“Just let her know he’s good, Lucian.”
Cross fell to his back, and his gaze opened wide. It took him far too long to realize he was focusing in on a dark sky, and then Dante clouded his vision.
“You’re all right,” Dante murmured.
Cross coughed out more water.
Dante smirked. “And you’re welcome.”
Yeah, shit.
“I think I’m dead,” Cross croaked out.
Exhausted, dry laughter filled the space. From more than just Dante.
“You’re too fucking stubborn to die,” Dante said.
Maybe.
“Catherine.”
Dante moved to the side as the floor rocked underneath him—a boat, Cross thought. He grabbed Cross’s wrist, put a hand to his back, and forced him into a sitting position.
“Settle in where you’re settling in,” an unknown man barked. “We’re running low on gas and need to get back. It’s a long ride.”
Cross wasn’t listening.
Something better was there.
Catherine.
She fell to her knees in front of him, all crying green eyes and looking like a drowned rat. Probably just like he fucking looked, too.
Cross didn’t even care.
He reached for her, pulled her in, and barely felt the heavy blankets that had been tossed over their shoulders.
None of it mattered.
Only them.
Calisto took the cup of coffee from his wife, and rested back in the corner chair, looking far more relaxed than he had in days. Emma then headed for her son’s direction with her little yappy Yorkshire dog tucked in under her arm like a football. The dog only stayed quiet when his mother was holding it, but she loved it so no one ever complained.
Cross already knew that telling his mother not to fret and worry would do him no good. So, he allowed her to prop his pillows behind him, and kissed her cheek.
“Do you want something to drink or eat?” she asked him.
“A whiskey would be great, Ma.”
Emma scowled at him. “No, and you can stop asking for that every morning because I am not bringing it to you.”
“Fine, coffee, I suppose.”
“Grab him one of his magazines, too, Emmy,” Calisto put in. “A guns one from my office. He’ll mutter less to himself if he has something to look at.”
“I can do that.”
Cross gave his father a look when Emma patted the top of his head like he was a sick little puppy. Then, she was gone from his old bedroom.
He sighed, and scrubbed a hand down his face. “The pneumonia has almost cleared from my lungs. You better ease her into the reality that I’m going back to my place soon.”
Calisto smirked into the rim of his cup. “I think I’ll let you handle that, actually.”
Prick.
Cross still loved his father to death, though.
Recovering in the Donati home was his compromise to this mother and father. Swallowing all that salt water, and then the long trip home, had allowed pneumonia to settle into his lungs by the time he was back in the great state of New York. It also gave a nasty infection the time to settle in, too.
They wanted him at a hospital.
Cross didn’t want to be at a hospital.
Their home it was.
Compromise.
He had been there for a week, now.
Cross picked up the photographs Calisto had given to him just before his mother came into the room. He quickly flipped through the images. Two light blue boats peppered with bullet holes and embedded with nails. An island with a property blown to pieces. Dead bodies, and pieces of bodies—a grisly sight—spread over the beach and in the shoreline. A burning yacht sinking, and red and black boats turned over.
“You all could have told me what you were planning,” Cross said more to himself than his father.
Calisto chuckled. “Cross, even we didn’t know what we were planning until we got down in Cancun and started working contacts. Dante was able to get boats and a couple of guns; I knew a guy who did some skydiving and had planes. Catrina knows an old friend in that area that is handy with homemade bombs.”
Cross looked over the pictures again—specifically, the ones of the blown up house and torn apart bodies. “Those barrels did a hell of a job.”
“Right?” Calisto smiled, then it faded fast. “I am never flying again.”
“It’s not the same thing. You were in a Cessna with a wide open door, not your usual private jet or passenger plane.”
“Still not flying again.”
Cross rolled his eyes upward. “Well, you’ll have at least two more flights to go through, I guess.”
“Why’s that?”
He glanced over at his father, and shrugged. “It’s time for you to get your surgery done. Correct the lesion, and the aneurism. Now, before it gets worse. The doctor in Scotland is supposed to be the very best at what he does, right? You’re going to need to fly there and back, Papa.”
Calisto cleared his throat. “You know I can’t do that, Cross. Going into the hospital for brain surgery, not to mention the recovery time, would look very bad on my famiglia. It would put me in a position to be seen as a very weak and easy target. I can’t—”
“I’m ready,” Cross murmured.
His father stilled in his chair. “Or do you just think you are because of everything that’s happened, son?”
“I’m ready to take the seat.”
He wasn’t going to explain himself.
He didn’t need to.
Calisto nodded once. “All right.”
Noise echoed from outside the bedroom. Footsteps followed down the hall. Several pairs. Cross recognized all the men chatting and laughing together, and suddenly, his room was a hell of a lot noisier and fuller than it had been just seconds before.
Dante, Zeke, Wolf, a doctor Calisto had hired, and then Catherine peered in, too.
Cross hadn’t heard her at all.
He paid the men no mind as she darted across the room, and climbed onto the bed. Her legs tucked in under the covers, and she kissed the underside of his jaw with a sweet touch. Everything was so much better when she was near. Everything was perfect with her. He breathed in her familiar scent, felt her softness and curves, and his world slowed down for a moment.
It was more than enough.
“Missed you,” he murmured.
He felt her smile against his neck. “I was gone two hours.”
“A long two hours.”
“I got all the stuff you wanted except the blanket. It was in the wash before everything happened. I tried getting it clean again. It’s ruined.”
Cross shrugged. “Whatever. You’re back. I’m good.”
“Out of the bed, young lady,” Doctor Ulises ordered. “Let me check the boy.”
Cross glowered. “Man.”
The doctor ignored Cross, and waited for Catherine to move as she had been told. Then, he went about checking the IV that was attached to Cross’s left hand, and the bag of fluids and a mixture of antibiotics on the pole.
“Do you remember, Cross, when you broke your wrist as a child?” the doctor asked.
“Wasn’t I five when that happened?”
Calisto sighed. “Climbing tresses on the side of the house like he was fucking Spiderman.”
“I had to reset your wrist, and you called me a bastard,” the doctor noted. “First child to have ever cussed at me. I was a new doctor then.”
Cross’s brow furrowed.
Chuckles lit up the room.
“You did that, Cross,” Calisto confirmed.
“And that,” the doctor said, “is why I will continue to call you a boy until the day you die. But today, is not that day. Your pneumonia has cleared up well. The wound on your shoulder from the shrapnel is healing fine. Your cultures are looking clean. Once this bag of fluids is finished, and you get through the other bag of medication, you’re good to go.”
Catherine grinned at him from her father’s side.
She wanted him home, too.
“Anything you’re concerned about?” the doctor asked.
“My rib is still kind of sore,” Cross admitted.
“That can sometimes happen when CPR is preformed correctly. Thank Mr. Marcello as often, and as loudly, as he will allow.”
“Yes, Cross. Thank me often, and loudly.” Dante didn’t even bother to hide his smirk. “It’s amusing. I learned CPR because we had a pool, and young children. I kept it up over the years just because. I certainly didn’t think the first time I would have to use it would be on you, Cross.”
God, it killed him to do it.
Dante had saved him.
So, he supposed it didn’t kill him at all.
“Thank you,” Cross said.
Again.
“And me,” Zeke piped up, “for pulling your ass out of the water.”
Cross nodded, and locked gazes with his best friend.
Ride or die.
Zeke always had his back.
“Couldn’t have swam a bit faster?” Cross joked.
Zeke flipped his middle finger up. “Be grateful I jumped into that mess at all. Took two pieces of shrapnel to my shoulder, asshole.”
“Yeah, I know. I’m just—”
“Being a shit,” Catherine interjected.
“Exactly that.”
Zeke put out his fist, and Cross bumped it with his own.
Calisto smiled faintly up at Wolf as the man came to stand beside his friend and boss. Cross had always thought it was odd how he had found his most loyal friend in the son of the man who never betrayed his father over the years.
Or, maybe it wasn’t strange at all.
Cross would be just fine.
Especially as a Cosa Nostra boss.
With a woman like Catherine, a family like his, friends like Zeke, and men like the ones surrounding him?
Cross was born for this. He didn’t know anything different. He didn’t want to.
Once the doctor was gone from the room, Dante cleared his throat. “I figured I should stop by and let you know what was happening with Chicago.”
“Pretty sure that’s still your mess to clean.”
Dante cocked a brow. “No, not really, but I did it anyway.”
Cross shrugged. “So what’s happening?”
“Nothing, essentially.” Dante let out a heavy breath of air, and folded his arms over his chest. “Or rather, nothing you need to be concerned about. Tommas Rossi and I have agreed to a deal, of sorts, to keep peace over this whole thing. He certainly understands why we did what we did, but …”
“Business is business,” Calisto said quietly.
Dante nodded. “Nonetheless, it is handled.”
“What did you have to hand over to get to that point?” Cross asked.
“A port, free of dues. A shipment of guns to replace the ones you stole. A louder, more controlling voice at the Commission.” Dante glanced at Catherine who was fiddling with Cross’s watch on the nightstand. “Nothing that wasn’t worth it, anyway.”
Cross understood that.
He figured any man would.
One month later …
“Fuck, shake that ass for me, babe.”
Catherine winked over her shoulder, all dressed in tight red Versace with six-inch strappy black heels to match. Cross stayed firmly seated on the bench in the VIP section of Zeke’s club, but leaned forward just enough to catch the skirt of Catherine’s dress with his hooked finger. Her hips moved to the beat, and he got a peek of a red thong under her dress.
Cross whistled low, but Catherine’s hand quickly batted his away. “Hey, I was getting a good look at something there, Catty.”
“You can wait.”
He scowled. “That is a matter of opinion.”
She kept dancing. He loved to watch her.
Clubs could be a dangerous place for someone like Catherine, with a history like hers where drugs and alcohol were concerned. She never batted an eye at the whiskey in his hand, or the liquor flowing all over the damn place. Then again, she hustled drugs like a pro, and never touched those, either.
Cross wasn’t all too shocked. Shit, she did like to dance.
“Get up here with me,” Catherine said, holding out her hands to him.
Cross shook his head. “Nah, I like watching you.”
“You can dance.”
“Yes, but I’m getting a free show right now, so turn around, and shake your fucking ass for me, babe.”
She pouted. Cross leaned back into the bench seat, and hooked a finger at Catherine to demand she come closer without saying a word. Quickly, she bent down, putting her hands to his thighs, and giving him a sexy smile when their lips were just inches apart.
“Stop pouting,” he told her.
“Then dance with me, Cross.”
“I can’t—business is happening soon.”
Catherine raised a single eyebrow at that statement. “Why bring me to the club tonight if that was going on?”
“Why wouldn’t I bring you?”
“It’s not really for women.”
“Not sure I really care,” Cross replied.
“Still—”
He closed the distance between their mouths before Catherine could get in another word. Once he was kissing her, the world titled on axis, slowed, and everything was just right. Her teasing tongue darted into his mouth, and flicked hard against his. The top shelf whiskey he had been sipping on was nothing compared to the taste of her. He did not want to pull away, but he caught the sight of his friend in the corner of his eye.
Catherine pouted when Cross nipped her lip, and nodded in Zeke’s direction. “Business, babe.”
“But—”
“Keep pouting, and I’m going to give your mouth a reason to do that when I stuff it full.”
Catherine narrowed her eyes at him. “Promise?”
“My tease. Keep that up, and we’ll see if we even get home before I get this Versace dress on the floor.”
“This dress cost you a lot of money, Cross. I saw the tag inside the box when you gave it to me this morning.”
“So?”
Catherine grinned. “Keep making those promises.”
“You know I’ll keep them. Why don’t you go dance down on the floor for a bit, huh?”
She winked, and pushing away from him to leave. He smacked her ass before she was out of reach. Her fingers waved over her shoulder, and then she was gone from the VIP section.
Zeke took a seat beside him on the bench. “Dad is on his way.”
“Good,” Cross said before tossing back the remainder of his whiskey.
“Here.”
Zeke handed over an item that made Cross sit up a little straighter. It was Calisto’s signet ring. He couldn’t ever remember seeing his father take it off. He vividly recalled memories of made men kissing Calisto’s ring, although his father had never made that demand of him.
Cross always thought that was because Calisto saw his son as an equal.
Not a man beneath him.
“I guess Calisto handed it off to my father today before he got on the plane,” Zeke said.
“Ma didn’t mention that when she called to say they were on board.”
“Does your mother ever mention things about la famiglia?”
“Point taken,” Cross said.
“Anyway, Dad dropped it off to me because he knew I would see you sooner today. You’re going to need it tonight once the meet starts with the men.”
Cross slipped the ring down his middle finger.
A perfect fit.
“You’re going to need to add a second ring soon, aren’t you?” Zeke asked.
“For what?”
Zeke passed him a look. “A boss needs a wife, Cross.”
Ah.
Yeah, that.
Cross shrugged. “Let me worry about that.”
“I know the rules.”
“I’m working on it, Zeke.”
“Mmhmm,” his friend murmured. “I saw what you were working on up here.”
Cross smirked. “Working on that, too, yeah.”
“Fucker.”
“When are you going to settle down and get your ass married, anyway?” Cross asked.
Zeke damn near turned as white as a sheet. “Don’t turn this around on me.”
“Maybe I want my underboss settled into family life. Kids, minivan, and the whole—”
“Fuck you, Cross,” Zeke uttered.
Cross laughed loudly. “I wouldn’t.”
“Oh, thank God, there’s Dad.”
Cross was still chuckling to himself as Wolf made his way into the VIP area. He took a seat on the other side of Cross with a smile, and glanced between the two men.
“What is wrong with my son? He looks like he wants to puke.”
“Marriage, kids, and minivans,” Cross explained.
Wolf nodded. “Ah, I see.”
“He can’t do that to me, right?” Zeke asked. “He can’t make me do that, can he?”
“I mean, as a boss, he can—”
“Cross, I swear to God. I did not help to save your ass for you to throw me into that hell.”
Wolf laughed.
“I said I wouldn’t,” Cross replied. “Stop being a cafone.”
“You ready for tonight?” Wolf asked.
“Yeah,” Cross murmured, peering into his empty glass. “It’s been a long time coming, hasn’t it?”
“It has,” his old mentor replied. “It’ll be good, Cross. Your father decided to take the Donati famiglia in a direction that would benefit you, even if you didn’t realize he was doing it. That’s why over the years, the older generation of men was slowly replaced by men like Zeke, and others who respected you as much your father. Men you grew up with as … friends, of sorts. Or what you might consider a friend. They know this is coming. They’ve been waiting for it.”
“We’re kind of springing it on them with no warning, though.”
Wolf waved it off. “Only ignorant men will see this as a surprise. It’s already been done. It was basically done when your father made you his underboss a couple of years back. All that’s left to do is for you to—”
“Take over,” Cross finished.
“Exactly. The ring is a good fit, I see.”
Cross smiled. “So is the boss’s seat.”
Wolf clapped his shoulder. “Enjoy the view.”
Cross didn’t get Catherine home before he got her dress shoved up over her ass, and his pants pushed down to his hips. He only made it to a dark hallway of the club that lead to a back office and storage room.
He didn’t even bother to pull her red thong off. No, he just shoved it aside, lifted her up, and got his cock where it needed to be. All that was keeping them separated from the rest of the club goers and the dance floor was a single red velvet rope, and a few feet of darkness.
“Holy fuck, holy fuck,” Catherine mumbled into his neck.
Her heels dug into the backs of his thighs as he held her up against a wall and fucked her hard. Every thrust was heaven. Each squeeze of her inner muscles around his cock felt like all his nerves were being dragged through liquid gold.
He had a fistful of her hair, and a hand tight around her throat. Her fingernails dug into the back of his neck while her other hand pulled hard on his hair.
Her cries got louder as her cunt squeezed him harder.
“Don’t fucking get us caught, now,” he told her.
Catherine laughed breathlessly. “I’m gonna come.”
“You fucking better.”
She tipped her head back, and all he could see were her lips swollen from his kiss and bites, the mark he’d left on the side of her neck with his mouth, and her blown-wide pupils reflecting him. He clenched his teeth and sucked in a whistle of air, so fucking in love with this woman it was ridiculous.
He’d always been that way with her, though.
Since forever and a day.
“Christ, look at you, Catty.”
“Love your cock,” she breathed.
Jesus.
Her words sent him spinning with dark lust and pure love. Like a tornado ready to ravage and ruin, but he didn’t mind being caught inside the eye.
Especially not if it was with her.
Cross’s hand slid up from her throat, sunk two of his fingers into her teasing little mouth, and let his next few thrusts come a bit deeper and harder. Catherine whined her way through the orgasm, and her teeth cut into his knuckles.
“Fuck, yeah, my girl. There it is.”
Cross pulled his pulsing cock from Catherine’s hot pussy, and let her drop to the floor. She was still trying to catch her breath and shaking like a pretty leaf when he spun her around, and shoved her back against the wall. He pushed her dress up over her ass, gave her a swat hard enough to pink her skin, and then he was pushing back in again.
All bare because she liked him better that way, he found. He’d stopped bothering to use condoms, even though it hadn’t been a big thing between them for a while. Still, he didn’t even bother to consider them now. She was on her shot, anyway, so he just didn’t see the damn point. He liked fucking her this way much more, too. Then, he felt everything.
Catherine whispered a very soft, “Oh, my God.”
Every damn inch of her hugged him like a glove.
She was so fucking wet.
Slick, hot, and goddamn tight.
He loved it.
“My turn,” he grunted into her ear.
Catherine sighed happily. “Please.”
“Hmm?”
“Come, Cross. Please come.”
“Little louder, babe.”
“Come in me, Cross. Please come in me. I fucking want it. Please.”
Yeah, that was all he needed to hear.
He teased her clit with his fingers until she trembled again. With her second orgasm raging through, he emptied his cock deep into her cunt. He could feel the way his cum filled her with each pulse, and it made him fucking crazy.
“We’re always going to be like this together, aren’t we?” Catherine asked.
Cross kissed her cheek, still holding her tight to his cock. “Like what?”
“Stupid. Wild. Sly. In love.”
“You know it.”
He’d make sure of it.
Three months later …
“How are you doing?” Cross asked as Calisto sunk into the seat at the table.
Around them, people chatted and silverware clinked. The restaurant—one of his father’s favorites—was busy that morning.
“I hate the fucking sun,” Calisto mumbled.
“What, why?”
Calisto eyed the sunlight coming in from the windows. “I’ve been shut away for too long. It’s hurting my eyes.”
“Give it a bit; you’ll be fine.”
“And my shoulder hurts.”
“Why?”
“Rain,” Calisto grumbled.
A waitress came to their table, filled their cups with coffee, and left them with menus before heading to another set of patrons.
Cross watched his father sip on the coffee silently, and sent up a silent prayer of thanks and gratitude to whoever was looking out for their family. Calisto had spent two months recovering in Scotland at a rehab clinic specially designed for those with brain and spinal injuries. Cross had only been able to fly out once to see his father, shortly after the surgery, and it had been difficult.
Calisto was irritated at every little thing, impatient with those around him, and constantly tired. Some of his motor functions had taken steps back due to the surgery, which meant it took him time to relearn things that he had been able to do just fine on his own for his entire life.
Things like buttoning his shirt, or tying his shoes.
His verbal skills had been impacted, too. He struggled to form complete sentences, and when he did, his words often jumbled together, or were misplaced.
It took his father two months in Scotland, and then another month at home in New York before he was finally back to normal. Cross had hired someone to come into his parents’ home every single day for a month to work with Calisto, even when his father just wanted to say fuck it. Cross couldn’t allow his father to give up when he was already doing so well, and so far ahead of others in the same situation as him. Calisto’s therapist still came daily to work on things like strength, and stamina.
Sometimes, Calisto still became tired after doing very little. But he could play piano again, he had not had another episode, and his brain was not having minor bleeds.
He had a hell of a lot more years to live. Cross was grateful for that.
“You’re going to Vegas next week, aren’t you?” Calisto asked.
Cross nodded, and took a drink of coffee. “Major MMA match happening. I’ve got cage-side tickets. Catherine got them for me as a gift.”
“She going, too?”
“Who else would I take?”
Calisto shook his head. “I don’t know, Zeke, maybe?”
“Zeke can buy his own fucking tickets.”
“I swear, if you could just hole yourself up somewhere with that girl for the rest of your life, you would be a happy man, Cross.”
“I’ve known that since I was fourteen. You’re late in the game, Papa.”
Calisto smiled. The ringing of a bell drew Cross’s gaze to the restaurant entrance. Their third and fourth guest for the breakfast strolled in with smiles on their faces.
Dante shrugged off his wet jacket, and took a seat beside Calisto. April was giving them hell for rain that year, although the sun kept shining through the rain. Catherine dropped a kiss to Cross’s temple before hanging her wet jacket on the back of the chair.
“I have to go wash up,” she told him.
“We’ll be here.”
Dante turned to Calisto as Catherine headed for the restrooms. “I see you’re finally out and about.”
“The sun is trying to kill me,” Calisto complained. “And the rain is hurting my shoulder.”
Cross rolled his eyes upward. “The sun is not trying to kill you, Papa. It will take some time.”
“You have been shut in for quite a while,” Dante said.
“He doesn’t understand.” Calisto flicked a hand at Cross. “Not at all.”
“I think he understands quite a bit. He was the one who made sure you’re still here to complain, isn’t he?”
“Vaffanculo,” Calisto swore.
Dante chuckled. “Be nice, old friend.”
Cross checked his watch, and wondered where the rest of their guests were. Zeke, his latest girlfriend for the month, and Wolf.
“Cross, I have a question,” Dante said.
“Sure.”
“You’re going to Vegas with my daughter next week, right?”
“We are.”
“Tell me you’re not going to marry her there.”
Calisto coughed on his drink of coffee.
Cross’s gaze darted to a stony Dante. “I beg your pardon?”
“I just … wanted to make sure.”
“Why?” Cross asked.
“Because you’ve taken over your family a couple of months back, and we all know how these things work, don’t we? We were all in your position once, and the next logical step is marriage to an appropriate women. Yet, you’ve not approached me to marry Catherine at all. I know that’s probably because of our history—”
“It has nothing to do with that,” Cross said.
“Then why haven’t you?”
“Because I haven’t brought it up to her.”
Dante glanced to the side, as though he were considering Cross’s words. “You are aware how this works, aren’t you? You ask me first.”
Cross lifted a single shoulder. “I mean, that’s how everybody else might do it. I care more about her opinion, to be honest. I’m not jumping at the bit for something she might not be ready for.”
“She’s ready,” Calisto said.
Dante and Cross looked to Calisto.
“You think?” Cross asked.
Calisto nodded. “She’s like you, son—loved you for basically her whole life. Why wouldn’t she want to be your wife? Besides, Catherine just turned twenty-six a couple of weeks ago, Cross. And you’re going to be twenty-eight this coming November. It’s time to do the adult thing where you two are concerned and marry. She knows that.”
“I agree,” Dante said. “So, about Vegas.”
“Are you genuinely concerned about that?” Cross muttered.
Dante made a noise under his breath. “My son eloped. I understand why, and I won’t share his personal stories, but it was difficult for my wife and me. It’s a real fear where Catherine is concerned.”
“Eloping would take a fuck lot less work,” Cross mused.
Calisto shot his son a dirty look. “Don’t be a shit, Cross.”
“Don't elope,” Dante murmured. “Let me give her away.”
“As long as you do that.”
“Don't make this harder than it needs to be.”
“It's a serious concern.”
“Cross, she is my only daughter. Allow me the pleasure of walking her down the aisle.”
Cross sighed. “I can’t believe you seriously think I would do that.”
“I actually don’t, but I figured I should make sure, too. Catrina freaked out a bit when Catherine mentioned she was heading to Vegas with you next week. That was a whole shrieking fit over the phone that I don’t even want to get into right now, but my ear still hurts.”
“Well …”
“Cross,” Dante said.
“There’s a magic word you’re missing.”
Calisto rolled his eyes skyward. “See, this is what’s going to get him killed. When he was young, it was his mouth. Now that he’s grown, it’s this nonsense.”
“It’s called my arrogance,” Cross said with a smirk. “And it is the same as it always was.”
His gaze caught the sight of Catherine coming back from the restrooms.
Cross looked to Dante. “Is that your blessing, then?”
“No eloping?”
“The biggest wedding this city has ever seen,” Cross promised.
“Then that’s my blessing.”
“Done deal.”
Catherine sat down at the table just as the conversation finished. “What did I miss?”
“Nothing, my girl.” Cross tossed an arm over her shoulder and pulled her close enough to kiss her temple. “Nothing at all.”
“Really? Because you’re all kind of quiet. We’re not arguing again, are we?”
She was so accustomed to some kind of tension between Cross and her father that he couldn’t find it in himself to be surprised she was concerned. Frankly, even he never thought he would invite Dante Marcello to breakfast on a regular basis, never mind be comfortable and friendly with the man.
Yet, there they were.
All because of a green-eyed, dark-haired beauty.
His beauty.
“No arguing,” Dante said with a chuckle. “Not anymore.”
Catherine reached for Cross’s coffee cup, and took a quick sip. “So, we’re good?”
“Perfect,” Cross said.
Catherine beamed.