“I’m sorry, what?” Cross asked. “I’m going to need you to tell me that again, Nazio.”
Naz stared up at the ceiling and wished it would swallow him whole. He was not the type to make these kinds of fuck-ups, but here he was. And his father was in no way going to let him get away with it like it hadn’t happened at all. Cross just wasn’t the type, and frankly, he knew his son only really learned from his mistakes when he was forced to face them head-on.
This wasn’t quite the same.
He knew why he screwed up, and it wasn’t going to happen again. He really didn’t need his screw-ups pointed out in front of a bunch of other people, but here they were.
“Why did you miss grabbing those racket payments for the Capos?” his father asked. “And the bookie on the west side, too? Why?”
“Busy,” Naz said, offering nothing else.
Quiet murmurings colored the restaurant behind Naz. It wasn’t often he was invited to tribute because, at the moment, he wasn’t a made man. That was the entire purpose of tribute. It wasn’t for every man. It was only for the boss, and his men.
Naz was there because he fucked up for two different Capos in one week. It didn’t matter that he had corrected those errors quickly. The fact remained the same, he’d still done something wrong.
“Naz,” his father said quietly. “Look at me, huh?”
His gaze drifted to his father. It had been far easier to just stare at the wall of the restaurant while Cross scolded him than to look at his father directly. He didn’t find anger in his father’s stare—not that he expected to; Cross wasn’t the type to get angry with his son—but he did find confusion and concern staring back at him.
Maybe a little disappointment.
Shit.
That was just as bad as anger.
If not worse.
“I fucked up,” Naz said, “but I fixed it. It won’t happen again.”
“I don’t doubt that,” Cross returned, “but that isn’t what I asked. I asked why. You haven’t given me a proper answer yet, Naz.”
He sighed. “I would rather not—”
“I didn’t ask what you would rather do. I asked what I asked because I said what I said, Nazio. And you’re going to give me an answer because that’s what you do when your boss demands one.”
Yeah, fuck.
Because right now, he was not dealing with his father at all. He was dealing with the Donati boss. A Cosa Nostra Don. It was a delicate line to balance, he thought. He really didn’t know how his father managed it, but Cross did. And he did it well. Plus, it wasn’t often his father had to pull rank on him anyway. Nazio was a good little soldier for famiglia. He knew what he had to do, when to do it, how to fucking do it, and not to ask questions.
He was just …
“I got a little sidetracked,” he muttered.
He was entirely off his game, more like it.
Cross straightened in his chair, and his gaze drifted to the men who were still eating and chatting behind him. Despite the fact their conversation was low, that didn’t mean anything. They were having this conversation here for a purpose. Because those men could hear the conversation, and Cross wanted them to. He wanted his men to know he handled issues when they came up, even if it was his own son who caused the problem.
No doubt, his father couldn’t afford for anyone to think he let shit slide. Not even if it was Nazio who made the shit fucking happen.
It bothered Naz, but not for reasons people probably expected. For one, he hated that he put his father in this position at all. He knew better than to be doing nonsense like this. And for two, because he wasn’t a fuck up. A lot of these men had watched him grow up, and he spent a good portion of his childhood in this very restaurant with his father every single tribute.
Why?
Because he was the principe.
The Donati prince.
He knew better.
And he hated this just as much as his father did.
Cross likely knew it, too.
Not that it would change this whole meeting, or what his father had to do because of Nazio’s mistakes. It wouldn’t. Nazio couldn’t be treated any differently than any other man trying to get his button for the family. He certainly had the privilege of being the son of a boss, but that didn’t extend him very many special allowances at the end of the day.
And Naz didn’t want it to.
“But why?” his father asked again. “Why the distraction? What happened? This isn’t like you at all.”
Roz.
Or … mostly her.
Two weeks had been spent with him trying to get as much time with her as he could. In his bed, and out of it. She was like a hungry little kitten. All claws, and softness waiting for him day after day. It was fucking addictive. Naz hadn’t really considered some of the shit he was letting fall to the wayside because his brain wasn’t the type to fail him in that kind of way. He kept up on everything. Distracted or not.
Apparently, not this time.
“I got caught up in other things,” he offered to his father instead of outing the name of the daughter of the man sitting right beside Cross. Zeke wouldn’t appreciate that, and frankly, Naz hadn’t even had a decent conversation with the man since he started dating Zeke’s daughter. He figured today was not the day Zeke wanted to hear this kind of shit, or have that conversation. It was the respect of the matter. “I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again, boss.”
Cross’s jaw tightened. A sure sign his father was irritated that he wasn’t getting the answers he wanted from his son. But that was the thing about Naz, and his father knew it all too well.
Twins, right?
They were too alike for their own good.
Naz was stubborn as fuck. A brick wall when it came right down to it. If he didn’t want to say something, not even a gun to his temple was going to make those words come out. That’s just how it worked for him.
His father was the same.
Cross cleared his throat, and straightened a bit in his seat. “Fine, then. Since you know you set us back a bit this week, then you won’t mind picking up the slack for the other Capos’ men who have helped you this week to correct your mistakes. You’re to take on a duty from each of them, and handle it until the wedding, Nazio.”
He blinked, and did the math in his head.
That was ten guys, at least.
And the wedding—his sister’s—was a month and a half away.
Not impossible, as Naz could make anything work if he put his mind to it. Or rather, like in this case, he wasn’t given much of a fucking choice. But that meant he was going to get a hell of a lot less time with Roz, and he really didn’t know how to tell her that. None of this had been her fault. It was his screw up, and he should have remedied it before it got this far.
“Okay,” Naz said.
Cross eyed his son for another few seconds like he was trying to figure something out before he flicked a hand. A silent dismissal if Naz had ever seen one. He knew better than to linger after his father did something like that.
Outside the restaurant, Naz found a comfortable spot leaning against the brick and patted the pockets of his jacket until he found what he wanted. It wasn’t often that he smoked, but sometimes, shit just called for smoke and nicotine.
Today was one of those days.
He’d just lit up the cigarette and took a heavy drag when his father slid in beside him against the brick wall. For a time, Cross said nothing, and allowed Naz his silence and peace while he smoked. He was grateful.
It didn’t last too long.
“You’re distracted by her, aren’t you?” his father asked. “That’s what it is, and what you didn’t want to say. Rosalynn.”
Naz coughed, and took another drag from the smoke before shrugging. “Her father’s sitting right there. What, you want me to discuss private matters about her in public with Zeke sitting right there, or …?”
“No, not particularly.”
“There you go, then.”
Cross shifted a bit in his stance so that his shoulder rested to the brick, and he was staring sideways at his son. “It’s not like you to get overwhelmed with something, Naz.”
“Quite aware, yeah.”
“Tone down the attitude.”
“What do you want me to say? I fixed what I messed up, and I’ll handle the rest like you just told me to do. There’s nothing else to say. It’s done.”
“Mmm,” his father hummed noncommittedly. “I know this is all new to you—love. And like everything that’s new to you, and that fucking brain of yours, you need to throw yourself head first into it so that you know everything there possibly is to know. But here’s a secret for you, Naz. Love isn’t like everything else in life. You never stop learning with love, and that’s part of the beauty of it.”
He glanced over at his father, and wondered how Cross seemed to just know shit when it came to his son without needing to be told. Because fuck him for hitting the nail right on the head.
Cross continued on like Naz wasn’t staring at him as though a second head had sprouted out of his neck. “The woman you fell in love with the first time isn’t going to be the same woman when she’s twenty-five, or thirty-two. She’s going to change, and you’re going to change. There will be more things to learn because that’s what life does to you. So, I know this is hard for you to understand being your nature is just to absorb everything, and run with it … but you can’t learn everything about love. It teaches you on its own time, Naz. You’ll do well to figure that out. Find a balance. It’s the only way you’re going to make this work.”
Well, then …
“I’m sorry,” Naz muttered. “For screwing up.”
Cross chuckled, and reached up to slap his son’s cheek gently. “You’re not even the hundredth man to fuck up, son. You’re not going to be the last, either. It’s okay to fail sometimes. I told you that once, didn’t I? You don’t have to be perfect, Nazio. Just because you’re a goddamn genius doesn’t mean you have to be the first at everything.”
No, he just had to be him.
That’s what his father always told him.