by Bethany-Kris
“I think his methods of parenting are a little lax, and it has led to a young man that is very exasperating. You, I mean.”
“That’s funny.”
“What is?”
“That you think that,” Cross said, smirking. “I respect my step-father more than anyone. Not quite as much as my ma, but … Italians, you know.”
Dante let out another one of those harsh sighs. “Your father said you had something to ask me, Cross. Go ahead and do so.”
Ah, yeah.
The dance.
“So, you can tell me no?” Cross asked.
“You don’t know that’s what I’ll say.”
Cross gestured at the room, and then between them. “I have a pretty good idea.”
“That smart mouth of yours is going to get you killed someday.”
“Calisto says the same thing. I’m still here, though.”
“Shame he hasn’t somehow rid you of the impulse to talk out of turn, yet,” Dante muttered. “Ask me what you wanted, Cross.”
“I thought Catherine might like to go to winter formal with me. If that’s okay with you.”
Dante lifted an eyebrow in a high arch like he was considering Cross’s words. “If you ever touch my daughter without her permission, or take from her what she does not give you, I will strip your bones out of your body one by one in this room. I will do it while Catherine sits upstairs and eats dinner with the rest of her family. When I am done, I will mail pieces of you to your mother and father each day while they search for you. Do you understand me?”
Cross nodded. “Yeah, I hear you.”
“You may ask my daughter to winter formal.” Dante scrubbed his hands together, and added, “While we’re at this, let’s talk about the rules of my house.”
“Which are what?”
“Doors stay open when you are alone with my daughter. Respect for my wife and me is a must. Do not behave foolishly here. Understood?”
“Sure.”
Dante waved a hand as if to tell Cross he was dismissed. Cross almost made it to the door when Dante spoke again.
“Do work on the respect thing, Cross. It’ll be beneficial for you in the long run. Especially in this business.”
Maybe.
But probably not.
The Restaurant
Dante POV
Dante’s arm struck out and knocked several overturned chairs piled on a table to the floor. It didn’t help his anger a whole hell of a lot, but it felt fucking good for a minute. That’s what mattered most to him.
A sigh echoed behind him as one of his two brothers stopped to pick up the chairs. Giovanni, apparently. Lucian followed behind Dante and started talking instead. He did his best to ignore his older brother. He didn’t need goddamn sense talked to him right then—he had every right to be pissed. That’s what he was going to be.
The up and coming restaurant currently looked like it was ready to be torn down, given the shape it was in. Covered tables and more chairs were piled high in one corner. The floor had been ripped up a couple of days ago to prepare for the stone tiles going in before the week was out. Open holes in the ceiling had bare wires hanging from them where the light fixtures would eventually go.
Another month, maybe, and the place would be in business. Another property and business to add to the Marcello profile.
It had also been the only place that wasn’t a dirty warehouse—no thank you—where Dante knew would be empty. A place he could use for a little bit to get this nonsense over with, and not be noticed.
“Teenagers do have sex,” Lucian said.
For the tenth time.
Dante rolled his eyes upward. “I swear, if you fucking say that again, I will punch you in the throat, Lucian.”
Giovanni had finally caught up with them, too. “He’s got a point.”
“I don’t care.”
“Don’t you think it’s a little strange how in every other aspect of your life,” Lucian said, “you are calm and collected, and then in walks your daughter.”
Dante hesitated in his step, and turned fast to face his brothers. So fast, that the two of them almost bumped into him. “And what the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“I kind of thought it was self-explanatory,” Giovanni said.
Lucian gestured at their younger brother. “What he said.”
“What, like because it’s my daughter, I automatically get raging pissed?”
“Yeah, like that, Dante.”
“And you don’t?” he asked Lucian.
“I have three daughters,” Lucian reminded him. “Only two of which have dated. Cella is a bit too young at fifteen, but here we are, and I don’t get much of a say. I know both of my older girls have—at times—stayed out too late, dated boys I hated, and have probably had sex. Jordyn keeps up on that stuff, and fills me in as necessary. Do you know how I know they’ve probably done that?”
“Because your wife tells you?”
“Nope,” Lucian murmured. “Because they’re teenagers.”
“It’s what we all did,” Giovanni added.
Lucian jerked a thumb in Giovanni’s direction. “Truth.”
“It’s not about the fucking sex,” Dante snarled.
Okay.
It was a little about the sex.
Just a tiny bit.
But not all.
Sure, Dante thought Catherine was too young to be physical with boys, but he realized that wasn’t realistic, either. If she felt ready for sex, and Catrina really seemed to think their daughter understood what she was doing, then he would have to deal with it.
Not like it, though.
Just deal.
“Are you sure it’s not about the fact you found out she’s having sex?’ Lucian asked. “Because it sounds like it is, Dante.”
Giovanni tipped his head in Lucian’s direction. “What he said—also because I remember when you laughed to me about catching Michel in the pool when he was fifteen with a girl, and yeah. Laughed, man.”
He had done that.
Fuck.
“It’s not about the sex!” Dante spun on his heel, and headed for the back office. His brothers followed behind silently. “And for the fucking record, Michel got in shit for that stunt.”
“Yes, another birds and the bees talk.”
Giovanni snorted. “A month later, you got a warning from the school because a teacher saw him and a girl get into a car, and skip for a day. Pretty sure they weren’t going shopping, or out for ice-cream.”
“Shut your face, Gio.”
“Just saying.”
Inside the office, Dante paced. Lucian closed the door after a minute, and waited his brother out. Giovanni stayed close to the door.
“Listen, I have to head out pretty soon,” he said.
Lucian looked to their younger brother. “What, not going to stay and watch the show?”
“Cal is my friend, and believe it or not, I actually kind of like his kid.”
“So does he, and that’s probably the only reason Cross is still alive.”
Dante agreed, but then went back to pacing.
“You good?” Giovanni asked.
Lucian shrugged. “I got it, no worries.”
Giovanni said something to Dante—he wasn’t really listening—and then headed out of the office, but not before slamming the door. It took another three minutes before Dante felt relatively calm enough to speak again.
“Okay, so it’s a little bit about the sex,” he told his brother.
Lucian perched on the edge of a dusty desk. “All right.”
“But there’s never going to be an old enough for me, Lucian. She’s always going to be too young, or whatever. I can’t correlate my daughter and … that. None of that. It’s too much in here.” Dante waved a finger at his head. “Get what I mean?”
“Sure.”
“Give me something more than sure, Lucian!”
“Someday, you’re going to have to get over that, Dante. I don’t kno
w what else to tell you. What, are you going to spend the rest of her teenage life with your head stuck in the sand—is that what kind of father you want to be with her?”
“What?”
“Instead of raging about the fact she’s doing something most teenagers do—including us, when we were younger—try talking to her. Try asking questions. And not ignorant ones, man. Not questions that make her feel judged or like she has to hide shit. Actual real, honest questions.”
Dante cleared his throat. “Like what?”
“Like, is she safe? Is he respectful? Those kinds of questions mean you give a shit, and they don’t present the confusion and anger you might be feeling. Get it?”
“Yeah, okay.” Dante scrubbed a hand down over his face, and glanced away. “It’s a lot about him, though.”
“The anger, you mean?”
“That kid, Lucian, he’s so fucking disrespectful. He doesn’t get the fire he plays with, you know what I mean? His father just lets him do whatever the hell he wants, and now he’s this arrogant little shit that could probably use today to knock him down a peg or two.”
“But mostly it’s because Catherine’s intimate with him.”
Dante shrugged.
He was done with the façade.
“Not every teenager can be raised the same way, and parents can’t expect the same result,” Lucian said. “Look at me with John—Giovanni with Andino. You and Michel. All three of us have taken entirely different approaches with our sons, and most of us have come out with similar respectful, decent young men.”
Dante eyed Lucian. “We both know why John is a special case, and why he’s a little difficult.”
“His Bipolar disorder doesn’t always give him a pass, Dante.”
“No, I know, I just meant … No, I was giving him a pass.”
“Don’t do that with my son. It will not help him to excuse some of his behavior.” Lucian folded his arms over his chest, adding, “But look at Andino. He was raised with little to no rules, and Gio let him run and do whatever the hell he wanted. Maybe because that’s what Gio knew he needed way back when—time to figure out his shit, and the freedom to do it without judgment.”
“I don’t think Cross and Calisto Donati are the same as Andino and Giovanni.”
“Except you don’t know that, and Cross is not your son, Dante. You should allow Calisto the same respect you have given to Gio or me with our boys—take a step back, and mind your business.”
Dante might have been the boss of their family, but he still—for the most part—allowed his brothers to speak openly and freely about anything they wanted with him. Forcing them to hold their opinions back had never done him any good.
Plus, it just wasn’t them.
They wouldn’t be his brothers.
“Still want to scare him a little bit,” Dante said. “I’m still kind of pissed.”
Lucian nodded. “All right.”
His brother pulled out a gun, and waved it. “Since you don’t keep one on you a lot of the time, you can use mine. When I hand it over, it’ll be empty of bullets.”
Dante cocked a brow. “Hmm.”
“Remember, though, he is just a young man. Same as we were—we made stupid decisions, too. Slept with girls whose fathers hated us. Acted recklessly. Did dumb things. Why do you expect him to be different?”
“Because it’s my daughter.”
“Yeah, I figured.” Lucian waved a finger at his temple as if to call Dante crazy. “You’ve got a while before they get here. Go grab a drink at the bar down the street or something.”
“Really?”
“It might take the edge off.”
Dante doubted it, but he went anyway.
Dante strolled across the restaurant with his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his slacks. The drink hadn’t really helped to take the edge off, but his rage had ebbed.
A bit, not a lot.
It likely wouldn’t help.
Outside the business, he had seen Calisto’s SUV parked. At least his guests of honor had finally made it. One half of Dante had his mind on what he was doing right now, and another part was on the talk he planned to have with his daughter when he got home.
It made for a confusing mess.
Dante headed into the office without even knocking. Lucian already had set himself on the edge of the desk like he had been before. In his hands, he toyed with the gun and bullets. He barely spared Dante’s entrance a glance. Dante didn’t mind.
It was all about appearances, now.
Calisto stood silent in the corner with his arms folded over his chest. He gave Dante a subtle nod, but nothing more. Really, regardless of what Dante said, he did respect the Donati boss. After all, the man had brought his son here not knowing what was going to happen to him, or what Dante might do.
The young man of the hour—Cross—sat in the middle of the office on a metal folding chair. His gaze stayed on Lucian and the gun. There wasn’t fear in his eyes, Dante noticed, but some people were just good at hiding it. The fact Cross wouldn’t look away from Lucian’s gun said a lot that he wasn’t showing physically.
The kid was not stupid.
One couldn’t be in this life.
Dante moved across the room, grabbed the one other folding chair, and set it up. Right in front of Cross’s chair. He made sure to turn his around, so he could straddle it and set his arms over the back. That way, Cross’s gaze was only on him.
Well, apparently him and the gun.
Dante hid his smirk as Cross’s attention drifted between Dante, and Lucian. A subtle shift that said he wanted to know what was going to happen with that gun, but wasn’t willing to ask.
For a long while, Dante simply stared at Cross before he quietly said, “Explain yourself.”
Cross cocked a brow.
Dante’s irritation with the kid picked up again at the sight. Like a flash of anger spiking hot and hard in his gut. A simple show of disrespect when the kid could just talk like he had been told to.
Instead of giving a proper answer, Cross said, “Be specific.”
Dante’s jaw ached from how hard he clenched his teeth at that response. “You have very little respect for better men, Cross. Let me explain this to you, so that you understand from here on out. When a better man demands something in this life, you jump through fire to give him what he wants.”
“Define better.”
Cross didn’t even balk after the words left his mouth. He didn’t blink or flinch or think about it. He just opened his mouth and let stupid shit come out of it.
Too arrogant.
Too difficult.
Too cocky.
Too … everything.
This boy was never going to live to see his eighteenth birthday, Dante was sure of it. Cross didn’t understand how death was staring him right in the face, and was ready to pull the trigger.
Maybe he had a death wish.
Maybe he had no concept of death.
No understanding of real fear.
Dante didn’t know what it was, but it irked him like nothing else. Every single little thing about Cross Donati got under his skin in the worst way. Had this boy been his son, he would have made sure the kid understood the true meaning of respect.
But he wasn’t his boy.
He was someone else’s son.
Dante dropped a hand, and put his palm up. “Lucian.”
His brother handed over the gun without a word.
Dante put his arm back over the chair, and made sure to angle the weapon just so. It forced Cross to look down the barrel.
“One more time,” Dante said. “Explain.”
“Again, be specific.”
“Calisto should genuinely worry for your life, Cross. You’re too rude, too insolent, and that’ll never make a good made man.”
“But it will make a dead one,” Lucian said from behind Dante.
Calisto cleared his throat in the corner. In the corner of his eye, Dante could plainly see how unco
mfortable the man was with the scene, though he hid it well. He was probably hoping this would be some kind of wakeup call for Cross.
Who knew?
Cross didn’t look away from the gun, or Dante. “If you want me to explain what happened on Friday, I don’t think I need to. The school made a nice little slideshow with videos and all, Dante.”
Yes, that stupid video. The principal was lucky Dante didn’t decide to burn her fucking house to the ground, the bitch.
Dante opted not to say that out loud, and instead, went in a different direction.
“Don,” Dante said to the kid, “or boss.”
“Not mine,” Cross replied.
“Cross.” Calisto’s warning rang out heavily.
Cross didn’t reply or look away from Dante.
“No,” Dante said, leaning forward, “I want you to explain to me what you would say to ever justify putting my daughter in the kind of position you did. You see, you’re selfish, Cross, like most boys your age. I expect that, to an extent, but what I demand will always be respect. Especially for my daughter.”
Cross just continued staring—blank as a piece of paper. No fear, no distress, and no discomfort. Like he didn’t give a single fuck what was happening.
This kid was either crazy, or he literally did not understand genuine fear.
Dante didn’t know which one it was, but both bothered him. Especially considering Cross was dating his daughter. He did not want to think about all the shit the two might get into with the way Cross behaved.
“You don’t think with the head up here,” Dante said, tapping Cross’s forehead with the tip of the gun’s barrel. Then, he clicked off the safety, racked the gun, and pointed it downward. Right at Cross’s lap—at his groin, actually. “No, you’re too busy thinking with the smaller head down there because that’s easy gratification.”
Anyone would have flinched.
Dante would have fucking flinched.
Cross just sat here, still blank.
Pissed, Dante stood, and pushed the chair away. His gun stayed pointed downward, and then he pulled the trigger. Of course, the weapon only clicked because it was empty.
Cross didn’t even jump. He just stared at Dante as though he knew that was going to happen.
