by Bethany-Kris
Cece always found him.
He could never hide from her.
Cece met Juan’s gaze a second before his arm slipped around her waist. And then his fist crashed into Mack’s face.
The football player had nothing on Juan.
For a second, Cece relaxed.
Juan said nothing, simply pointed at Mack bleeding on the ground like that was his one and only warning. Or maybe like he was daring the guy to stand up. If she actually cared about Mack, she would tell him the smart move was to stay on the ground and play dead like the stupid fuck he was.
He would die if he stood up.
Simple as that.
The party wasn’t fun anymore.
The guests looked like frozen statues.
Someone even turned the music off.
“Come on,” Cece murmured in Juan’s ear. “Let’s get out of here.”
His arm on her waist tightened.
He’d been holding onto her since she was thirteen, and he was fifteen. Her backbone, really. He held her heart, too, and was always oh, so careful with it.
“Come on,” she said again.
Juan heard her that time. “Yeah, babe, let’s go.”
Soon, the two were outside, and Juan was holding open the door for her to get inside his still-running Rolls-Royce. He never really failed to amaze Cece in more ways than she sometimes understood.
He wouldn’t say a word about this.
Not about what happened, or how much it scared him. And she knew it did scare him.
He would never ask her to stop.
Never hold her back.
How could he?
How could he do that when he only ever had her back?
“Juan?” Cece whispered.
Her dark-eyed love looked back at her. “Yeah, babe?”
“I love you.”
He smiled.
It’d probably been too long since she told him that. It’d been a couple months since they were official on being together again.
What even were they right now?
She didn’t know.
“You know I love you, C.”
Yeah, she did.
“Juan?”
“Hmm?”
“I want to marry you.”
His dark eyes widened a bit, and he lifted one brow high. “Is that a proposal? Because that’s not how it’s supposed to work—I ask you.”
“Yeah, well …”
“Is it, though?”
“What?” she asked.
“A proposal.”
“Have you ever thought about marrying me?”
Juan didn’t even think about it. “Every day since you turned eighteen. I even asked your dad just so I wouldn’t have to do it later.”
“Really?”
He nodded.
Huh.
“So … why haven’t you asked?” Cece asked.
Juan pointed to the necklace Cece was wearing. It was a metal pendant of a tribal-style heart that he had given to her for her eighteenth birthday. On the middle of the heart was a single diamond. She never took it off.
Ever.
“What?” she asked.
“Let me see that, babe.”
Cece took the long chain up over her head, and then passed it over. Juan closed the pendant in his hand, squeezed hard, and she heard it crack.
Crack like he broke it.
“Juan!”
He opened his palm.
The pendant was in two pieces.
In the middle, sat a ring.
The prettiest, most beautiful diamond ring. Her mother’s ring.
“All this time?” she asked.
Juan nodded. “All this time, babe.”
The One
Naz POV
“Shit, I can’t believe Cece is actually getting fucking married,” Luca muttered.
Naz shot his best friend—and Zeke’s only son—a look. “Believe it.”
The nineteen-year-old Naz was only one year older than Luca, and sometimes, it didn’t seem like the two had much in common from the outside looking in. Yet, they had been attached at the hip from the time Luca was born.
Naz had a pretty good memory—be blamed it on the fucking genius thing. He could remember still being in diapers, and looking over a little gray crib to see a baby dressed in a blue sleeper looking back at him.
Luca, that was.
“Lost my chance with her,” Luca muttered.
Naz barked a laugh. “Fucker, you never had a chance with my sister.”
“Asshole.”
“Can’t help that you’re fucking delusional.”
Luca punched Naz in the back of the shoulder as they weaved in and out of the people flooding the house for the pre-wedding party. Cece wasn’t getting married for another month, but the celebration was in full force.
Any reason for an Italian to cook.
Or party …
They were all up for it.
Soon, Naz and Luca had pushed their way out onto the back porch where less people had gathered, and it wasn’t as fucking suffocating. God knew he loved his family, but they could be a little too much when they all got together in the same house.
Usually, they threw big parties like this at one of the family’s mansions. Where there was actual space between guests.
Cece wanted to have her party here at the Newport home. And Christ, their parents’ Newport home wasn’t even small. It was a three-level monster.
They just had a big ass family.
Like Juan, too, Cece’s fiancé.
It was what it was.
“Here,” Luca said.
He held out a freshly opened beer for Naz to take, and he was quick to down half of it in one go. He wasn’t typically a big drinker, but New York was having some kind of terrible heat wave this summer, and his throat was dry from talking so much.
Another thing Italians loved.
Talking.
“So, what do you think?” Luca asked, leaning against the railing.
Naz shot his friend a cocked brow. “About what, man?”
“The whole Cece getting married thing.”
“It’s good,” Naz said instantly.
Luca cocked a brow at that response. “Really, good?”
Naz chuckled, and tipped his beer up for another long swig. “You know, five or six years ago I might have had a different answer, but damn, that guy loves my sister. I don’t have to worry about him treating her like shit … or having to bury his body in cement somewhere.”
His friend laughed hard. “But you know if you still need to do that someday …”
“You will be the first fucker I call.”
Luca’s face split with a wide grin, and he held out his fist in offering. Naz answered it back with his own fist, and the two bumped.
Ride or die.
His brother from another mother.
“So, are you going to finally cut the fucking cord, and take the jump with me, or what?” Naz asked.
Luca sighed, and glared up at the sky like Naz was killing him. “You’re never going to let that go, Naz.”
“Well, it’s a waste of time. You’re going to be a made man like you’re supposed to be. Just like I am, like my dad is, and like your dad is, too. That’s what we’re meant to be, Luca. You’re just making the process longer by doing what you’re doing now.”
“So be it.”
Naz shook his head, irritated.
“What the fuck are you doing in school, anyway? A lawyer, Luca, really? Come on.”
“Says the man with a one-sixty IQ, Naz. Some of us aren’t fucking blessed with a brain that just knows everything. Some of us had to wait to graduate at the right age, not early. Some of us didn’t quit college because it was boring.”
“I don’t know everything. I didn’t know everything from birth. I just happened to be really good at learning shit. And also, I didn’t quit college because it was boring.”
“Right,” Luca drawled.
“I didn’t
. I quit because I had other shit to focus on, and getting my doctorate wasn’t going to do anything for me in the long run when I was always going to be in the family business anyway.”
“Whatever.”
“A fucking lawyer, though. Jesus.”
Luca rolled his eyes, and glanced away. “A defense lawyer, Naz. Who the hell else do you expect to save your ass when you need a good lawyer, huh?”
Naz stiffened, and hesitated on taking the next drink from his beer. “What?”
“You think I’m not going to be a made man?” Luca scoffed, saying, “I will, eventually.”
“Mmhmm.”
“I will, fucker. So it’s going to take me a little longer than you, but that’s okay. So I have to work a little harder for it between school, and Cosa Nostra, but that’s fucking fine. You know why? Because there’s a purpose to what I want to do—somebody’s got to have our backs in ten, fifteen years. I don’t mind being the fucker who does it, all right.”
“You think that’s what it’s going to be?”
“What—you taking over for your dad?” Luca asked.
Naz shrugged. “I guess, yeah.”
“Yeah, man, that’s exactly how this is going to go down.”
“All right.”
Luca passed Naz a look. “All right? So what, you’re going to get off my back about this school thing, now, or what?”
“Yeah, man. You do you.”
Naz held out his bottle, and Luca clinked his own against the cold glass.
The two were quiet as they looked over the dark backyard. The noise level inside the house, and from the chatting people on the back deck were still quite loud. Naz didn’t mind like this. He was content—at peace.
Something his brain rarely found.
It was always chaos.
Always erratic.
“Hey, Luca, Dad is looking for you!”
Naz turned at the female voice calling for his best friend, and felt a million things hit him all at once at the sight of a dark-haired, ice-blue-eyed, tall beauty leaning out the backdoor. He knew who she was.
But he hadn’t seen her since she was fourteen. She was a pianist, or something. Apparently, the girl was a prodigy. Kind of like him, but without the genius aspect. They put her in front of a piano at two, and there was no taking her away from it.
Or, that’s how the story went.
She was in private schools, and privileged establishments meant to cater to her unique talent, and to grow her abilities. She usually came home in the summer, as far as Naz knew, and during the holidays, sometimes.
But a lot of the time, Naz was gone. Busy with work, or running guns. He didn’t stay in one place for too long, and he didn’t like crowds.
Maybe he saw her in passing, but his attention had been elsewhere.
Jesus Christ.
His attention was all on her right now.
All on her.
Back then, Rosalynn Puzza—Luca’s now seventeen-year-old sister—had been just a girl. Too young to catch his eye, and too quiet to be fucking noticed. She had been stuck in that awkward stage of teenage life between just coming into her own, and still being stuck as a little girl.
She was not fourteen now.
She was very much a young woman now.
Naz blinked.
His mouth went dry.
Christ.
Gone was the gangly long-armed and -legged girl with a quiet, mouse-like demeanor. She took after her mother in her features—soft, pretty lines with high cheekbones, and wide eyes. Her pink lips were painted with a gloss that accentuated the way her mouth fell into a natural pout. She had to be five foot, ten inches without her heels on—she was wearing flats with the soft pink summer dress that fell loosely over her body.
“Yeah, Rosalynn, I’ll be right in,” Luca said.
Naz kept staring.
She stared right back.
Luca didn’t miss it, either. “Shit—why, Naz?”
He didn’t say anything.
Rosalynn smiled.
Oh, damn.
The girl was a special kind of beautiful when she smiled.
“Naz, right?” she asked.
Like she didn’t know his name.
Like she didn’t know who he was.
She knew.
He liked that she teased him that way, though.
Suddenly, his brain went quiet. All that chaotic shit that just never left him alone—all the things he learned and knew that constantly kept him awake unless he worked his body to the bone was silent.
He was not Naz, the genius. He wasn’t Naz, the guy working to become a made man, and the gunrunner on the weekends.
His brain was struggling to remember how to talk to a fucking girl. His heart actually raced, and he was pretty sure his palms were sweaty.
It was crazy.
And amazing.
“Uh … Naz?” Luca asked, touching his beer bottle to the side of Naz’s head. “You okay?”
Naz pushed his friend’s hand away.
Rosalynn grinned wider. “It is, though, right? Naz?”
Finally, his incredibly smart brain decided to work.
Naz nodded. “Yeah, it’s Naz.”
“So hey,” Rosalynn said, biting on her bottom lip, “maybe they’re starting to dance a bit, if you want to come in and join me, Naz.”
He didn’t even have to think about it, or how he wanted to respond.
He knew.
Knew he finally found her.
Knew by the way his heart felt, and his soul was suddenly alive. Like there was some piece of him that had been waiting to find her, and now it finally had. And it was trying to crawl out of him, slipping around under his surface, and reaching out to her.
He knew.
His father used to say that’s sometimes how it happened for men like them. All at once, and a lightning bolt that came out of fucking nowhere to strike them hard, and put them on their goddamn knees.
To remind them faith was real.
God was good.
Love was true.
“A dance?” she asked again.
“Yeah,” Naz said. “I would love a dance with you, sweetheart.”
And he knew—somehow he knew—there would come a time when this was their party. Their families. Their day. Their upcoming wedding.
She was the one.
She was his one.
Life and love was funny like that. Naz wasn’t even going to complain.
How could he when she was still staring at him, waiting?
The Wedding
Cross POV
“Smile,” his mother murmured as she checked his suit.
Cross had all he could do not to roll his damn eyes when Emma fussed at his tie. A grown man, with adult children of his own, even, and his mother still acted like he was her baby. “The tie is fine, Ma.”
“Says you.” Emma patted his cheek with a warm palm, and drew his gaze to hers. There, he found childhood memories, comfort, and a mother’s love. She had always been a safe place for him, of sorts. A soft spot to fall. “Now, smile.”
“I am.”
Emma lifted a brow. “Not really.”
Cross tilted his head a bit to look at the mirror behind his mother. She was right. There wasn’t exactly a scowl on his face, but his smile wasn’t quite in place, either. “Huh.”
“Big day.”
“It is,” he agreed.
“It’s okay to be a little sad about it, too.”
Cross frowned. “I don’t think I’m sad, Ma.”
“Sad about what?” Calisto barreled into the private suite with two garment bags thrown over his arm. Likely his mother’s dress, and his father’s tux. “What did I miss, now?”
“Cross is sad.”
Emma tossed Calisto a smile over her shoulder, and his father returned it before his gaze cut to Cross.
“Sad, huh?”
“I’m not sad,” Cross denied. “I’m just …”
Calisto tossed the
garment bags to a nearby chair, and came to stand beside his wife. “Not ready.”
Cross looked at his father.
Calisto stared back.
For a long while, the two men stayed like that. Suspended in a silence that only the fathers of daughters could truly understand at the end of the day. He wondered if this—this heaviness in his chest, and the waiting of this day—was what his father had felt like when he gave Camilla away on her wedding day.
“That’s a good way to put it,” Cross settled on saying.
Calisto nodded. “I know. You’re never going to be ready, son. No father ever is.”
Cross let out a hard sigh, and glanced down at his hands. He fumbled with the cufflinks on his suit jacket because it was just easier than talking for the moment. He really didn’t have much to say.
“Emma, go grab Catherine,” Calisto murmured.
“Sure, Cal.”
Cross glanced up in time to catch his mother give his father a kiss on his cheek before she quickly headed for the door.
“But be quick, Emmy, we have to get dressed,” Calisto called over his shoulder.
“You always have to rush.”
Calisto rolled his eyes. “That woman, I swear …”
Cross smiled at his father’s false complaints. Really, his dad loved his mom to the ends of the earth and back. It was a special, crazy kind of love that no one on the outside looking in could truly understand.
He was pretty sure even he didn’t understand it, all things considered. Then again, he was sure people looked at him and Catherine in the same way. Like their love was something strange and strong and unobtainable.
He thanked his mother and father for that. For seeing what good, healthy, true love really was as he grew up. They had taught him how to love someone, and how to do it properly.
A good man earns a good woman.
“Juan is a good man,” Cross said.
Calisto passed Cross a look. “I think so, yes.”
“And I know he loves Cece like nothing else.”
“Seems so.”
“So why can’t I—”
“You’ll smile,” Calisto told him. “You will smile when you need to, and when she looks at you to make sure that everything is okay today. You will smile when you have to because it’s what father’s do when our hearts are breaking, but theirs is so full. You will smile because you want to—when the time is right, and when you’re feeling up to it. You will smile, Cross, and it will be okay.”
