Revere: A Legacy Novel (Cross + Catherine Book 2)

by Bethany-Kris

  “Everything was handled,” Cross said, refusing to be affected by Dante’s rage. “She was fine.”

  He wasn’t going to offer more details in that regard, though.

  “You … you are …” Dante turned away, pinching the bridge of his nose as he snarled to himself. “She is not one of your toys, Cross. She is my daughter!”

  “Perhaps you should ask Catherine if I use her like a boy might use one of his toys, and see how she feels about it, huh? Besides, I tend to think she likes the way I use her.”

  That was not the right thing to say.

  Calisto’s gaze widened, turning on his son with a warning on his tongue that was already too late. Cross knew it as the final words had spewed from his own mouth because Dante had the gun in his hand, the hammer cocked back, and the barrel an inch from Cross’s face before he’d finished speaking.

  Fuck.

  “Why don’t I just ask you?” Dante asked.

  Several voices called out from around them, ones Cross recognized like the other Marcello brothers, and even a man from his father’s Cosa Nostra. None of the voices objecting to the scene seemed to make any difference to the Marcello Don, though.

  Cross didn’t blink, staring down the barrel of the Beretta to look Dante right in the eyes. “Well, that’s a familiar sight, Dante. How many times have we done this, now?”

  “I see you still haven’t managed to learn proper respect when the better man is demanding it, and you’ve got nothing but your fucking arrogance and pride to offer back, Cross.”

  All true.

  Every single word.

  “Yet, here I am, still alive.”

  His father always said that his arrogance would be what killed him in the end. It was a very real possibility.

  Dante smiled. “Depending on the next few words out of your mouth, yes, for now.”

  “Come on, now,” Calisto said quietly, “this isn’t needed. He fucked up, but it’s not like—”

  Dante’s gaze turned on Calisto. “Not like what, old friend? He won’t do it again? He’s learned his lesson? He gives a shit about the rules and place he’s been given? Tell me which one it is, Calisto.”

  Calisto’s jaw clenched. “Likely none of them because he’s a little bastard when he wants to be, but you’ve got one of those yourself, don’t you? A mouthy son with little respect for anyone else but himself, who oversteps his boundaries every chance he can and makes zero fucking apologies for doing so. He found that Irish girl and laughed in her father’s face when he refused to marry her to an Italian’s son. We both know there’s more to tell, too.”

  Dante stayed silent.

  “Had I pulled a gun on your boy—on Michel—you’d have beaten me to death on the spot, Dante,” Calisto added quickly, “Don’t even dare to deny it. Your only daughter, yes, but he’s my only boy.”

  “Do you think a nephew is worth the same as a daughter or son?” Dante asked.

  Cross barely managed to hide his flinch because there were only two people—well, three, if what he thought about Giovanni Marcello was true—on the tarmac that actually knew the truth of his paternity. His father hid his hurt without even trying, offering Dante a shrug and a small smile.

  “I’m the only father he has ever known, and he is the only boy I have ever raised as my own,” Calisto said simply.

  “You’ve done a shit job then.”

  “So be it, but he is mine. And while he’s worth a war to me, consider if he’s worth the same to you.”

  Dante took a heavy breath, his gaze swinging back to Cross. “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t paint this tarmac with your fucking brain matter for what you did.”

  Cross didn’t even have to think about it. “You don’t have to care. You don’t even have to believe me, but she’s the love of my life. Pull the trigger, but you’ll put two in a grave, Dante. I’m literally betting my life on it right now.”

  A second passed, then a few more.

  Dante’s gun never wavered, and if anything, Cross was pretty confident he had seen the man’s finger twitch a bit on the trigger. Fuck, he hoped the Beretta wasn’t a hair-trigger. Most weren’t, but some …

  He couldn’t say for sure whether Dante would finally pull the trigger, and end this game that had been going on for a decade or more between them.

  He just didn’t know.

  Finally, Dante’s arm lowered just a fraction of a centimeter. “Don’t say things like that when you can’t possibly understand what they mean, Cross.”

  How little faith this man had in him.

  Cross didn’t blame Dante.

  Not really.

  “Like I said,” Cross replied, “you don’t have to believe me.”

  “You’re twenty-six, what do you even know about something like love?” Dante spat out.

  “Wrong—twenty-seven as of last week.”

  “You just can’t reign that bullshit of yours in, can you? You throw that word around—love—as though it means something to you, but it might as well be shit for all I care. Had you loved my daughter, like you say you do, we would not be standing here having this conversation again.”

  “What conversation? You’ve never asked me that, Dante. You’ve asked me a hell of a lot over the years. You’ve beaten the living shit out of me, but you never once asked me if I loved her. You didn’t care because to you she wasn’t mine. She was yours, and that’s fine, but don’t go there. We’ve never gone there.”

  Dante’s gun lowered a bit more. “I—”

  “You know,” Cross interrupted with a dry tone, “I certainly didn’t think I would ever tell you any of that, if I’m being honest. I mean, she knows I love her. I tell her that all the fucking time because she should be told, but I should never have to tell you. I can tell anyone I love her, but no one except her gets to know the rest.”

  “How much you love her, you mean,” Dante muttered heavily.

  Cross shrugged. “There you have it. You don’t deserve to know because you certainly don’t care, Dante, but there it is. She’s never quiet enough to let me tell her now, not like how we were before. Part of me thinks she’s scared to let me tell her how much because she’s terrified I’m going to break her heart again.

  “The thing is, I have never had to be good enough for you because you don’t matter. Only she does. You’re right. I’m twenty-seven, and a made man under a Cosa Nostra boss who isn’t you,” Cross continued. “I don’t need your permission to go out of the country, or to take Catherine with me if she asks to go because she is an adult. I don’t need to make sure you are okay with letting her lay on the beach, swim in the ocean, or spend a few days getting a tan. But I would have asked—I would have—had she not lied and said you knew, because I might be arrogant, but I’m not stupid.”

  Dante finally dropped his gun entirely, letting his arm hang limply at his sides. “I see.”

  “No, I don’t think you do. I did business, and she was there, sure, but she was perfectly fine the entire time. Not once was she put in any serious danger, until something did come up that was instantly handled. You’re out money. The buyer is out guns. I fucked up a safe running route, and likely ruined a partnership simply to keep her safe on this run. It doesn’t matter, though, not to you, because it’s her, and I’m me.”

  Cross barked out a laugh, adding, “Except the problem is, you don’t know a single fucking thing about me, Dante. You never cared to learn.”

  “Cross,” his father started to say.

  Cross was done. Done with this show, done with Catherine’s father, and done with the whole fucking day. He grabbed his luggage, and started toward the hangar where his car had been parked two weeks earlier before they headed for the boat.

  “Cross!” Calisto called out from behind him.

  He held up his middle finger, and never once looked back over his shoulder to see the men he’d walked away from, and managed to disrespect at the same time.

  Everyone had choices to make. Everyone had to make
them when they didn’t want to. Everyone faced different consequences for them.

  This was just one of those times.

  Cross still didn’t care.

  Not one bit.

  Cross opened the penthouse front door, and didn’t wait for his guest to come in before turning and walking back to where he had been pouring himself a glass of much needed whiskey in the living room. Wolf followed behind in silence.

  He took his sweet time pouring the whiskey, watching the amber liquid fall over cubes of ice and filling the glass nearly to the rim. After his day, he needed a good drink.

  “Your father sent me over,” Wolf said.

  Cross tipped his glass up for a sip, looking out the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the busiest part of Manhattan. “That’s nice.”

  He’d expected it, actually.

  Calisto was good, and had given Cross space when he needed it. His father was even more careful not to insert his presence or opinion in a way that might bother his son. Cross had appreciated it.

  Cross also missed Calisto often. Their conversations, his father’s advice, and long nights when his father was there simply because Cross had needed him to be. He missed those things, but he’d been the one to ask for space. Calisto have given it, no questions asked.

  “He wanted a better update on what happened in Cancun, and what to expect now,” Wolf continued, “and he didn’t ask for anything else.”

  Cross passed the man a look over his shoulder, noting how Wolf kept his gaze on the windows, and not on his companion. “Did he tell you about the shit show at the private air strip today?”

  Wolf smiled thinly. “He didn’t have to; the words made the rounds. He did confirm it to me, though.”

  “Surprised you weren’t there, actually.”

  “My granddaughter’s recital was today—her first. I made a choice, Calisto didn’t argue against it.”

  Ah.

  Wolf looked to Cross. “The run, give me information.”

  Cross sighed, setting his glass back to the table. He rolled the sleeves of his dress shirt up to his elbows, tired and disinterested in this entire conversation. He knew what Calisto was doing by sending Wolf to get information, and it wasn’t all about the gun run that had gotten fucked up, either.

  His father wanted to check on him without inserting his presence, it was obvious. Wolf was there to make sure Cross wasn’t acting foolish in some way, and nothing more. Cross didn’t mind playing along, for now.

  Truth was, Cross knew exactly what he needed to do for his father. Calisto was sick; he needed his surgery. No matter how unfinished his business was with his father, Cross was going to allow Calisto the chance to live and not worry about having another episode, or worse, dying.

  Soon.

  “Shit happened. The guns were already on the other boat, so I dumped the run load by sinking the fucking yacht of the buyer by burning it,” Cross said, skipping over all the details that had happened in between. “Dropped the yacht we were using where it needed to go, and grabbed the jet waiting. So, the run route is screwed because the boat is new enough to have auto-warnings that get transmitted when shit happens aboard. Then they’ll find the dumped guns, and they’ll be monitoring that route.

  “The buyer—Rhys, I’ve run guns to him before, though not there—sent out new middle men to collect this time, and one was a little too interested in Catherine for his own good. Shit happened. I sent Rhys’ men down with the boat, so he won’t be buying from me again. Adding onto that, the Marcellos are out the other half due for the guns on delivery. A quarter of a million.”

  Wolf whistled low. “Cazzo merda.”

  “But it was needed, so like I said, shit happens.”

  “Andino Marcello might not feel the same way when he learns how much money he’s lost because you dumped the guns,” Wolf said.

  Cross scrubbed a hand down his face. “He’ll understand.”

  Because of Catherine, Andino would completely understand. Cross wasn’t about to offer those details out, however. Or, he hoped Andino would understand.

  “All right,” Wolf said, turning to head back the way he had come. “I will let Calisto know.”

  “Tell him I’ll be over tomorrow—lunch, or something. I know he only sent you over here to check on me. He doesn’t give a fuck about those guns or the run.”

  Wolf stopped, looking over his shoulder with a sad smile. “You worry him, Cross.”

  “I needed time.”

  “All he ever did—even back then—was love and protect you and your mother.”

  Cross nodded once. “I know, but he still lied to me.”

  “By omission, perhaps, but not in his actions. He’s never been anything else but your father, even if your birth certificate had a different name in the slot. Shit, you called him your dad your whole life, anyway, and he adopted you as soon as he was able. For all purposes, that man has always been your father, Cross. Now you know it’s not just because of his actions as you grew up, but your DNA, too.”

  “Yeah, I got that.”

  “You good for tonight, or do you need something?”

  He pulled his cell out of his pocket, checking the screen for any messages. “Just waiting on a call, but other than that, I’m good.”

  “I’ll let him know that, too.”

  Cross turned back to face the windows. “Do that, Wolf.”

  He had other things to wait for, like a beautiful brunette with green eyes somewhere across the city, doing her own thing too far away from him.

  She needed to come home.

  Cross was going to wait for her.

  “What am I supposed to do, huh? Tell me.”

  “Well, relaxing would be a great way to start, Dante.”

  “Tell me how I’m supposed to do that, then!”

  “Yelling isn’t helping anyone,” Catherine’s grandfather said.

  “Certainly not you,” Catrina added.

  Catherine’s father cursed lowly, and then something crashed and shattered into a wall. Hidden in her spot inside the darkened hallway, Catherine jumped at the sudden noise, but she still didn’t move. Antony, her grandfather, grumbled something she couldn’t hear under his breath.

  “I liked that vase,” her mother muttered.

  “I will buy you a new—”

  “It was one of a kind, Dante, you cannot replace it.”

  A harsh sigh echoed. “Mi dispiace, Catrina.”

  A squeak of leather filled the air and then Catrina said, “I don’t want your apologies. I want you to calm down, Dante.”

  “I’m trying.”

  “You’re really not, son,” Antony said, his aged voice hoarse. “And while I understand, in some ways, I don’t think you should be as surprised or … upset, we’ll say, as you currently are.”

  “And why the hell not, Papa?”

  “Because you’ve done this where Catherine is concerned. You, and your wife, of course.”

  Catrina scoffed. “I have no idea—”

  “Less you,” Antony interrupted, “and more him.”

  “I did not ask you to come over tonight to give me a lecture,” Dante said with venom. “I asked you here, so I had someone to talk to that I trusted.”

  “You had your wife.”

  “We’re all talked out.”

  “Putting it mildly,” Catrina said.

  “You called me because I am your father,” Antony said, “and because I, too, had a difficult child to raise. Although by her age, Giovanni was finally starting to settle. You do want advice. You want me to tell you something that will finally work. I can’t do that, Dante, they’re not the same, and you have raised her this way.”

  “What way?”

  “To be like she is. Sneaky and sly. She hides things from you all, even when she doesn’t need to be hiding things. She hides her unhappiness or disappointments, which has led her into spiral after spiral of bad behavior and even worse moments.”

  “I think that a great deal of t
hat was caused by a certain someone in her life, too.”

  “Cross, you mean. The Donati man,” Antony said. “You’re wrong. Stop blaming an easy target because you don’t want to blame her, or even, look in the mirror some days.”

  “I didn’t make my daughter do—”

  “No, not do. Allow, Dante. You’ve allowed her to continue on with things that someone else would have either stepped in on, or put their foot down altogether.”

  “I want her to be happy, Papa.”

  “Then you have to allow her to figure that out, son. Without your input. She’s twenty-five, now. It’s a bit late for you to finally put your foot down on something—especially something like love. All her life, you’ve made a conscious effort to take a step back and allow her to decide for herself. It didn’t matter if it was school, running with her cousins, or boys. Well look now, Dante, because she is a grown woman.”

  “So?”

  “So, she is grown woman who is accustomed to making her own choices now. No, you are not going to have any say regarding her life, or what she does with it. No, she is not going to allow you to lock her down in this house like you did when she was eighteen. No, she is not going to allow your displeasure with her choice of a partner sway how she feels. But you know what she will do, son?”

  Dante exhaled heavily. “What?”

  “She will lie to you about it. She will hide it from you. She will cover things, sneak things, pretend things, and do whatever else she has to do so that she can be happy, and you can be happy at the same time. It’s a game you both play with one another—her thinking she’s gotten what makes you displeased with her hidden well enough, and you pretending like you don’t actually know what’s going on because she’s happy. Yet, you’re still waiting for the other shoe to drop. That is what she has always done because you have allowed her to do that.”

  Antony cleared his throat before he added, “This is your problem, Dante; you have helped to create it. And now you have to deal with it. That’s all. Nothing more, nothing less.”

  Catrina hummed an agreeing sound under her breath.

  “Don’t even, Cat,” Dante murmured.