Unruly

by Bethany-Kris

  “You only say that because he’s your best friend.”

  John shrugged. “I respect Andi, that’s all.”

  Catherine wanted to move off the topic of her other cousin because, all too soon, he was going to come back into the conversation anyway.

  “When are the shipments of cocaine coming in from Italy?” John asked.

  “They’re not.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  Catherine chewed on her inner cheek, deciding how to phrase what she needed to say next. This conversation was a long damn time coming. She had avoided telling her cousins anything about the issues with the cocaine, or what happened with the Giuseppe meeting.

  She had hoped that by the time she had to bring it up to John and Andino, she would already have the answers to their problems. Cocaine coming in, a new supplier, and nothing to worry about.

  That hadn’t been the case.

  “Giuseppe Bianchi will no longer be supplying my business,” Catherine said.

  John’s gaze darkened for a moment before his expression blanked.

  Catherine hated that about the men in her life. It was like they had all been raised to behave the exact same way. They shut off, or shut down, when they needed to. Suddenly, they no longer had feelings, emotions, or empathy to share in conversations where she needed to see those things to gauge where she could go next.

  “That’s you,” John said quietly, “but not us.”

  Catherine lifted a hand and said, “As you said, John, your shipments haven’t come in. What does that tell you, cousin?”

  “Please tell me you didn’t somehow … fuck up that connection, Catherine.”

  She laughed bitterly.

  Jesus.

  What else could she do at this point?

  “According to my mother, it was bound to happen.”

  John’s brow dipped. “Explain.”

  Catherine did, albeit vaguely. She left out the main details of the meeting, but instead, focused on what came before, and then after with Catrina. And even then, Catherine only gave the bare minimum of details.

  She had learned something important over the years about her cousins and their business. They were like her husband in the way that excuses were never accepted or tolerated. Every single person had to be accountable for their actions and choices. Each person had to take responsibility for themselves at the end of the day.

  “This is … not good,” John said gruffly.

  His tone let Catherine know he was pissed.

  The rest of him was as still as stone.

  “I am working on figuring something out,” Catherine assured, “but I have a whole bunch of other shit clogging up my time and attention right now. Just when I think I have five minutes to focus on this problem, something else comes up. I’m not sure which thing to deal with first, at the moment.”

  “Getting cocaine into this city,” John snapped. “That would be a great place to start!”

  “Do not yell at me in my home.”

  Her cousin let out a hard breath, and glanced away.

  Quieter, Catherine said, “I know that’s the most important thing, John. And I am working on it.”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Listen, it was my mother who made the deal with the Three Families years ago to ensure the continued supply of cocaine into their territories at a price that culled competition between them. I know this, John. Given how close and intertwined our families are now with business and everything else, the last thing we need are feuds popping up because of the price of cocaine. I will get this shit figured out.”

  “How soon?”

  “I can’t say,” Catherine admitted. “I know there’s a major cartel down in Mexico that’s mostly supplying the lower east coast, the west coast, a few places in Europe, Detroit, and Chicago. I have been working on trying to find the right contact to get me face to face with the boss of the operation.”

  John scowled. “That shouldn’t be such a hard thing to do, considering who you are and your position. Send a fucking messenger out to say you want a sit down with the King Pin of the cartel, and they should set something up.”

  “Well, guess what? It is fucking hard. Half the people you talk to don’t even know who the boss of the operation is. It seems to me like there’s some kind of layering going on as a protection of sorts to hide whoever it is running it. The point is, I will figure it out.”

  There, Catherine had showed her hand. Or as much as she was willing to show. There were somethings better left unsaid and hidden from view.

  It was her problem to deal with.

  Fact was, Catherine knew with absolute certainty that should she admit she was incapable of making contact and a contract with a new supplier, her husband or cousins would and could do it. Somehow they would fix the problem, and that would leave Catherine looking incompetent and weak in her organization.

  She could not afford that.

  Actually, she was starting to understand this lesson of her mother’s better and better. Still, Catrina had gone about it in a shitty way.

  Never was that more apparent than now …

  “How long have you known we would be without a supplier?” John asked after a moment. “Or that our shipments would not come in like we thought they should?”

  Shit.

  “Since the end of November.”

  “Catherine, it’s almost the end of January now.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “That’s two months you’ve purposely kept this information from the Three Families,” John said, venom coating his every word.

  “No, just you and Andino,” she clarified. “Cross knew the day after the initial meeting.”

  “But you didn’t think to inform us?”

  His shout reverberated through the office, and likely out into the hallway. She was surprised that Cross’s footsteps didn’t follow the shout.

  “Okay, I will let that one yell slide,” Catherine told her cousin as calmly as she could manage, “but trust that the next one will earn you something you won’t like, John. This is business—these agreements, the supplier, and the contract is my business. Neither you, nor Andino, would have given me a chance to even try to fix this or figure something else out. You both would have butted your big ass egos and mansplaining into it without even considering I could fix it. Let me do my job.”

  “Yet, here we are, two months later, and you still—”

  “I am working on it!”

  John’s jaw clenched, and she thought he was holding back his barely held together emotions. Catherine figured once he left her home, she should probably call his wife and give the woman a heads up. Sometimes, a little upset in John’s emotional state or his very carefully controlled life could tip the scales of his Bipolar Disorder. They had learned over the years that it helped if those around John kept an eye out for changes in his behavior or upsets happening because then his wife could either help him through it, or … well, Catherine didn’t know what happened beyond that. She suspected John took meds, and probably had a therapist who worked with him, but those were things that were never on the table for discussion.

  Both he and his wife made that very clear.

  Catherine respected them for their choices, and didn’t push for personal information. Right now she needed John to extend the same hand to her on the business side of things.

  “John,” Catherine said, forcing her tone to be level, “you know I never question your ability to be a good boss for your organization. Despite the shit I know you deal with on a daily basis, and the struggles we have all seen you go through, I never ever tell you what you should or shouldn’t be doing in business because of your disorder.”

  John’s gaze narrowed slightly. “Sure, that’s true enough.”

  “Please give me the same respect here. I know I’m not my mother, and that I still have growing room to do yet, but I am capable. I absolutely can figure this out if you just give me some time.”

  “And what will Andi
no and I do about the fact we are very quickly running out of cocaine?”

  Catherine pushed back the chair she sat in, and pulled out a drawer in the desk. Inside rested a folder of information regarding her own supply of cocaine, how much was left, and where it had been stored in different warehouses. It was never a good thing to keep too much of something in one spot just in case a raid happened.

  Backups were needed in this business.

  She pulled the folder out, and tossed it over to her cousin. “There, an extra supply that should handle both of you until closer to spring, hopefully.”

  John snatched the folder, and opened it. Looking over the documents, he asked, “And what about you, or even Cross’s famiglia?”

  “He’s got enough, and made a quick deal with Tommaso in Chicago should he need a bit more.”

  “That doesn’t tell me anything about you.”

  “I have enough to handle my girls for now.”

  John chewed over her assurances and offers before finally saying, “I do have to let Andino know what I learned today. It’s the respect of the matter. He needs a heads up, Catty. You should have already given us both one.”

  “Lesson learned, then,” she said with a nod. “Try to keep him off my ass for a bit, though?”

  “Do you think you deserve that bit of grace, considering?”

  “I think the less issues I have to deal with, the faster I can get this shit figured out.”

  John sighed, and then nodded. “Done.”

  It was a good thirty minutes after John had left, and Catherine hung up with her cousin’s wife, that she finally went in search of her husband. She assumed Cross would come to her for an update after her meeting, but he was nowhere to be found.

  Except she did find him …

  Standing in the doorway of her husband’s downstairs office, she watched Cece bend over on her father’s desk to get closer to the speaker of the phone she was talking into.

  “Hi, Cece,” said a familiar voice. “How is my goddaughter today?”

  Catherine tried not to let her irritation bubble up at Zeke’s voice on the phone, but it was fucking hard. There were rules to be followed in their business for a reason. It kept them all safe. It bothered her to think that Zeke had not considered any of them when he made his choices regarding his … wife.

  Or whatever.

  “I misses you, Uncle Zeke,” Cece said.

  Cross frowned, but Catherine saw him quickly hide it when Cece looked his way.

  “We’ll come over soon,” Zeke promised. “And then you can meet Aunt Katya, huh? How does that sound?”

  “Okays!”

  Everything was always okays to Cece.

  She was too little to understand.

  She had no concept of danger.

  Catherine stayed where she was in the doorway as Cross said goodbye to his consigliere and best friend. Her husband didn’t seem to notice her standing there as he reached for a remote, aimed it toward the stereo, and hit a button. Instantly, Cece’s favorite pop song blasted through the speakers.

  On top of her father’s desk, in her sparkly shoes and sky blue dress, Cece danced. Carefree, and happy as could be. Cross reached out to their girl, she took his hands, and he swayed back and forth with her to the beat.

  For the moment, Catherine let their sweet scene take away her worries and stress. It was only when Cross snagged Cece off the desk into his arms, and then spun them both around, did he finally see Catherine in the doorway.

  Cross hesitated in his steps, and then blinded Catherine with a sheepish grin. “Hey, babe.”

  Cece noticed her, too. “Hi, Ma!”

  “Nobody thought to invite me to the party?”

  Her husband chuckled, and set their daughter on the floor. He quickly shut the music off, then handed Cece her pink tablet.

  “Go play for a bit, bambina, okay?”

  “Okays!”

  Cece darted out of the office, hugging her tablet to her chest. Once she was gone from view, Cross turned to Catherine.

  “How did that meeting go with John?”

  “About how I expected,” she admitted.

  Cross frowned. “Not good, then.”

  “We worked something out.”

  “Good, good.”

  Catherine’s gaze drifted to the phone on the desk. “So … you invited Zeke over and her, too?”

  Cross sighed. “Her name is Katya, Catherine.”

  “I know.”

  “Then use it.”

  “Listen, I’m not trying to be a bitch, or difficult, or—”

  “Are you sure? Every time I try to bring Zeke up, or even having them over so you can meet the woman, you shut down, Catty. Purposely, by the way.”

  Catherine grinded her molars in an effort to shove down her irritation. “I’m just … I really don’t want trouble for our family, Cross. Isn’t that what this is? Forgive me if that makes me a little fucking hostile, okay.”

  Cross’s gaze met hers, and then he was reaching for her, too. One arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her close, while his other slid under her chin and tipped her head back. Dark, familiar eyes stared down into hers.

  Love watched her.

  His thumb stroked her cheek, and then he tipped his head down to kiss her. Once, twice, and then she parted her lips for the third, letting him deepen the kiss. She didn’t even mind how he dominated her in his kiss, or how overwhelming it could be to her senses.

  She loved this man.

  She had always loved him.

  “That was nice,” she whispered as Cross pulled away. Still, he lingered close enough that her lips brushed his as she spoke. “Really nice.”

  “You’ve been distracted and pissy lately. You actually gave me five seconds to kiss you. Thought I should take it.”

  Catherine scowled. “That’s not true.”

  “A little, babe.”

  So, maybe it was.

  “I’m trying,” she told him.

  Cross nodded. “I know. And so am I, for all the rest, I mean.”

  “Mmm. Zeke. I hear what you don’t say.”

  “He loves the woman, Catherine. He loves her like—”

  “Don’t say he loves her like you love me, Cross. No one could ever possibly love someone the way you love me, and you know it.”

  “Truth.” Cross’s smirk deepened sinfully. “I was going to say he loves her like crazy, actually.”

  “Obviously something is crazy about them, considering the position they’ve put themselves in now.”

  “Try to understand, Catherine.”

  She relaxed in his embrace. “Okay.”

  “Just okay?”

  “I’ll try, Cross. Okay?”

  He kissed her again, and then his teeth nipped her bottom lip playfully. “Okay, babe.”

  “Christ, Miguel, give me some good news.”

  Already standing from the restaurant table to greet his boss, Miguel gave Catherine one of his warm smiles. “Reginella.”

  She waved at his seat after accepting his hug. “Sit, sit.”

  He did, and so did she.

  The waitress was at their table seconds after, a menu in hand. Miguel ordered his breakfast, and Catherine ordered the same egg and bacon mess.

  “What time did your flight get in?” she asked.

  “Four.”

  “Did you at least get a nap in before you came here?”

  “I’ll sleep when I’m dead, reginella.”

  Catherine shook her head. “Don’t work yourself to death, Miguel. I need you on my side here.”

  “Don’t worry about me.”

  His russet eyes said he was fine, and telling the truth but Catherine still worried. There were only so many people she trusted to get work done for her when she had to delegate tasks. Actually, just one person.

  Miguel.

  “Where’s the principessa?”

  “With her father today,” she answered, smiling. “I asked if she wanted to come, but I think Cr
oss promised shopping or some nonsense.”

  “That child never gives up the chance to have something new.”

  “Nope.”

  Soon, the waitress was back with a carafe of coffee. Once their mugs were full, and the girl was gone, Catherine turned back to her associate. She was ready to talk business, and then get on with her day.

  “So, seriously, what’s the word, Miguel?”

  His instant scowl told Catherine she was not going to like the news he was about to deliver. She braced herself for the impact.

  “I’m getting nowhere on the competition front,” he told her.

  Yep.

  She didn’t like it.

  “Why the hell not?”

  “Because I keep getting blocked every time I turn the fuck around.”

  “Keep going.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Whatever you can tell me,” Catherine said. “Anything at all.”

  “All right.”

  Catherine leaned back in the chair, and gazed over the other patrons in the posh Manhattan brunch spot. It was a popular place, and usually full. Today was no exception. People watching gave her the chance to consider what Miguel was telling her.

  “I’ve gone through the list of clients we noticed had been likely picked up by whoever the competition is. Problem is, these are not low profile rich people, Catherine. A lot of them are celebrities, or even politicians. One is a fucking Duke from England that moved over here five years ago.”

  “So what does that mean, exactly?”

  “It means whoever it was that stole the clients handpicked which ones would be best to take based on their high-profile status. People who would not be easily obtained in any other circumstances. People who have security, or a lot of red tape keeping them protected. Meaning, I can’t just sit down and have a chat with one of them. There’s too much keeping them backed away from me.”

  “What about the girls? Or their handlers? Did you find out anything else from any of them?”

  Miguel shook his head. “No, but considering everything, I don’t think that’s unusual. Some of them didn’t even know their clients had dropped from their list until the next pickup and drop off came up. And you know how Catrina has always worked, you know?”

  “Yeah, the girls don’t get direct contact with the clients other than to hand off product.”