by Bethany-Kris
That was the tone of a boss ready to do business.
Samuel stood from his seat as Catherine got up from hers. Turning, she faced a tall, dark-eyed, black-haired Hispanic woman who was exceptionally beautiful. For a second, Catherine simply stared at the woman.
She barely passed Samuel a look as he moved beyond her, and disappeared into the hallway. In fact, the woman didn’t take her eyes off Catherine as she sipped from a cup of what smelled like coffee.
“Abril Gomez,” the woman said, and held out a dainty hand with gold rings on each finger. “Pleasure to meet you, Catherine.”
Catherine took the woman’s hand, shook it, and then let it drop. “And you, Abril.”
“Good catch on the boss thing.”
Was it?
“I’m actually not surprised,” Catherine said.
“Why is that?”
“You’ve put a lot of effort into layering who you are, Abril. A lot of protection goes into hiding who runs the cartel.”
Abril smiled coldly. “It used to be my father. Then, another one of my older brothers. Now, it is me.”
Catherine thought of Haven, and young Maria. She stayed quiet, though.
“Men still have their issues with women in power, especially men who have not seen me cut a man’s balls off for trying to betray or disrespect me.”
“I bet.”
“Mmm. Makes it difficult when buyers intend to meet with a man, but instead, find a beautiful woman standing in front of them. Sometimes, they like to push a little too much. I find it easier to layer my identity through my men. I make more money that way. It’s not good for business to kill your associates, after all.”
Catherine couldn’t help herself.
She laughed.
Abril smiled, too. “Haven said I would like you.”
Catherine stilled. “You talk to her?”
“I didn’t know her before, but we keep in touch for the sake of my niece. I keep a distance. The girl doesn’t even know me, after all. Her mother doesn’t want her to, either. I use the friendship I have with Haven to keep me updated occasionally. My choice.”
“I see.”
Abril tipped her head to the side, and her silky black hair fell over her shoulder. “So, a Queen Pin, hmm? Cosa Nostra boss for a father. The same kind of boss for a husband. Your mother—now that’s where my interest really piqued. Did she teach you?”
“She still is,” Catherine admitted.
“And your daughter; do you plan to do the same for her?”
“Who knows?” Catherine cleared her throat, trying not to show how uncomfortable it made her that Abril knew so much about her life. “Did Haven—”
“Not a thing, actually,” Abril interjected. “I do my own digging. I am sure you can understand why.”
“Sure.”
“You need cocaine.”
“I need a reliable supplier of cocaine for the unforeseeable future.”
“We use safe underground tunnels to transport, but once it’s on the United States side, it is your responsibility to move it the rest of the way.”
Catherine nodded. “I’m sure I could figure something out.”
“You’re acting as a broker for the Three Families as well, yes?”
“Yes.”
Abril waved at the table. “Have a seat, Catherine. Details are my favorite part of the business. This could take a while, and understand that business will always be to my favor before it is ever to yours.”
Catherine’s relief was sweet. Yes, this woman was most definitely a boss.
She had no problem sitting down after the cartel leader took her seat first.
“Are you ready to play?” Catherine asked Cece.
Cece eyed the indoor playground through the large glass windows of the building. She didn’t look particularly excited to get in the place and play. She would be far happier if her mother took her back to downtown Los Angeles to people watch and shop.
She was definitely her mother and father’s child.
“Well,” Cece drawled out. “I guess.”
Miguel dropped down into a crouch, and fixed the red bow in Cece’s hair. “It won’t be for long, principessa. Then we’ll go get some pretty shoes for your new dress.”
“Stop bribing her with … stuff.”
“You don’t want her throwing a fit in there because she wants to leave, right?”
Point taken.
Catherine sighed. “What Miggy said, Cece. We’ll go shopping right after. Doesn’t that sound fun?”
Cece shrugged. “Okays, Ma.”
“Okay.”
Miguel stood back up. “I will be out here ready.”
Catherine nodded.
She wanted a quick getaway after this.
“You can still decide to approach Mr. Cornell elsewhere,” Miguel reminded her.
“I think this is better. Hits home, doesn’t it? Considering …”
Miguel smirked. “You are your mother’s daughter.”
Catherine huffed, and grabbed Cece by the hand. “Stop saying that.”
She didn’t bother to wait for Miguel’s reply. Quickly, she headed into the indoor playground. At the front desk, she paid for Cece’s bracelet to be able to play with the rest of the children in a more private, expensive section.
Basically, the rich littles playground.
L.A. was basically for the rich and famous, honestly. A little extra money got you a seat closer to someone you might have seen on the television. Name dropping got you into exclusive clubs. Notoriety earned your respect. That’s just how the town was run.
“Okay, baby,” Catherine told Cece, “just give Ma ten minutes.”
Cece peered up at her as they walked through glass doors that lead toward the back of the building. “Ma do bid-nez, right?”
Catherine lifted a brow.
Her daughter didn’t miss a click.
Cece had been listening to Catherine and Miguel’s conversations all damn week. Sometimes she talked while they did, babbling on in that way of hers. Other times, she kept quiet and listened. She might have only been three, but Cece knew what was going on. Or, she figured it out fast enough.
“Yeah, baby,” Catherine said with a smile, “Ma has some business to do.”
Cece nodded seriously. “Okays, Ma.”
In fact, Catherine was planning on closing yet another chapter of her issues today. Or she was going to get damn close to it.
Cece kept up with her mother, climbing stairs to the upper level of the indoor playground. Upstairs was where the private section was, and where Catherine knew she would find one of her girls’ former clients.
An A-list, forty-something father of four. A man who had starred in over thirty-five films, many of which had been blockbuster hits. Married three times; children with two women, and divorces that almost always ended with NDAs being signed. The wives walked away with a lot of money to keep them quiet.
Why the nondisclosure agreements?
Brad Cornell’s cocaine habit.
The celebrity movie star made a great effort to keep his habit a secret from the outside world. As far as Catherine knew, the guy snorted upwards of ten lines or more a day. He had been using since his first movie when a producer had given him the drug to up his energy when he wasn’t bringing it to the film.
Brad kept using.
A habit formed.
He was America’s golden boy as far as film stars went. A doting husband in the tabloids when he was married. A wonderful father when magazines came to his home to do spreads. Even his ex-wives spoke highly of him when asked.
His older children were like trained robots, never saying a bad word about their father to the press.
The man’s PR game was on point.
Catherine had to give him that.
It was just about the only thing she was going to give him. And today, he was going to give her something, or she was going to turn his precious PR-controlled, perfectly maintained public life upside down.
It was that simple.
The squeals of children echoed off plastic and rubber. Cece passed a disinterested look at things that normally would have made any kid her age go wild. Still, with a little press of Catherine’s hand to her daughter’s back, Cece darted off to play.
Catherine did a quick, cursory check of the place. She found the man she needed to speak to sitting in the far corner—alone.
Typically, those who sat alone, intended to be left alone.
Sorry, Brad. Not today.
Catherine made her way over with a smile. The A-list celebrity didn’t even take his gaze off the phone in his hands. She sat down on the plush leather bucket chair next to his.
Sniff.
And then another sniff followed a second later.
Catherine looked to the side just in time to see Brad rub at the reddened skin around his nose. Perhaps he had been using a bit too much lately.
“You might want to check that sniffing,” Catherine said quietly, “or someone could start looking into why.”
Brad’s head popped up, and his narrowed gaze fell on Catherine. “I beg your pardon?”
“Oh, and now your nose is bleeding.”
He touched his nostrils, and sure enough, the left side was trickling dark red, almost black blood. Before he could even react, Catherine pulled a tissue from her clutch, and handed it over.
“Here, clean up,” she told him.
He snatched the tissue with a glare, and dabbed at his nose. “Hit the damn thing this morning on a door—one of my kids closed it and didn’t see me coming.”
Sure.
Catherine knew what repeated, long-term cocaine use did to somebody’s face. Hence, Brad Cornell no longer looked like the handsome man he had in his twenties and thirties. Makeup and Photoshop fixed the sunken eyes, gaunt features, and alabaster-gray skin right up, though.
Hollywood was what it was.
“Or have you been snorting a bit too much lately?” Catherine asked. “I did see something in a rag about you working on your next divorce. Shit, this one didn’t even make it through the pregnancy before she had enough, huh?”
“Who the fuck are you?” Brad hissed.
“I’m not surprised you don’t know me, or recognize me. After all, it’s my girls who deliver to you, Brad. The poison they put in your hand that you snort up your nose? They get it from me.”
Catherine held out her hand to offer a shake.
Brad stared at it, dumbfounded.
“Catherine Donati,” she said, “nice to meet you.”
He made a move to stand, but Catherine’s haughty laugh stopped him. He glanced over at her, a lingering fear in his cocaine-blown pupils. “What do you want from me?”
“Info,” Catherine said, “and nothing more.”
Her cell buzzed in her pocket.
She ignored it.
“Give me the info I need, and I will leave here like this never even happened. You can go back to getting your cocaine delivered once a week, or hell, maybe you’ll check yourself into a rehab somewhere. Frankly, sir, I don’t give a fuck what you do.”
“What info?”
“You dropped off my client list about three months ago. I want to know who is delivering your cocaine now.”
Brad’s gaze darted away.
Catherine couldn’t have that.
She snapped her fingers twice. “Eyes on me, Brad. We’re conversing here.”
“Why would I ruin my connection?”
“Because I will ruin your life,” Catherine said with a smile. “So go on, tell me who she is.”
He chewed on his inner cheek, and bit more dark red trickled down from his nostril. Sad thing, cocaine. It literally rotted a person’s brain from the inside out. By this point, Brad was probably too far gone to reverse the damage he had done to his body.
“She was a girl that used to deliver for me a few girls ago,” Brad said. “She approached me in a club, asked if I would like a new arrangement …”
He trailed off with a cough, and again, looked away.
“Do you mean sex, too?”
He shrugged. “You have to work that high off somehow, right?”
“Which girl?”
“Evira Masters.”
Catherine recognized the name instantly. She had been a girl who came from Nothing, New York. Her issues and connections to a gang had spilled over into one of her cousin’s streets, and a deal was made. Catrina, always the opportunist, offered to take the girl under her wing.
That was a few years ago.
“You say a word to Evira that you saw me, or I approached you,” Catherine warned, “and every detail of our transactions will be leaked to People Magazine for their next issue … with receipts. Do you understand?”
Brad nodded.
Standing, Catherine whistled with two fingers. Instantly, Cece darted out from under a slide. There wasn’t even a wrinkle in her dress. Her daughter didn’t even look like she had played.
“Come on, baby,” Catherine called.
“What about my coke?” Brad asked. “Who the fuck is going to deliver to me?”
“Well, my price just went up where you’re concerned. But hey, you’ve got the number if you want a girl to make a drop, and you know how to work a phone.”
Miguel was already waiting with his hands out to take Cece from Catherine. “We’ve got a problem.”
“Yes, we do.”
Miguel shot her a confused look. Quick as a blink, he had Cece buckled into a car seat.
“We need to move,” Miguel said. “Now.”
Catherine didn’t think the problem she was talking about had anything to do with Miguel’s for some reason. “What happened?”
“Did you get a call in there?”
“Yeah, but I ignored it.”
“Figured.”
Miguel pulled his phone out of his pocket, turned it on, and then showed Catherine the screen. A text from Cross, it seemed. A picture of a picture. Her and Cece in Mexico just a couple of days earlier. At the ice-cream shop her daughter noticed on their first day.
“Someone’s following us,” Miguel said, “and they let your husband know it in a really shitty way.”
“What does that mean?”
“Do you want to hear it from Cross, or—”
Catherine slammed the SUV door shut to close out Cece from hearing her next words. “Just fucking tell me.”
“Someone shot up the house. Cross was in the kitchen, I guess. Happened early this morning his time. Whoever did it left this photo taped to the front door. We need to move, get on a plane, and get you home. Especially if someone is following you.”
Fuck.
“It’s Evira,” Catherine said. “The competition is Evira Masters.”
Miguel let out a harsh breath. “She was on the list, yeah.”
He had gathered all the names of girls who had left over the last few years, and clients that had been connected to them through the business. Unfortunately, the girls often rotated clients unless one was willing to pay extra to keep a particular girl on his list as a repeat deliverer.
“So you mean to tell me I finally know who I have to go after, but I need to go home?” Catherine asked.
“Someone was less than forty feet away from you and Cece.”
“I know that, but—”
“I look out for your safety first, Catherine. Business is a very close second. You’re going home, that’s the end of it.”
Cross ignored the cold, early March air as he crouched down low to the ground with arms wide open. Cece was bundled up in her leather jacket, scarf, and wool hat with an extra-large pompom on the top. Her gaze caught Cross the second her feet came off the stairs of the private jet. She bounced across the tarmac at full speed, and barreled into her father with a giggle.
“Daddy!”
Holding her tight, Cross stood, and soaked in the love of his daughter. He had thought for sure he wouldn’t be seeing her for a couple of weeks. It only ended up being one.<
br />
That was still too long.
“Daddy missed you, Cece,” he told her.
She hugged his neck even tighter, and buried her face against his.
“Missed my daddy, Daddy.”
“Did you have fun with Ma?”
Cece leaned back to peer up at him. “Yes. We did bid-nez.”
Cross lifted a single eyebrow. “You did, huh?”
“All the bid-nez, Daddy.”
Across the tarmac, Catherine was finally stepping off the plane, too. Miguel followed right behind her. She carried one bag—he carried two.
Cece shivered a bit as a gust of cold wind swept over the airstrip. Cross tucked her head into the crook of his neck, and held her close for heat.
Catherine smiled as she came closer. “I see someone found you.”
“Someone did.”
“She missed you.”
Their daughter didn’t even perk up at her mother’s voice.
Cross rubbed a hand up his daughter’s back. “I missed her. And you. Come here.”
Using one arm, he hugged his wife the best he could without crushing Cece or dropping her. Catherine pressed her cheek against his, and then turned her head just enough to catch his mouth in a soft, slow kiss. He had missed his wife terribly.
The house was empty without her.
His heart was lonely.
As much as he didn’t want to, Cross pulled away. Catherine pouted, and he quickly kissed the tip of her nose.
“Love you,” he told her.
Catherine’s gaze softened more. “Love you. Now, what happened to my house?”
Cross laughed, but it came out strained. “It’ll be fixed within a couple of weeks.”
“Oh?”
“After the cops get done peeking inside.”
Catherine scowled. “What?”
“Everything that needed to go was cleared out before they got there. I’ve been assured by the lawyer that they can’t go digging into our belongings, anyway, but just in case … shit was moved.”
“Interviews?”
Cross shook his head. “Deflected through our lawyers.”
Catherine let out a little sigh. “What a damn mess.”
“Yeah, babe.”
“The Russians?”
“Without a doubt,” Cross said.
He had more than enough time to think about the shooting of their home, and it bothered him a lot. The more time passed, the more it irritated him.
