by Bethany-Kris
“Ma is at the hospital to—”
“Keep baby Camilla safe. I knows, Papa.”
Calisto had to hold back his chuckle at all the attitude his four year old had managed to stuff into that one sentence. He rubbed a hand over his jaw, noting he needed a good shave, and wondered what fucking time it even was.
“Will baby Camilla come home when Ma comes, too?” Cross asked.
Damn.
For such a little boy, Cross sure asked some difficult as fuck questions.
“Probably not,” Calisto said.
“Why?”
Because their daughter—who they had decided to name early simply to give themselves hope and Cross something tangible as to why his mother was away—would likely be born far too early, even with all the help she had keeping her safe.
How could Calisto possibly explain that to Cross?
“Because baby Camilla might still need more time to let the doctors help make her better,” Calisto settled on saying.
“Oh. Okay.”
That was that, it seemed.
Cross stuck his thumb back in his mouth. Calisto checked the urge to tell the boy to stop, but only because Cross used thumb-sucking as a comfort during difficult moments. He rarely sucked his thumb at all, actually. That behavior only showed itself if he was extremely stressed out, or upset by something. Calisto figured Cross’s thumb-sucking, added onto his questions, and his late night visit to his father’s bed was a damn good indication about just how troubled the boy was with what was happening in his life.
“Wanna see Ma,” Cross mumbled around his thumb.
Calisto frowned. “Me, too, buddy. Me, too.”
But visiting time was hours away yet.
So was morning, according to the clock.
Calisto pulled his son up into the bed, turned on his phone to gallery images of their family, handed it over to Cross to swipe through, and hoped it did something for the boy. It was all he could do, really. At least for a few more hours. Cross found a picture he liked, tucked the phone into the blankets between him and his father, and promptly fell asleep.
Calisto didn’t shut his eyes again.
He couldn’t when he knew that life was waiting to wake him up.
Twenty-nine weeks.
That was how long Emma’s body had allowed the stitch to stay in place before infection forced an early morning C-section.
Camilla Emma Donati.
Named for the two strongest women that Calisto had ever known.
Cross had been so distraught when Calisto told him that his sister had been born, but he would not be allowed inside the NICU to see her.
Emma cried the day her release papers had been signed, yet she needed to leave her daughter behind for God knew how long.
And Calisto?
He soothed his son and held Cross up for hours against the NICU windows so he could peer inside and see baby Camilla. He comforted his wife when she needed him to, and when she would allow him to help.
He never admitted how guilty he felt to see his daughter struggle for a life that he had been the one to beg for her to have. He never said a word about how it killed him to feel her weightlessness or hear her soundless sobs when she tried to cry. Every wire, tube, and lead on her tiny body was like a knife slicing through his skin.
The first time he had been able to hold her, he was terrified. She was dwarfed by his size, but all her little warmth bled into his, and that helped. He wished that she didn’t have to fight for breath, or the ability to eat. He hated seeing her eyes taped shut for those first weeks, when he only wanted to have her look at him, her father. He wanted her home, in his arms or her mother’s, but certainly not in an incubator for well over a month.
Nothing had been harder than leaving the NICU day after day, knowing all their daughter had for comfort were the nurses to hold her, soothe her, or rock and feed her when she needed it. And while those nurses were some of the most amazing people Calisto had ever come in contact with, he also knew they had another half of a dozen babies in the same, if not worse, position than Camilla on any given day.
Fifty-fifty. Those were the chances given to each and every premature newborn born while Camilla waited out her stay in the NICU. Camilla landed on the good side of the fifty-fifty coin. Too many other babies did not.
But Camilla grew.
She became stronger.
She ate.
She made noise.
She gained weight, although slowly.
And the day they brought her home, still preemie small, but alive?
He was even more terrified.
But he loved her still.
God, how loved Camilla was.
His little Donati principessa.
All the hell and fear and the pain was worth it, then.
And Calisto couldn’t regret or feel any guilt for that.
Cross + Catherine
Calisto shifted on the hard chair, and checked the incoming text on his phone.
So?
That was all the message read.
Same as the last time you checked, Calisto texted back to his wife. He managed to hold back from adding that instead of texting him every five damn seconds, she could have just come with him when the phone call came in.
Not that the phone call had given them very much to go on. Cross, in his senior year of high school, had managed to get himself in some kind of trouble that involved two other students. He would be suspended for seven days, would be benched for several upcoming games with his teams, and would need to be picked up and removed from the school property by a parent immediately.
Apparently, Cross wasn’t even allowed to drive his new Range Rover home. The school asked Calisto to take care of that, too, which he had. He had given the spare set of keys to one of his enforcers, then directed the man to park the Rover in the Donati garage until further notice. Depending on how this meeting went would determine when, or if at all, Cross would get his keys back.
And of course, it was also determined by what his son had to say about it all. Calisto had come to learn with the school and Cross that details were sometimes left out.
It wasn’t often that the nearly eighteen year old Cross actually found himself in trouble at school. God knew the kid had more than enough trouble to find all around him outside of school. Cross wasn’t on a short leash, and Calisto didn’t force a lot of rules onto his son.
It would do him no good.
He learned that long ago.
As it was, Calisto was just grateful that Cross had half of a mind to at least finish high school. Especially considering his son was far more interested in the family business, and his likeness of guns instead of furthering his education.
Calisto didn’t say a negative word to his boy either way, though he did demand that Cross finish school. Cross had to make his own choices regarding the family business and the mafia on his own, so then later in life, he didn’t find regret looking back.
Outside of school, Calisto put few restraints on Cross.
At school, however, he did ask his son for a few things regarding the private establishment for Cross’s, and their family’s, privacy, safety, and to keep his kid out of fucking juvenile detention.
Obvious, simple things.
No weapons at school; guns, knives, or otherwise.
No talking about family business, even to other students or friends that shared their lifestyle, as the Donati principe was just one child of a mafia boss attending the private school.
No drugs, using especially, but more importantly, selling. Calisto wasn’t stupid, and he didn’t stick his head in the damn sand like too many parents did. Cross dabbled in things from time to time, usually in his off seasons from sports to avoid being removed from the teams, and almost always at parties or something of that nature. His son was honest about it all, so Calisto chose to trust that Cross would keep his private business clean enough to stay out of trouble.
No racing his vehicles, causing a problem, an
d so forth.
Finally, no sex on school property. Something had happened once, apparently in a vehicle, and Cross and another student had been accused of … things. There certainly hadn’t been enough proof for the school to do anything, except make a fuss, a phone call, and a threat to suspend Cross, but Cross had not denied the event when asked by his father, either. In fact, his son had smirked, shrugged, and freely offered the information that Calisto was not to worry, that Cross was always safe.
The other student involved in that particular incident?
Catherine Cecelia Marcello.
The daughter of the long reigning, most powerful Italian Cosa Nostra boss in New York, Dante Marcello.
Which, at the time, just made shit so much more complicated, awkward, and difficult.
That had been several months ago, nearing the end of Cross’s eleventh year, and Catherine’s tenth. As far as Calisto knew, the two teenagers had gone on yet another break in their long on again, off again relationship.
Now that it was just the first month of Cross’s final year, Calisto thought whatever trouble his son was in might not bode well for rest of his senior year. Calisto hadn’t even stopped to consider for a second that the trouble this time might somehow relate to Catherine Marcello again, though.
Or, that was what Calisto assumed.
Until he shifted in the uncomfortable chair again, glanced up, and watched Dante Marcello walk in through the office doors. In that moment, Calisto had the strangest urge to do two things. One, smack himself in the face. And two, throttle the fuck out of his son.
Cross, what did you do now?
“Afternoon, Calisto,” Dante said, looking entirely unpleased as he took a seat.
“Afternoon, Dante.”
The two bosses sat in silence for several minutes before Dante spoke up again.
“For the tuition we pay into this place, one might think they would invest in more comfortable chairs.”
“I think it’s a purposeful move. You can sit for a while in your own discomfort and think about what you’ve done.” Calisto chuckled. “Or what your kid has fucked up on.”
Dante scowled. “Jesus, that brings back way too many memories of my own school years.”
“Spent a lot of time in the principal’s office, did you?” Calisto asked, amused.
“Did you?”
“A bit.”
Dante smiled. “My poor parents had three boys attending high school all at the same time at one point. We raised hell. Actually nearly got expelled one by one within a single semester. Antony had to run in to the school every single day to deal with something we had done for a spell.”
“I’m suddenly feeling grateful that Cross is mostly …”
“Sneaky?” Dante offered.
“You know, that’s probably as good a word as any.”
“All boys of made men are, or they learn to be, I suppose.”
Calisto had to agree. “What did Antony do to make you three chill out in the end?”
“Nothing. My mother was the one, actually.”
“Oh?”
“She cried,” Dante admitted. “She was so angry and disappointed that she just cried. That was mostly the end of that.”
“I can understand that.”
“But … you would have to understand my father, too. We made Cecelia Marcello cry, and no man has been known to survive that once Antony finds out.”
“Shit.”
“The fear of God was named Antony in our home.” Dante grinned. “But only when it came to our mother and Cosa Nostra. Other than those times, he was just dad to us, but that switch, man, that fucking switch of his could flip when we walked those lines. We knew.”
Dante shrugged, adding, “Otherwise, he just let us boys …”
“Do your own thing.”
“Yes.”
Like Calisto was trying to do with Cross.
“Smart man,” Calisto noted.
“He certainly put us on a path to follow. It’s done each of us brothers well in our own ways. None of us necessarily walked the path the same way, but we all made it to the end alive. I suppose in that, Antony succeeded the most, considering.”
“True.” Calisto glanced at the closed office doors. “Did they say anything—”
“Not a damn word,” Dante interjected gruffly.
“Great.”
Dante passed Calisto a cold look. “And as long as it isn’t another incident like the car one from last year, your son will live to see another day.”
Ah.
There it was.
“You know, it does take two. You have children, and a wife, so you’re aware how sex works between people. And, you were a teenage boy once. Tell me that you don’t understand those complexities, Dante.”
“I know I never got caught between the thighs of a boss’s daughter in the back seat of the Lexus her father just bought her for her birthday.”
Well, then.
“Point taken,” Calisto muttered. “To be fair, I do think my son cares quite a bit for Catherine in the grand scheme of things.”
“Yes, love. She told me that once—he loved her, she loves him. In ten years, they will barely remember one another’s names.”
Calisto wasn’t so sure on that. If only because Cross kept returning to Catherine even if it got him in ten shades of shit for doing so. Calisto opted not to point that out to Dante, considering the man’s already temperamental mood.
“Would it be such a bad thing,” Calisto dared to say, “if in ten years, what you think might happen, is actually the furthest thing from reality?”
The office door opened, exposing a waiting, displeased principal.
Wonder-fucking-ful.
“As long as he loves my daughter, and not some puppy nonsense like he has now,” Dante said quietly, “but truly loves her, then no, it would not be such a bad thing, as you say. I have no intention of doing to my children what was done to too many others, and choosing their futures, their spouses, or making demands of their lives. But with that said, Cross has one hell of a long way to go, Calisto.”
“Mr. Donati, Mr. Marcello, thanks for coming in so quickly. Follow me, your children are waiting inside, although Catherine can return to classes tomorrow, but Cross—”
“Yeah, a week,” Calisto interrupted. “I know.”
Although, Catherine’s lighter punishment, if that’s even what it was, boded well for the situation. Surely she would have also gotten a similar suspension to Cross’s punishment had they been …
“The other boy involved has been taken to the hospital by his mother,” the principal said. “We’re waiting to hear if they’re planning to press any charges or not.”
“Back up,” Calisto said. “Who did what now?”
The woman sighed. “Well, we don’t really know. Seems neither your son, your daughter, nor the boy with the broken nose and black eyes wants to talk. We suspect it was a tiff between the boys over Catherine, as she’s been seen with the one who was injured lately, but we’re also aware of her old relationship with Cross.”
Dante stiffened. “Did you ask my daughter that?”
“Of course.”
“And?”
“And your daughter lives up to her surname, Mr. Marcello. Nothing to hear, nothing to say.”
Calisto swore he saw Dante smirk out of the corner of his eye.
The bastard.
“So if nothing is known, then why is my son being suspended?” Calisto demanded.
“Because, one boy has a broken face, and your son is the one with the busted up knuckles and a smartass answer for everything.”
Of course he was.
Dammit, Cross.
“Please, collect your children. Write-ups have been filed. I would like to keep this from happening again, if at all possible.”
Both Dante and Calisto agreed. But, Calisto seriously doubted that neither he, nor his counterpart, could honestly make that promise given the teenagers actions thus far together.
Calisto found his son sitting opposite to Catherine Marcello in the principal’s office. The pretty, young girl stood at the sight of her father, and headed in Dante’s direction without a word.
But not before Calisto caught the small smile she shot to Cross before leaving.
That left Calisto alone with his son.
“Well,” Calisto started, “what do you have to say?”
Cross stood to his full height, tossing his backpack over his shoulder. At almost eighteen, Cross already stood slightly taller than his father at six foot, three inches.
“Nothing to say,” Cross muttered.
“Try again, Cross.”
Cross shrugged. “It’s like this, I’m always going to have Catherine’s back, regardless. If she needs something, she knows where to come. No questions asked. She came, she asked for help, I dealt with it.”
Dealt with what?
Calisto shot a look over his shoulder, noting the door had been closed, allowing them privacy. “I thought you two weren’t together now?”
“We don’t have to be, all right?”
Calisto wondered if maybe Dante didn’t see what he saw in Cross every time his son talked about Catherine. Sure, Cross was young. He did stupid shit sometimes.
But he loved that girl.
Calisto knew he did.
“And what did she ask for this time?” Calisto asked.
“Doesn’t matter.” Cross cocked a brow. “I handled it.”
“Yes, by breaking someone’s face and getting suspended. So for one fucking second here, you can indulge me, Cross. I don’t ask very much of you. Explain it to me.”
Cross frowned. “I said I wouldn’t tell, Papa.”
“Neither will I. Start talking.”
“The guy she’s been dating … I guess he took some pictures on his phone last weekend after a party when she went home with him, or whatever. He’s been using them to try and get her to do shit.”
Calisto let out a hard exhale.
That was not what he had been expecting to hear.
“Oh,” he said dumbly.
“Catherine’s not like some of these girls, all right? She doesn’t do that kind of shit, take pictures and send them out, or whatever. She just doesn’t, she’s too smart for fucking shit like that. He didn’t ask, or so she says, and had the pictures to show anybody whenever he wanted to.”