by Bethany-Kris
All the while, Cross’s smirk grew to almost smug proportions. Catherine finished her bite, set the rest of the slice down on the plate, and grabbed a napkin. A napkin Cross already had waiting for her, and handed over with a laugh. She cleaned all the grease from her fingers and mouth that she could before he gave her a second napkin.
“I know what you did—tricking me into eating with my hands, I mean.”
Cross winked. “Had to mess with you. Use the fork, Catherine. My mom does, too.”
Catherine rolled her eyes, and grabbed the fork. “Jerk.”
“Am not.”
“Kind of,” she replied, doing her best to ignore his gaze.
Catherine heard Cross’s pizza hit the plate. Then, he caught her wrist, and tugged gently. She just turned in the seat to face him, and he kissed her.
Soft and sweet, and never more than she was willing to give. He always left the option of more up to her. It was both thrilling and new, yet familiar and comforting at the same time. A mixture of too many things that made her heart clench, and her stomach do flips.
All too soon, Cross was pulling away. Catherine had the strongest urge to pull him back in for another kiss almost instantly. She didn’t, but that was only because Zeke was finally making his way back to the table.
Zeke dropped into the chair with a grin. “Ready to go?”
Catherine weaved through the crowd at The Annex. Tables and tents had been set up for the many vendors.
Crafts and spices.
Jewelry and more.
Some of it was garbage, but some of it was interesting. Which was exactly why Catherine had wanted to come.
The first and only time she had been to The Annex, Catherine had found some of the coolest and most interesting pieces of jewelry. Some of them homemade, and others, just old and different. Strange and curious pieces that were a perfect fit for Catherine’s odd styles and tastes. Like the conch shell bracelet Cross had made for her that she still wore every single day.
She was hoping to find something cool again today.
Catherine didn’t know where Zeke had gone to. The guy disappeared shortly after they arrived. He did tell them what time they would have to leave, and where to meet him when they were ready to go.
Cross stayed close to Catherine as they navigated the growing crowd. Their fingers stayed woven together while the melting pot of people and vendors practically swallowed them whole. People watching was just as interesting to Catherine as finding one of her treasures.
“Do you know what you’re looking for?” Cross asked.
Catherine eyed a table full of jarred jams. The bright red ones looked sweet. The dark-eyed woman sitting behind the jams smiled at her.
“Not until I find it,” Catherine said.
Cross laughed. “This could take a while, then.”
“Yep.”
“Let me guess … that’s the fun part.”
Catherine grinned widely. “Yep.”
“I mean, as long as you’re having fun, Catherine.”
She squeezed his fingers woven with her own. “I always have fun with you, Cross.”
He smirked, and pulled her in closer to his side. For a while, the two simply stayed like that and watched the crowd of people moving around The Annex.
“All right,” Cross finally said, tugging Catherine into the crowd, “let’s find you something amazing, babe.”
He already had found something amazing for her.
Him.
He just didn’t know it.
The Advice
Cross POV
Fuck Zeke and his doctor’s appointment.
Cross checked his watch, and then the row of cars in the pick-up line of the Academy. He preferred driving home with Zeke, but that wasn’t going to happen today. Rick—the enforcer who regularly worked Cross’s last nerve—was nowhere to be found.
Dick.
Given all the shit Rick pulled on Cross just to make his life a living hell, he didn’t doubt that making him wait today was a purposeful move. Something else for Cross to add to the growing pile of why he hated that man.
It might have made the wait easier if Catherine was with Cross, but even she was doing something else today. With one of her friends, likely. Usually she had to wait a little while after school, too. He considered pulling out his phone and texting her. Maybe she would come and keep him company.
Instead, Michel Marcello sat down beside Cross on the rock wall. Catherine’s older brother looked over at him.
“Do you ever wear the school jacket?” he asked.
Cross scoffed. “No.”
“Why?”
“It’s fucking ugly.”
“It’s a blazer, man. It looks like a blazer.”
“Listen, if they wanted me to wear the jacket, they’d make it in leather. Black, preferably. With no school emblem on it.”
Michel nodded. “So, basically what you’re wearing right now.”
“Yep.”
“Is that the kind of bullshit you’re feeding my sister, too?”
Cross leaned back, and used his hands to support his weight. Eyeing the older teenager from the side, Cross considered how he wanted to answer that.
“Is this supposed to be one of those chats where you try to scare the hell out of me, or something?”
Michel smirked. “Would it work?”
The guy was a couple of years older than Cross. Maybe two inches taller—for now. Still, size had never mattered much to him, or made a difference when it came to breaking somebody’s face. They all went down the same.
“Nope,” Cross finally replied.
“Didn’t think so.”
“Why’s that?”
Michel shrugged. “That attitude of yours is pretty well known, is all.”
“Good.”
The more his reputation made the rounds, the less problems he would have. Cross considered that a win, really.
“Thought you might come see me, though,” Michel said.
“Why? I’m not interested in anything you’re selling, Michel.”
It was pretty well known around the Academy that Catherine’s brother could get anybody anything they needed by way of drugs. Before Michel, it had been the guy’s cousin, John.
“No, I guess you get all your shit supplied by Zeke, huh?”
Cross cocked a brow. “The only thing Zeke supplies me is the occasional phone, thanks. Assuming makes an ass out of you and me. Or haven’t you heard that before?”
Michel rolled his eyes. “Come on, Donati. I know the crowd you run with, and the things they do. I’ve seen you at the Academy parties. We all know what I’m there to do, and why everybody else shows up.”
Okay, now Cross was starting to get pissed off. He certainly wasn’t a saint, considering some of the stunts he pulled, but he didn’t like what Michel was implying, either.
“Listen, Michel,” Cross said, “I’ve got no need to hide or lie about the shit I do. So, if I say I didn’t do something, then I didn’t fucking do it. Got it?”
Michel stayed quiet for a long while. Cross took the chance to once again check the long line of cars in the pick-up lane. Rick was still nowhere to be seen.
“As long as you keep my little sister away from that kind of shit, too,” Michel said.
“You know, that kind of sounded threatening.”
Michel chuckled, and pushed off the wall to land to his feet. “Well, that’s because I meant for it to, Cross.”
“I look out for Catherine.”
“You better.”
“You do realize that I’m not at all scared of you, right?”
Michel turned to face Cross again, and all his seriousness was back in a blink. “It’s not really me that you’ve got to be afraid of, man. Remember that.”
“There a point to this?”
“Like I said, I know who you are, the shit you’ve been known to do, and the crowd you like to run with. I just want to make sure it’s clear that you know Catherine can’t
get mixed up in any of that kind of stuff.”
“Right, because she’s such an angel.”
The halo was only held up by devil’s horns.
“Didn’t say she was, no,” Michel replied easily.
Cross waved a hand to brush this whole conversation off. “Thanks for the chat and all, but I’m not really interested in talking more to you now.”
Michel shook his head. “That attitude will get you nowhere with my father.”
“He anything like you?”
“Worse.”
Huh.
Cross had yet to meet Catherine’s father face-to-face, but he heard and knew enough about Dante Marcello to know the man was all business. He apparently didn’t have a lot of patience, either. Something that didn’t bode well for Cross, given his nature.
Michel looked to Cross. “You got any questions for me?”
“What, like advice?”
“I guess.”
“Not really.”
“Suit yourself,” Michel said.
Then, Cross had a thought.
“Wait,” he said.
Michel slowly turned back around, and lifted a single brow. “Yeah?”
“When is Catherine’s birthday, and what does she like?”
The Talk
Cross POV
“Cross, take a walk with me.”
To another teenage boy, those words might have sent him running for the hills. To Cross, it kind of sounded like a challenge.
There was probably something wrong with him.
Dante Marcello stood tall and formidable in the kitchen entryway, waiting on Cross. The man’s wife continued her work at the stove like she hadn’t heard a thing.
Catherine’s wide eyes turned on him where they both sat at the table. He pushed up out of his seat, and shot her a smirk. No need for her to worry, after all. Her father wasn’t actually going to do anything to him. Maybe try. Although, even that was unlikely, considering his father knew where he was.
Nobody in the business of the mafia wanted to start a street war over something stupid like a teenage boy dating somebody’s daughter.
Cross peeked at Dante. The man gave him a look before he turned on his heel with a wave for Cross to follow over his shoulder. He didn’t say or do anything else, and he didn’t look back at Cross once as they headed through the hallways of the large home. Complete silence echoed except for their footsteps hitting against hardwood floor.
Okay.
So maybe this man would start a street war over someone dating Catherine.
Cross still held out hope.
What the hell else did he have going for him at the moment? Arrogance was his best friend. Even when that friend did nothing but cause him problems.
Dante navigated the halls of the large home while Cross continued walking behind him, and stared at his back. When they came to the back staircase, Cross expected them to go up a level. He knew that’s where Dante’s office was situated in the house. Instead, Dante went down the stairs.
Cross followed silently.
Finally, Dante spoke once they were down in a cold, gray room that looked like storage. The man opened one door, and waved toward the darkness. “Go on in, Cross, and have a seat.”
“Somebody going to jump out at me or something?”
Dante chuckled. “It’s not the monsters you can’t see that you need to be concerned about, kid.”
All right.
Cross noticed something odd as he passed the door Dante was still holding open for him. The fact the man needed to hold it open or else it looked like it would slam shut was one thing. Like it was heavy as hell.
Also, it had to be at least six inches thick. All steel.
Cross blinked, realizing something else.
Soundproof, likely.
The stupid part inside his brain that literally didn’t know what the taste of his own fear was shrugged it off. The smaller part of his brain that knew something wasn’t right told him to back away slowly and head upstairs.
Dante was behind him.
Cross wasn’t going anywhere.
“Take a seat,” Dante repeated.
Cross stared into darkness. “Where?”
“Go in.”
He took a couple of small steps into the room. Behind him, Dante followed and allowed the large, heavy metal door to slam closed behind him. The sound rattled Cross’s bones, for fuck’s sake.
Then, a switch was flipped, and a too-bright, bare bulb overhead lit up the space. Cross blinked rapidly to adjust his eyes to the sudden change, and take in whatever he could about the strange room.
Cement walls stared back at him. No windows. No other doors. No tables, boxes, or other things. Just four cement walls, and two folding chairs set up in the middle of the room. He wasn’t fucking claustrophobic or anything, but the size of the room sure made him feel like he could be after today.
“Sit,” Dante repeated.
Cross shot a look at the man, but did as he was told. Once he was finally seated, Dante moved to take the only other available chair in the room. For a long while, the two simply stared at each other, and said nothing.
Across from Cross, the man crossed his left ankle over his right knee, and offered a smile. Not a warm one, mind you, but a cold smile. Like he had Cross exactly where he wanted him or something.
Dante Marcello was a little infamous in the world of Cosa Nostra. Everywhere Cross went with his father or Wolf, Dante’s name was always said with a great air of respect, or a heavy dose of fear.
Sitting across from Cross like he was, looking like the man did, he could certainly understand why some would have that impression of the Cosa Nostra boss. The thing about Cross, though?
He didn’t show fear.
Even when he felt it.
“You know,” Cross said, leaving his statement open and hanging.
Dante looked up from the Rolex watch on his wrist. “What’s that, Cross? Tell me what you know.”
“I was thinking that if you had a gun to sit there and clean, this whole thing would be the biggest cliché. That’s just me, though.”
“That so?”
Cross shrugged. “Kind of.”
“I suppose I could have gotten a gun down here, had I wanted to. There are no guns in my house at the moment, however.”
“No?”
That was surprising. His house was full of hidden, and plainly unhidden, guns. Almost all belonged to his father, for obvious reasons.
“Raid on my house last year,” Dante said. “Another illegal weapon in my house could get me fifteen years behind bars.”
“Oh.”
“Shitty nature of the business, Cross.” Dante waved a finger high, and circled it. “That is why the house is so well protected by men, though, if you wondered about that.”
“Not really.”
But it was good to know.
For a long while, Dante eyed him again without saying anything. In a way, it unnerved Cross. He hated being watched like some kind of bug that needed to be destroyed.
“You don’t like me, do you?” Cross asked.
Dante chuckled. “What makes you think that?”
“The fact I’m seeing Catherine, and I have a dick.”
A single eyebrow cocked high from the man in the other chair.
Cross just shrugged again.
“You know, I remember what it was like to be your age,” Dante said quietly. “All pissed off at the world twenty-four seven, finally figuring out what sex was and not knowing how to satisfy it, and acting foolish all the while.”
“Not sure that’s how I feel about anything, actually.”
Not at the moment, anyway.
Cross didn’t say that out loud.
“All teenage boys are the same,” Dante replied. “And they all think with the same head. We both know it’s not the one on your shoulders.”
Whatever.
Cross glanced around, taking in the strange room again. “We couldn’t have had this
conversation somewhere a little less cement-y? Like an office, or something? Pretty sure you could have said the same things to me.”
“Mmm, sure,” Dante said, smiling in that cold way again. “Except this room is the only room in the house with twelve-inch thick concrete walls, and a six-inch thick metal door. No one can hear a thing in here, Cross. You could be standing right outside of the door, and hear nothing inside.”
Dante laughed, and pointed at the wall behind Cross, saying, “And that wall right there? Behind that wall is my wife’s wine cellar. The east wall? A storage room. Useless rooms, really. We don’t use them, and guests certainly aren’t allowed inside them. However, even if they could get inside them, they still wouldn’t hear you screaming in here. Get me?”
Cross swallowed the nerves building in his throat. “Yeah, I got you.”
“Let me make something clear between us, Cross.” Dante folded his arms over his chest, and relaxed in the chair. “I don’t for one second think that my daughter is old enough to be dating anyone, but certainly not a boy like you.”
“What kind of boy am I?”
Dante pursed his lips, and blew out a heavy sigh. “A boy that gets to grow up a little faster than other boys. Fair?”
“Sure.”
“However, my wife thinks Catherine can make her own choices, and so, you are one of those choices.”
“Not such a bad choice, considering.”
Dante hummed under his breath. “That depends on who you ask.”
“Nobody asked—I just said it.”
“You really don’t have an understanding of respect or fear, do you?”
Cross shrugged. “I understand both.”
“Then do you understand how to put them to use? Because now would be a great time to start working on that.”
“I know the only kind of respect that fear breeds is contempt.”
Dante tipped his head to the side. “That so?”
“That’s what my step-father always says.”
“Is that why he raises you with so little rules and boundaries that you don’t understand the concept of respecting him, or giving respect when a man like me asks for it?”
Cross matched Dante’s posture with his arms folded over his chest, and leaned back in the chair. “Why do you assume I don’t respect Calisto?”