Cross + Catherine: The Companion

by Bethany-Kris

  Catrina knew the truth the second Cross left without looking back.

  Her husband learned then, too …

  Cross Donati did not fear Dante Marcello.

  Catrina didn’t have the first clue if that made things worse, or not. She really didn’t have the time to figure it out, all things considered.

  “Boss, I didn’t mean for him to get past me like that,” the enforcer said. “He just—”

  “Shut the fuck up,” Dante snarled.

  “I—”

  “Get out!”

  Her husband’s roar could have shattered glass from the volume. His face reddened, his teeth clenched, and he balled his fists tightly at his sides. The calm demeanor Dante usually sported was officially lost. His appearance—much like hers—was of the utmost importance to them. Nothing should shake it.

  He had lost that hold on his control. She worried, but silently.

  “Did I fucking stutter?” Dante shouted at his balking enforcer. “I said get out!”

  The man didn’t need to be told again. He hightailed it from the private space without a look back. The whole time, Dante glared at the empty space the enforcer left behind.

  “I want him appropriately punished for that error,” Dante hissed at Lucian.

  “It could have happened to any man holding the door,” Lucian countered. “He’s a good enforcer, Dante. Don’t create unneeded tension.”

  “If he’s such a good enforcer, then he will be a far better one after he is taught a lesson for what happened here today.”

  Lucian opened his mouth again—likely to protest his brother’s demand even more. He quickly snapped his mouth shut when Dante’s burning glare turned on him.

  Dante’s gaze screamed silent threats. A curl of his lips promised fast violence. His posture showed his position without him even needing to actually say a damn thing.

  Normally, Catrina would appreciate those things about her husband. Right then, however, they all concerned her.

  “I’ll have something done,” Lucian muttered.

  “Make sure of it.”

  Catrina replaced her knife to the sheath at her inner thigh. Beneath the skirt of her dress, the weapon couldn’t be seen. Despite her husband’s protests over the years, she still preferred a sharp, small knife to a loud, clunky gun.

  For obvious reasons …

  Like today.

  Cross had not flinched when the guns came out to play. Catrina and her knife, however, had certainly made him hesitate, and swallow a little harder. For only a moment, sure, but a moment was all she needed from a man to end him.

  “As for that fucking Donati bastard,” Dante said, still looking at his brother, “I want something done with him, too. Soon.”

  “No.”

  “You will do what I tell you to do, Lucian.”

  “Not in this case. I will not.”

  Catrina’s gaze jumped between her husband, and his brother. They rarely fought, and she was unsure if she wanted to step in the middle of this particular battle. She tried to stay out of Dante’s business, much like he stayed out of hers. It was the respect of the matter, and it allowed them both to work without added complications.

  This, though, was not quite the same.

  It was beyond business.

  It was family, too.

  Their daughter.

  She understood Dante’s position.

  Lucian’s, on the other hand, could also not be ignored.

  Not after the things Cross had said.

  “I stand where I said with Cross,” Lucian said, “and nothing you say or order will move me on it. After everything you did to him back then, he was owed this moment. Maybe he waited longer than I would have to get retribution, but that was his choice to make. It could have been far worse than what you got today, Dante, and you know it.”

  “You—”

  “What will you do?” Lucian asked, not even giving his brother a chance to speak. “Will you punish me for being disobedient? I dare you to try, brother.”

  The two men quieted—both silently seething between their stiffened postures, and hard glares. Catrina finally decided then that she had enough. This was all more than she could handle at the moment.

  With a subtle nod at Lucian to gain his attention, she pointed a single red-tipped fingernail at the doorway. “Leave, Lucian.”

  “Catrina,” Dante said, stepping in, “we are not done talking.”

  “I can assure you that you are done, bello.”

  “I’ll be around,” Lucian said.

  That was that.

  He was gone the next second.

  Dante turned on Catrina as soon as Lucian was out of sight. “What in the hell do you think you’re doing stepping in on my business like that, Catrina?”

  She bristled at his tone, but hid it well. Carefully brushing down her dress, and then fixing her curls, Catrina said nothing while Dante continued ranting on. She would give him a minute or two.

  He was warranted that, sure.

  Not much more.

  After all, she now had things to say, too.

  “Don’t you ever do something like that to me again,” she heard him say.

  Catrina turned a cold smile on her husband. “Or what, Dante?”

  His gaze blazed.

  Her coldness remained.

  “Fix yourself,” Catrina hissed at him darkly. “Look at you, Dante. Acting like a stupid fool in a public restaurant. Why not just pull your gun out and wave it around, too? Really make a scene for us, if that’s what you’re trying to do. Marcellos don’t half-ass anything, after all.”

  “I beg your fucking pardon?”

  Catrina didn’t back down. “Fix the mess you are making of yourself, bello, or we will not be leaving here together.”

  It would not be a very pleasant day in their marriage, never mind once they were actually home. She knew it already.

  Still, Catrina held her ground. Sometimes, she had come to learn with her husband, this was exactly the kind of thing he needed her to do. Besides, had he wanted an easier, more compliant woman, he would not have married her.

  Dante took a deep breath, and schooled his features. Still, his eyes blazed and his fists clenched. That rage of his would not be going away for a while. It was not something Catrina would be able to soothe for him.

  “Was that why I woke up alone in the ER the night of Catherine’s suicide attempt?” Catrina asked. “Because you had left to go after Cross?”

  The look he passed her said it all.

  She still needed to hear him say it.

  “Dante, you will tell me.”

  “Yes,” he growled.

  Catrina nodded, and let out a sound that voiced her disgust. “Why, because you blamed him?”

  “Obviously.”

  “Use that attitude with me again, Dante.”

  Dante checked himself. “My apologies.”

  Catrina wished it helped.

  She knew it wouldn’t.

  Certainly not for their daughter, anyway.

  “You had better work on something far better than an apology to fix this, Dante. Start now.”

  The Day

  Cross POV

  The reflection in the tall, stand-up mirror was a familiar sight, and yet, somehow new, too. It certainly wasn’t the first time that Cross had seen himself in a tux. He’d worn a bowtie before.

  And yet, none of this was the same at all.

  It was his wedding day, after all. His one and only wedding day. There would never be another day like this one in his lifetime.

  Not when he was marrying his childhood love. Catherine had always been the girl of his fucking dreams.

  Cross intended to soak in every moment of this day that he possibly could. He couldn’t wait to marry Catherine, but he also didn’t want to rush the day, either. Not if that meant he might miss something.

  He had been waiting for this day for far longer than he could even remember. It was finally time to enjoy what this day act
ually meant.

  Always.

  It meant always.

  Cross tugged up the sleeve of his jacket, and checked his watch. A new gold Rolex with diamonds on the tips of the minute and second hands. A gift—for his wedding—from his sister and her husband.

  They knew his tastes well.

  The time said he only had a short while left before he needed to go downstairs, and take his spot. The knock on the door of the private room drew Cross’s attention away from the time and his reflection in the mirror.

  “Yeah, it’s open,” Cross said.

  His mother and father slipped into the room, and quickly closed the door behind them. He still heard the murmurings of those who were gathered outside waiting for him to finally come out. Their family and friends, and probably some of Catherine’s people, too.

  His mother gave him a brilliant smile, while his father whistled low.

  “Look at you,” Calisto said.

  Cross chuckled. “You say that like I don’t look good every day, or something.”

  His father grinned. “You and that arrogance, son.”

  “Wouldn’t be me without it.”

  Emma’s laughter colored up the room. “No, it definitely would not be you, my boy.”

  Calisto stepped aside to let his wife come closer to their son. Emma’s outstretched—warm and familiar—hands cupped Cross’s cheeks. Her hands that had never hurt him, and only showered him with love throughout his life.

  He adored his mother.

  “How did the dress reveal go at the Astoria?” she asked.

  “Amazing.”

  Emma beamed. “Yes?”

  “Yeah, Ma.” Cross shrugged. “She’s so beautiful. Blew my damn mind.”

  “Really?”

  Cross laughed. “I might have cried a little.”

  Emma stroked his smiling cheeks with her thumbs, and her gaze glistened with unshed tears. “I hope you know that we’re all so happy for you. We are all so proud of you, Cross.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “And you do look quite handsome.”

  Cross pulled his mother closer, and kissed Emma’s forehead. He felt her soften at the action, and her fingertips patted his cheeks. Their silent I love yous.

  “How ready are you for this day?” his mother asked.

  “Beyond ready.”

  “That’s the only answer I want to hear.” Emma let him go, and reached for her clutch Calisto held. “I have something for you—for good luck.”

  “You didn’t need to get me anything.”

  Emma waved a hand high. “It’s a silly little thing, really.”

  “Well, thanks, Emmy,” Calisto grumbled.

  She looked back at her husband, but just as quickly, her gaze came back to Cross. “A silly little thing that means the absolute world to me. Call it my good luck charm, I guess.”

  His mother pulled out a small poker chip from the clutch, and handed it over. Cross eyed the chip, and ran his fingertip across the embossed letters on top. Then, he squeezed it tight in his palm to keep it safe.

  He didn’t need details about it, where it came from, or why his mother wanted him to have it. Just the fact that she had given it to him—and on his wedding day, no less—was more than enough for him to cherish it.

  It had been hers.

  That alone made it special.

  “Thanks, Ma.”

  Emma patted his cheek once more. “Our wild child—I always knew you were going to be amazing, Cross. I love you.”

  “I love you, too.”

  Emma gave him one more smile and kiss, said her goodbye, and then left him alone in the room with his father. Calisto came close enough to slap Cross on the shoulder, and waved at the two chairs resting beneath a large painting.

  “Sit with me?” Calisto asked.

  Cross did, and the two stayed quiet like that for a few moments. He didn’t mind the silence. Not when it came to his father. Some of his most fondest memories with Calisto were moments just like this one.

  Finally, Cross said, “Thank you, Papa.”

  Calisto glanced over at him. “For what, my boy?”

  “A lot of things.”

  “Try me.”

  “Being mine—my father. For doing the wrong thing with Ma all those years ago when doing the right thing probably would have been a hell of a lot easier. For making me who I am, and for loving me despite of it. Thank you.”

  Calisto simply stared at Cross for a long while, saying nothing. He didn’t mind that, either. He had needed to say those things—to make sure his father knew what was inside his heart because he didn’t often express it well otherwise.

  “You are everything that I ever did right, Cross,” Calisto said, “even when it was wrong.”

  “Yeah, I know that, now.”

  “I’m glad this cycle of lies in our family and in our bloodline ends with you. I was never very proud to carry this name—Donati. It only reminded me of pain.”

  “And now?”

  Calisto smiled. “Well, now …”

  “Hmm?”

  “Now, it reminds me of us—of your mother, of you and of your sister. You all have given me every reason to be proud of our name, and not ashamed. And today, we get to add another Donati to the mix.”

  Yes.

  Catherine, that was.

  Catherine Donati.

  The Night

  Cross POV

  The bouquet flew high, and Cross was already closing the distance between him and his new bride before anyone even caught the flowers. Catherine—in her blush-colored wedding gown fit for a queen—saw him coming her way.

  She tossed back her head with a laugh. A few—or a couple of hundred—of their guests saw him cutting across the dance floor, and they laughed, too.

  He had warned Catherine, after all. Hell, he warned anybody who dared to listen to him throughout their very large, and very long, reception.

  Once she tossed those flowers, it was done.

  They were out of there.

  The first dance was long over, just like the four course meal, and cake cutting. He had held back from smearing cake in Catherine’s face after she painted his with icing, but only barely. She looked far too beautiful to be doing that, anyway.

  He had made sure to give their guests a bit of a show when he had to collect Catherine’s garter, and toss it into a waiting crowd of single men.

  Yes, they had certainly made sure their guests were properly entertained, fed, and satisfied. The Donati and Marcello union had been—by far—one of the biggest events in the city over the last decade. No expense was spared, and they had not disappointed.

  But now it was over.

  And Cross was done.

  Cross caught Catherine around the waist with one arm. In one swift, easy pull, he had her lifted from the floor, and tossed over his shoulder. Cheers, hollers, and whoops echoed out from behind them as Cross headed for the front entrance of the Waldorf Astoria hotel.

  The crinoline of Catherine’s dress flew all around them as she kicked her legs. Her laughter was a teasing, breathless whisper in his ear. She smacked his back with her palm.

  “What do you think you are doing?” she asked.

  “Getting us out of here. It’s the only way I can, apparently.”

  People kept dragging her away all night.

  “I can walk, you know!”

  “Cool fact.”

  Catherine laughed again. “You have to let us say goodbye, Cross.”

  “Babe, we have been saying goodbye all damn night. We are leaving. Now.”

  People rushed ahead of them. Some were still shouting, cheering, and going on in their way. They filled up the entrance, and flooded out the doors onto the front steps. Of course, they left a clean walkway for Cross to walk straight through.

  Outside, his and Catherine’s families waited. Only then did he hoist her off his shoulder, and set her to the ground.

  “Have a good trip,” Dante told Catherine. Then, the man l
ooked at Cross. “And you …”

  “Hmm?”

  Dante smiled. “You lasted longer in there than I thought you would.”

  Cross laughed, and took the hand that Dante offered. The two shook hands, before Dante clapped him on the shoulder.

  Shit wasn’t perfect with them.

  It was going to take time.

  Cross was willing to make time, though.

  Catherine was currently distracted by her mother, and brother. Even his mother and father were in the group saying goodbye to his wife.

  Cross turned back to Dante. “Thank you.”

  “For?”

  “Her.”

  Dante nodded. “Of course.”

  “Someone is impatient,” Zeke said.

  Cross laughed when he glanced over his shoulder. Catherine was already climbing the stairs leading to the private jet. She hadn’t even wanted to make a stop to get out of her wedding dress. The gown billowed around her legs in all directions from the wind. From the top of the stairs, she waved at him.

  A silent, hurry the fuck up, Cross.

  After all, it had been him who dragged her out of their reception because he simply couldn’t wait any longer.

  Cross winked, and waved right back.

  Catherine only shook her head, and then proceeded to enter the plane. She could wait five more minutes, surely.

  “Yeah, well, this has been a long time coming,” Cross finally said to his friend.

  Zeke nodded. “Have a good honeymoon.”

  Cross grinned. “You know it.”

  “I’ll hold the city down for you.”

  “You better.”

  Zeke held out his fist, and Cross bumped it with his own.

  Ride or die.

  “And I guess, thanks for being my best man,” Cross said. “From the start, huh?”

  Zeke chuckled. “Sometimes I swear that’s all I know how to do.”

  “It’s not a bad thing.”

  “Never said it was.” Zeke gestured over Cross’s shoulder. “Someone’s back out, and looking this way.”

  Sure enough, Catherine was standing back out on the stairs again.

  “Call me when you get five minutes,” Zeke said.

  “Not likely.”

  Zeke shrugged. “Yeah, I wouldn’t call your ass, either.”