by Bethany-Kris
Hard enough to hurt.
“If I break one of your ribs, I’m sorry,” Dante muttered.
Three more pushes.
Then another.
Cross wasn’t entirely sure what was happening, as his eyes wouldn’t cooperate and open, and the rest of his body seemed to be useless. He still couldn’t get in a breath, and when air was pushed into his mouth, it met the same, blocked fate.
“His pulse is damn weak,” another man said. “You might damage his heart with CPR while there’s a pulse.”
“Not at this point,” Dante replied. “He’s blue around his mouth, not breathing, and his heart will stop altogether soon. It’s worth the risk right now. I do not want to explain to his father and to Catherine that at best, I did not try, or at worst, I chose to wait until he was altogether dead before doing anything at all.”
Those compressions against his chest came harder still, and Cross was sure one of his ribs cracked. He didn’t mind because shit, that blockage in his throat and lungs came rushing out.
It wasn’t a blockage at all.
It was water.
His lungs had been full of water.
Cross felt himself be shoved onto his side as he choked and vomited way too much salt water. Hands smacked his back, and voices rushed louder in his ears as one drained of water. Every inch of him hurt. His throat felt like someone had dumped fire down it. Each breath he sucked in ached like nothing else, but shit, he kept sucking air back like it was the best goddamn thing he had ever had in his life.
Next to Catherine, it was.
“Well done, Dante.”
“Just let her know he’s good, Lucian.”
Cross fell to his back, and his gaze opened wide. It took him far too long to realize he was focusing in on a dark sky, and then Dante clouded his vision.
“You’re all right,” Dante murmured.
Cross coughed out more water.
Dante smirked. “And you’re welcome.”
Yeah, shit.
“I think I’m dead,” Cross croaked out.
Exhausted, dry laughter filled the space. From more than just Dante.
“You’re too fucking stubborn to die,” Dante said.
Maybe.
“Catherine.”
Dante moved to the side as the floor rocked underneath him—a boat, Cross thought. He grabbed Cross’s wrist, put a hand to his back, and forced him into a sitting position.
“Settle in where you’re settling in,” an unknown man barked. “We’re running low on gas and need to get back. It’s a long ride.”
Cross wasn’t listening.
Something better was there.
Catherine.
She fell to her knees in front of him, all crying green eyes and looking like a drowned rat. Probably just like he fucking looked, too.
Cross didn’t even care.
He reached for her, pulled her in, and barely felt the heavy blankets that had been tossed over their shoulders.
None of it mattered.
Only them.
Calisto took the cup of coffee from his wife, and rested back in the corner chair, looking far more relaxed than he had in days. Emma then headed for her son’s direction with her little yappy Yorkshire dog tucked in under her arm like a football. The dog only stayed quiet when his mother was holding it, but she loved it so no one ever complained.
Cross already knew that telling his mother not to fret and worry would do him no good. So, he allowed her to prop his pillows behind him, and kissed her cheek.
“Do you want something to drink or eat?” she asked him.
“A whiskey would be great, Ma.”
Emma scowled at him. “No, and you can stop asking for that every morning because I am not bringing it to you.”
“Fine, coffee, I suppose.”
“Grab him one of his magazines, too, Emmy,” Calisto put in. “A guns one from my office. He’ll mutter less to himself if he has something to look at.”
“I can do that.”
Cross gave his father a look when Emma patted the top of his head like he was a sick little puppy. Then, she was gone from his old bedroom.
He sighed, and scrubbed a hand down his face. “The pneumonia has almost cleared from my lungs. You better ease her into the reality that I’m going back to my place soon.”
Calisto smirked into the rim of his cup. “I think I’ll let you handle that, actually.”
Prick.
Cross still loved his father to death, though.
Recovering in the Donati home was his compromise to this mother and father. Swallowing all that salt water, and then the long trip home, had allowed pneumonia to settle into his lungs by the time he was back in the great state of New York. It also gave a nasty infection the time to settle in, too.
They wanted him at a hospital.
Cross didn’t want to be at a hospital.
Their home it was.
Compromise.
He had been there for a week, now.
Cross picked up the photographs Calisto had given to him just before his mother came into the room. He quickly flipped through the images. Two light blue boats peppered with bullet holes and embedded with nails. An island with a property blown to pieces. Dead bodies, and pieces of bodies—a grisly sight—spread over the beach and in the shoreline. A burning yacht sinking, and red and black boats turned over.
“You all could have told me what you were planning,” Cross said more to himself than his father.
Calisto chuckled. “Cross, even we didn’t know what we were planning until we got down in Cancun and started working contacts. Dante was able to get boats and a couple of guns; I knew a guy who did some skydiving and had planes. Catrina knows an old friend in that area that is handy with homemade bombs.”
Cross looked over the pictures again—specifically, the ones of the blown up house and torn apart bodies. “Those barrels did a hell of a job.”
“Right?” Calisto smiled, then it faded fast. “I am never flying again.”
“It’s not the same thing. You were in a Cessna with a wide open door, not your usual private jet or passenger plane.”
“Still not flying again.”
Cross rolled his eyes upward. “Well, you’ll have at least two more flights to go through, I guess.”
“Why’s that?”
He glanced over at his father, and shrugged. “It’s time for you to get your surgery done. Correct the lesion, and the aneurism. Now, before it gets worse. The doctor in Scotland is supposed to be the very best at what he does, right? You’re going to need to fly there and back, Papa.”
Calisto cleared his throat. “You know I can’t do that, Cross. Going into the hospital for brain surgery, not to mention the recovery time, would look very bad on my famiglia. It would put me in a position to be seen as a very weak and easy target. I can’t—”
“I’m ready,” Cross murmured.
His father stilled in his chair. “Or do you just think you are because of everything that’s happened, son?”
“I’m ready to take the seat.”
He wasn’t going to explain himself.
He didn’t need to.
Calisto nodded once. “All right.”
Noise echoed from outside the bedroom. Footsteps followed down the hall. Several pairs. Cross recognized all the men chatting and laughing together, and suddenly, his room was a hell of a lot noisier and fuller than it had been just seconds before.
Dante, Zeke, Wolf, a doctor Calisto had hired, and then Catherine peered in, too.
Cross hadn’t heard her at all.
He paid the men no mind as she darted across the room, and climbed onto the bed. Her legs tucked in under the covers, and she kissed the underside of his jaw with a sweet touch. Everything was so much better when she was near. Everything was perfect with her. He breathed in her familiar scent, felt her softness and curves, and his world slowed down for a moment.
It was more than enough.
“Missed you,” he murmured.
“A long two hours.”
“I got all the stuff you wanted except the blanket. It was in the wash before everything happened. I tried getting it clean again. It’s ruined.”
Cross shrugged. “Whatever. You’re back. I’m good.”
“Out of the bed, young lady,” Doctor Ulises ordered. “Let me check the boy.”
Cross glowered. “Man.”
The doctor ignored Cross, and waited for Catherine to move as she had been told. Then, he went about checking the IV that was attached to Cross’s left hand, and the bag of fluids and a mixture of antibiotics on the pole.
“Do you remember, Cross, when you broke your wrist as a child?” the doctor asked.
“Wasn’t I five when that happened?”
Calisto sighed. “Climbing tresses on the side of the house like he was fucking Spiderman.”
“I had to reset your wrist, and you called me a bastard,” the doctor noted. “First child to have ever cussed at me. I was a new doctor then.”
Cross’s brow furrowed.
Chuckles lit up the room.
“You did that, Cross,” Calisto confirmed.
“And that,” the doctor said, “is why I will continue to call you a boy until the day you die. But today, is not that day. Your pneumonia has cleared up well. The wound on your shoulder from the shrapnel is healing fine. Your cultures are looking clean. Once this bag of fluids is finished, and you get through the other bag of medication, you’re good to go.”
Catherine grinned at him from her father’s side.
She wanted him home, too.
“Anything you’re concerned about?” the doctor asked.
“My rib is still kind of sore,” Cross admitted.
“That can sometimes happen when CPR is preformed correctly. Thank Mr. Marcello as often, and as loudly, as he will allow.”
“Yes, Cross. Thank me often, and loudly.” Dante didn’t even bother to hide his smirk. “It’s amusing. I learned CPR because we had a pool, and young children. I kept it up over the years just because. I certainly didn’t think the first time I would have to use it would be on you, Cross.”
God, it killed him to do it.
Dante had saved him.
So, he supposed it didn’t kill him at all.
“Thank you,” Cross said.
Again.
“And me,” Zeke piped up, “for pulling your ass out of the water.”
Cross nodded, and locked gazes with his best friend.
Ride or die.
Zeke always had his back.
“Couldn’t have swam a bit faster?” Cross joked.
Zeke flipped his middle finger up. “Be grateful I jumped into that mess at all. Took two pieces of shrapnel to my shoulder, asshole.”
“Yeah, I know. I’m just—”
“Being a shit,” Catherine interjected.
“Exactly that.”
Zeke put out his fist, and Cross bumped it with his own.
Calisto smiled faintly up at Wolf as the man came to stand beside his friend and boss. Cross had always thought it was odd how he had found his most loyal friend in the son of the man who never betrayed his father over the years.
Or, maybe it wasn’t strange at all.
Cross would be just fine.
Especially as a Cosa Nostra boss.
With a woman like Catherine, a family like his, friends like Zeke, and men like the ones surrounding him?
Cross was born for this.
He didn’t know anything different.
He didn’t want to.
Once the doctor was gone from the room, Dante cleared his throat. “I figured I should stop by and let you know what was happening with Chicago.”
“Pretty sure that’s still your mess to clean.”
Dante cocked a brow. “No, not really, but I did it anyway.”
Cross shrugged. “So what’s happening?”
“Nothing, essentially.” Dante let out a heavy breath of air, and folded his arms over his chest. “Or rather, nothing you need to be concerned about. Tommas Rossi and I have agreed to a deal, of sorts, to keep peace over this whole thing. He certainly understands why we did what we did, but …”
“Business is business,” Calisto said quietly.
Dante nodded. “Nonetheless, it is handled.”
“What did you have to hand over to get to that point?” Cross asked.
“A port, free of dues. A shipment of guns to replace the ones you stole. A louder, more controlling voice at the Commission.” Dante glanced at Catherine who was fiddling with Cross’s watch on the nightstand. “Nothing that wasn’t worth it, anyway.”
Cross understood that.
He figured any man would.
One month later …
“Fuck, shake that ass for me, babe.”
Catherine winked over her shoulder, all dressed in tight red Versace with six-inch strappy black heels to match. Cross stayed firmly seated on the bench in the VIP section of Zeke’s club, but leaned forward just enough to catch the skirt of Catherine’s dress with his hooked finger. Her hips moved to the beat, and he got a peek of a red thong under her dress.
Cross whistled low, but Catherine’s hand quickly batted his away. “Hey, I was getting a good look at something there, Catty.”
“You can wait.”
He scowled. “That is a matter of opinion.”
She kept dancing. He loved to watch her.
Clubs could be a dangerous place for someone like Catherine, with a history like hers where drugs and alcohol were concerned. She never batted an eye at the whiskey in his hand, or the liquor flowing all over the damn place. Then again, she hustled drugs like a pro, and never touched those, either.
Cross wasn’t all too shocked.
Shit, she did like to dance.
“Get up here with me,” Catherine said, holding out her hands to him.
Cross shook his head. “Nah, I like watching you.”
“You can dance.”
“Yes, but I’m getting a free show right now, so turn around, and shake your fucking ass for me, babe.”
She pouted.
Cross leaned back into the bench seat, and hooked a finger at Catherine to demand she come closer without saying a word. Quickly, she bent down, putting her hands to his thighs, and giving him a sexy smile when their lips were just inches apart.
“Stop pouting,” he told her.
“Then dance with me, Cross.”
“I can’t—business is happening soon.”
Catherine raised a single eyebrow at that statement. “Why bring me to the club tonight if that was going on?”
“Why wouldn’t I bring you?”
“It’s not really for women.”
“Not sure I really care,” Cross replied.
“Still—”
He closed the distance between their mouths before Catherine could get in another word. Once he was kissing her, the world titled on axis, slowed, and everything was just right. Her teasing tongue darted into his mouth, and flicked hard against his. The top shelf whiskey he had been sipping on was nothing compared to the taste of her. He did not want to pull away, but he caught the sight of his friend in the corner of his eye.
Catherine pouted when Cross nipped her lip, and nodded in Zeke’s direction. “Business, babe.”
“But—”
“Keep pouting, and I’m going to give your mouth a reason to do that when I stuff it full.”
Catherine narrowed her eyes at him. “Promise?”
“My tease. Keep that up, and we’ll see if we even get home before I get this Versace dress on the floor.”
“This dress cost you a lot of money, Cross. I saw the tag inside the box when you gave it to me this morning.”
“So?”
Catherine grinned. “Keep making those promises.”
“You know I’ll keep them. Why don’t you go dance down on the floor for a bit, huh?”
She winked, and pushing away from him to leave. He smacked her ass before she was out of reach. Her fingers waved over her shoulder, and then she was gone from the VIP section.
Zeke took a seat beside him on the bench. “Dad is on his way.”
“Good,” Cross said before tossing back the remainder of his whiskey.
“Here.”
Zeke handed over an item that made Cross sit up a little straighter. It was Calisto’s signet ring. He couldn’t ever remember seeing his father take it off. He vividly recalled memories of made men kissing Calisto’s ring, although his father had never made that demand of him.
Cross always thought that was because Calisto saw his son as an equal.
Not a man beneath him.
“I guess Calisto handed it off to my father today before he got on the plane,” Zeke said.
“Ma didn’t mention that when she called to say they were on board.”
“Does your mother ever mention things about la famiglia?”
“Point taken,” Cross said.
“Anyway, Dad dropped it off to me because he knew I would see you sooner today. You’re going to need it tonight once the meet starts with the men.”
Cross slipped the ring down his middle finger.
A perfect fit.
“You’re going to need to add a second ring soon, aren’t you?” Zeke asked.
“For what?”
Zeke passed him a look. “A boss needs a wife, Cross.”
Ah.
Yeah, that.
Cross shrugged. “Let me worry about that.”
“I know the rules.”
“I’m working on it, Zeke.”
“Mmhmm,” his friend murmured. “I saw what you were working on up here.”
Cross smirked. “Working on that, too, yeah.”
“Fucker.”
“When are you going to settle down and get your ass married, anyway?” Cross asked.
Zeke damn near turned as white as a sheet. “Don’t turn this around on me.”
“Maybe I want my underboss settled into family life. Kids, minivan, and the whole—”
“Fuck you, Cross,” Zeke uttered.
Cross laughed loudly. “I wouldn’t.”
“Oh, thank God, there’s Dad.”
Cross was still chuckling to himself as Wolf made his way into the VIP area. He took a seat on the other side of Cross with a smile, and glanced between the two men.