Always: A Legacy Novel (Cross + Catherine Book 1)

by Bethany-Kris

  Well …

  “All right,” Cross said.

  But he still wasn’t okay with it.

  Not entirely.

  “What did you mean about the other thing?” Cross asked.

  “Pardon?”

  “Ideals, you said.” Cross subtly nodded toward the girl that was leaving the stage in preparation for another girl to come and take her spot. “What did you mean?”

  “Women aren’t property, Cross. Too many men who hang around these places, and too many in our business, like to believe women are something to be owned. They make a show out of their women; they display them like trophies. As though they’ve won them; it’s not a competition. You earn a good woman by being a good man, that’s it. You can’t do that by treating a woman like your personal toy because then she becomes that ideal to those around you who are watching.”

  Calisto sighed, and rested back in his chair. “Make men wish they were you; make them wish they were lucky enough to be you. As for women? Make them want to be with you, or want to be the woman standing next to you. But you don’t do that by putting a woman on display like a trophy you didn’t earn. Got it?”

  Cross nodded. “Yeah, I got it.”

  “It’s just like Wolf said, huh? You’re not interested in the show here at all, are you?”

  “The show?”

  Calisto sat straighter in his chair. “The girls, Cross.”

  “Not really. What’s to be interested in? They’re letting it all out, anyway. I’ve seen tits and ass before. It’s not new.” Cross went back to his gun on the table. “And like you said, they’re not my type.”

  Calisto laughed under his breath. “True. How did football tryouts go yesterday? Ma took you, right?”

  “I killed it.”

  Calisto smirked. “Didn’t expect any different. First string?”

  “Quarterback.”

  His step-father whistled low. “Well done. You know they’re probably not going to put you on first string when you enter the upper Academy next year for tenth grade.”

  His private school only went from grades sixth through ninth before the higher grades, tenth through twelfth, were separated into what the school called the upper Academy. The upper grades were in an entirely different section, with private grounds and wings from the lower grades, effectively cutting off the younger kids from the older. The school as a whole was just known as the Academy of Westforth.

  “It’s just that most of the time, younger grades get placed on second string.” Calisto made a dismissive noise under his breath. “If they even get picked at all.”

  Cross shrugged. “I hope they like losing, then.”

  “Arrogance is unbecoming.”

  “I don’t know, I think it works for me.”

  Calisto shook his head. “You’re fucking terrible, Cross.”

  Wolf came up to the table, and set the glass of what looked to be vodka down in front of Calisto. “Yeah, but that kind of works for the little shit, too.”

  Catherine Marcello’s favorite spot in her family’s large home had always been her parents’ office. It was a comforting place for her because she had spent so much time inside it. As a child, she used to hide under her father’s desk and play for hours on end until one of her parents came to find her. Despite having a house with too many rooms to fill, her parents—Catrina and Dante—shared an office space.

  But she wasn’t a child anymore at thirteen-years-old.

  As Catherine got older, she understood exactly why her parents shared an office space together. Or rather, she got nosier.

  Instead of playing with her tablet or toys, she snooped through the papers on the desk, or flipped through the folders inside the drawers. She knew it wasn’t exactly right, but she figured it wasn’t all that wrong of her to do, either.

  Her parents would have said so, otherwise. They had no problem telling her what she could or couldn’t do for any other thing. Plus Dante and Catrina never made any real effort to hide the things they left behind in their office for Catherine to look through.

  Catherine wasn’t entirely sure when she realized the truth about her family. Maybe it was when she was five, and a bodyguard was waiting to pick her up after kindergarten in the afternoon. Or maybe it was over the years, during the many family dinners, when business between men was quietly discussed. Maybe it was when Catherine asked her father why her mother flew out to L.A. twice a month for years, only to have Dante simply say, work.

  What kind of work?

  What does she do?

  Can I go with Ma?

  Dante would laugh off his daughter’s questions and shake his head with a wink. “Someday, maybe, reginella,” he would say, although he never sounded very honest when he said it.

  Perhaps Catherine really understood the darker truth about her family when people used titles like Queen or Don in reference to her mother or father. Very rarely did people use her father’s name—it was almost always Don or boss. The only people Catherine had ever heard call her mother by her name were very close friends and immediate family. To everyone else, Catrina Marcello was Queen. Or, Regina. Her mother even had that word tattooed on the inside of her pointer finger.

  That was also how Catherine had gotten her pet name—reginella. Her mother’s little queen.

  Those titles her parents had were always spoken with some level of respect, handed out without question, and never with hesitation. As though they earned them.

  She was not dumb.

  She was actually quite sly.

  Or, that’s what her daddy always said.

  Between the things she heard and saw over the years, the way people talked about her family, and through her own snooping, Catherine knew all there was to know about the Marcellos. Organized Crime. Mafia. Cosa Nostra.

  It wasn’t really a girl thing, so she pretended like she didn’t know when she needed to. Sometimes, though, her curiosity got the better of her, and she dared to ask about things she knew she probably shouldn’t. Like why her mother was clearly in with the family business.

  That was how she learned Catrina was a Queen Pin. A drug dealer of the highest caliber, dealing to the most elite clientele.

  And that was damn near the end of the discussion.

  At least, from her mother’s side of it.

  Catherine was too curious, and too interested in what all of that meant, to let it drop.

  That was why she found herself snooping through her mother and father’s office again because Catrina didn’t want to talk. Catherine wanted to know.

  She figured she wasn’t asking for much.

  Catrina’s trips had slowed over the last year, too. Catherine noticed. Her mother wasn’t flying out as often, and she spent more time taking phone calls in private. She didn’t know what any of that meant, but she did know how to snoop to find enough pieces to put it all together for herself.

  “What are you doing in here?”

  Catherine looked up at her almost seventeen-year-old brother’s voice. “Looking for something.”

  Michel’s brow furrowed. “Looking for what?”

  “I don’t know. Something.”

  “In Ma and Dad’s desk?”

  “So?”

  “You shouldn’t snoop. They don’t look through our shit.”

  “Says you.”

  “Go away, Michel.”

  “Don’t be a bitch, Catherine.”

  “Don’t you have someone else to annoy?” Catherine asked.

  She went back to digging though the desk. She hadn’t lied to her brother, technically. She didn’t know what she was looking for until she found it. That was usually how it worked.

  “If they didn’t want me to look, they would keep the door locked,” Catherine muttered under her breath.

  “That is a shitty justification for your nosiness.”

  Catherine shot her brother a glare. “Go away.”

  “Nah, I’m good.”

  “I hate you.”

  “It’
s mutual.”

  Catherine pulled out a thin, leather black notebook from the very bottom drawer. Actually, it was more like a journal. Flipping it open, she found pages upon pages of names and addresses. Some of the names, she recognized, but only because of their star attraction.

  Celebrities.

  She blinked.

  Another page flipped over in her hands.

  A sports star turned actor.

  A musician.

  Michel came up beside her, and pointed at a name she didn’t recognize. “Former president’s son.”

  “President of what?” she asked.

  He laughed. “The country. How did you pass into eighth grade this year?”

  Catherine blinked again, and chose to ignore her brother’s jab. “What is this?”

  “Ma’s black book. You know, clients.”

  “For drugs?”

  Michel shrugged. “Yeah.”

  “There’s a lot of names in here.”

  “She was good at what she did.”

  “Was,” Catherine said.

  “Huh?”

  “You said was. Past tense. See, there is a reason I passed, asshole.”

  Michel rolled his eyes. “I don’t know much about it all, just that she’s not as active as she used to be. It gets boring after a while, maybe. I don’t know, ask her.”

  “I do. She tells me nothing. That’s why I—”

  “Snoop, yeah I got it.”

  “How do you know?” Catherine asked.

  “Because I hear shit, so I ask shit,” Michel explained.

  “Who do you ask?”

  “Mostly cousins, like John or Andino, and sometimes Uncle Gio when he’s in a good mood.”

  Huh.

  Catherine filed that info away for later.

  “Really, though, you shouldn’t snoop,” Michel said, taking the black book and putting it away. “There’s some things that are better left alone, Catherine. Some of this is a lot of that, if you get what I mean.”

  “But—”

  “And you’ve got school tomorrow.”

  She scowled. “So do you.”

  “Yeah, but I’ve been attending the Academy since sixth grade. You’re only getting transferred in this year. I’m in the upper Academy, so I won’t be around for you to ask me a million questions or to keep your ass out of trouble.”

  “I do just fine on my own, thanks.”

  Michel nodded. “Sure you do.”

  “I don’t want to go to that stuffy school anyway.”

  Her father took her out of her all girls private school, and decided to transfer her into the Academy of Westforth for her eighth grade. That meant all of her friends were left behind.

  “Point is,” her brother said, “you don’t want to be tired and stupid walking around tomorrow. Some of those kids are a bunch of shits, too much money and too bored for their own good. With a last name like Marcello, some of them just want to see how far they can push before you push back. Keep an eye open, that’s all.”

  “We’ve got too much money, and we’re bored half the time, too.”

  Michel smirked. “Maybe you’ll fit right in, then, but who knows? You’ve got too much mouth sometimes. It gets you in trouble.”

  It did not.

  “Liliana will be there,” Catherine said of her cousin.

  She was only one year younger than Liliana.

  “Yeah, that’ll help,” Michel said as he headed for the door. “Another one with too much mouth in this family.”

  Asshole.

  “What’s your next class?”

  Catherine handed over her schedule to Liliana without even looking at it. “Whatever that says.”

  “Art.”

  Great.

  Liliana rattled off the teacher’s name and the easiest way to find the classroom, but Catherine was more focused on the football players finishing their sprints on the field. Sitting three rows up on the metal benches, she had a good view.

  She wasn’t really a football person.

  It was more interesting than classes with people she didn’t know, though.

  Catherine was not liking her new school at all. Her brother had been right, or maybe she just hadn’t realized how difficult it was to be on the outside looking in. At her old school, she had been a part of the popular crowd. She had friends.

  She didn’t need to make them.

  It was strange to be … out of place.

  The bell rang, signaling it was time for the students to head back inside as lunch was over, and classes would start in another ten minutes. Liliana stood instantly. Catherine stayed right where she was.

  “Hey, art class, remember?”

  Catherine took the schedule back from her cousin. “Yeah, I know.”

  “It’s on the other side of the school, so you might want to get going if you don’t want to be late.”

  “I’m going.”

  “You’re going to skip, aren’t you?”

  Catherine shrugged. “I’m not very artsy.”

  That was a lie.

  She loved art.

  But not with people she didn’t know.

  “You know they call home when you skip a class after already showing up to previous ones, right?”

  “Maybe my dad will send me back to my old school, then.”

  Liliana rolled her eyes upward. “Unlikely. And it’s not that bad here.”

  “I don’t know anyone.”

  “You have to, oh, I don’t know, talk to people, Catherine.”

  “I tried to talk to that Natasha girl from English studies. I told you about her. She fucking scoffed at me—scoffed.”

  “She’s a royal bitch on a high horse, and everybody knows it. She just hasn’t figured out who you are yet, that’s all.”

  “She scoffs at me again, and I’ll punch her in the throat.”

  Catherine had a big brother who used to make a game out of teasing her. She knew how to kick someone’s ass. People underestimated her because she was a girl and pretty, or that’s what her dad said.

  Don’t let anybody underestimate you after the first time, Catherine, because then they deserve everything they get when they make the mistake a second time, her dad liked to say.

  “I bet she won’t make one of those noises after that,” Catherine added.

  Liliana laughed. “You’re going to have so much fun here once you stop sulking.”

  Sure she would.

  “Seriously, get to your art class,” Liliana said as she turned to head down the bleachers.

  Catherine still stayed where she was sitting. Liliana turned back around and stared at her until she finally got up to follow. “You’re no fun.”

  “You won’t be, either, if Uncle Dante grounds you for skipping.”

  “Shut up, and stop sucking so much.”

  Liliana tossed her a look. “Maybe that attitude is why you’re not making friends.”

  Catherine didn’t grace that with a response. She followed behind Liliana as they stepped off the bleachers and walked alongside the field to head back to the school.

  “Hey, new girl!”

  The shout from an unfamiliar voice made Catherine stiffen, but she chose not to pay it any attention. She found a lot of the kids at the Academy had been attending the same schools for years, and they all knew one another. It was unusual for a new face to pop up, and she just happened to be one of a few new students that year.

  “Hey, slow down, pretty girl,” the guy said as he jogged alongside Catherine and Liliana. He didn’t look to be much older than her or Liliana, but she figured if he was, he would be in the upper Academy anyway.

  “Are you fucking serious, Hugh?” Liliana asked. “Go bother someone else.”

  The guy—Hugh—turned on one foot to jog backwards, and let his helmet dangle from one hand. “What? I have to say hi to the fresh meat, don’t I?”

  Catherine just stared at the guy. “Go away.”

  “Aw, don’t be like that. You’re new, right?
Make a friend. I’m a pretty decent guy to start with.”

  She doubted that, for some reason. “Seriously, go away.”

  He just laughed. “What’s your name?”

  Catherine sighed.

  Maybe if she just gave the guy what he wanted, he would leave her the hell alone.

  “Catherine.”

  “Last name? You know, for research purposes.”

  Liliana reached over and pushed Hugh hard on his shoulder, nearly knocking him off balance. “Will you crawl off somewhere, creep?”

  Hugh righted himself with a glare. “Don’t be a bitch, Lily.”

  “Hugh, let’s go! Leave the conversation on the sidelines for your own time, not mine. Donati has been waiting for you for three minutes. Stop wasting my time!”

  Catherine didn’t realize how close the football team, and their coaches had come to the sidelines as they were walking off. Out of all the players, only one still had his helmet off, and he wore a scowl that could rival the Devil’s.

  A scowl fixed on a very handsome face.

  Catherine lingered on the guy for a few more seconds, taking in his smooth features, strong jaw, dark eyes, and irritated expression. She didn’t think she had seen someone look pissed off and damn cute at the same time before. He ran a hand through his dark curls, and his olive-toned complexion shined with perspiration.

  “Cross can wait a second,” Hugh hollered back. “I’m working on something here.”

  “Working on getting your nuts to ascend back into your body,” Liliana muttered under her breath.

  Catherine giggled. Her amusement faded fast. Like the second Hugh grabbed her arm in a tight grip, and stopped her from walking further.

  “Last name?” he asked again.

  She tugged her arm to free it from his grasp, but he didn’t let go. She looked down at his hand pointedly. “That’s a no.”

  “Shit, what’s your problem? I’m just asking who the hell—”

  “Let me go,” Catherine said.

  She was polite.

  It was the only warning he was going to get.

  “Tell me your name, then.”