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

by Bethany-Kris

  Calisto sighed, staring up at the white hospital ceiling. “What did your mother tell you the other night? She does seem slightly less … anxious.”

  Cross let the memory fill his thoughts, instead of answering.

  Emma wouldn’t quit moving. She kept fretting. He didn’t want his mother to worry about him; he would be just fine. He knew she had talked to Catherine, Calisto, the doctors … everyone. But nothing made it better for his mother. He needed her to understand that he would do this very thing a million times over if it meant the same result: Catherine alive.

  “I’m sorry for scaring you, Ma,” Cross said quietly.

  “Say it a few more times, and a little louder for the people in the back.”

  “Milk it up, Ma.”

  “Oh, I plan to.”

  “But I would do it again, and I’m not sorry for that, Ma.”

  His mother stilled.

  “I know you would,” she said.

  “Do you?”

  “L'amore é forte come la morte. Love is strong—like death,” Emma murmured. “It almost makes love sound grim, or morbid even, but …”

  “That’s because it’s true.”

  And a first love was even fucking stronger.

  Emma shrugged, as though there was nothing else for her to do. “They are the only two things in life that have nearly the same profound effect on us all. Like without love, death is near. And with love, we might not mind death for love. I just didn’t realize it until the other night that perhaps you did love Catherine. You’re always so quiet about her, and that.”

  “Of course I love her, Ma. I have always loved her. I always will, even if she doesn’t love me.”

  Cross came out of his thoughts, and decided on saying, “She bitched me out a bit, and then it was good.”

  That wasn’t a lie.

  “She does love you,” Cal replied.

  “Still not recovering at your house.”

  Three pairs of chuckles filled the room.

  “You’re supposed to be resting,” said a soft, familiar voice.

  Cross found a freshly-dressed, yet still tired-looking Catherine in the doorway. In one arm, she held one of his small duffle bags, likely with clothes for him, and a takeout bag from his favorite pizza place. In her other arm, she held the folded up afghan blanket from their bed.

  Clothes. Her. Good food. Soft blanket.

  He crossed a whole bunch of shit off his list just like that, and his bad mood started to dissipate instantly.

  “I am resting,” Cross said.

  “You look like it.”

  She walked into the room, and the three men visiting stood to leave.

  “You’ll be released tomorrow, likely,” his step-father said. “Try not to be too unpleasant while you wait, son.”

  Cross sighed. “I’ll try.”

  Once they were gone and the door was closed, Catherine shaded the blinds on the windows. She dropped his duffle on the bed, and Cross was quick to get dressed. Even though it hurt like hell, he grabbed that blanket she brought. It smelled like home and her. He pulled her into the small bed with him and the blanket. She tucked into his side, and buried her face into his neck, hiding away while he tangled his hands into her hair.

  The bed wasn’t so hard with her in it.

  Cross kissed the top of her head, but Catherine didn’t move an inch. She just wanted to hide away, he thought, and she could only do that with him.

  “You lied to your father about that night,” he said absently.

  Catherine stiffened. “And your mom.”

  “What?”

  “I told your mom I was with you and you were working. So, I lied to her, too.”

  “You have to stop doing that, Catty. You need to stop lying, it’s not protecting you, it’s hurting you, or it will. Don’t you get that?”

  It was her only fault, he thought. Her lies. That she wore a different mask depending on who was looking, and controlled how she appeared to them. She lied to people she didn’t even need to lie to, just because she could keep up the act. It would do her no good, though, when her lies piled too high and finally came crashing down.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “I’m not the one in a hospital bed.”

  No, but she had been attacked, almost assaulted again, and he was worried that he had come in just a little too late. Not to save her physically, but her mind.

  In there, she was too quiet.

  He couldn’t get in there.

  Catherine tipped her head back to look at him—no makeup, lost in her eyes, and oh, so tired.

  “This wasn’t your fault, huh?”

  “It kind of was,” Catherine said softly.

  “It wasn’t, not really. Nothing you did caused those men to come at you like that. Just like when it was Derik, it wasn’t your faul—”

  “Please, don’t.”

  Yeah, Catherine was locked up tight in her mind. Cross wasn’t loud enough to get in. She couldn’t hear him yelling to let him in. He was worried he wasn’t going to be able to hear her screaming for help, either.

  He figured as long as he kept a hold on her, and his arms were tight enough to keep her locked in with him, so she couldn’t start to spiral again; she wouldn’t fall. He wouldn’t need to catch her, if she didn’t fall at all this time.

  Cross just got the penthouse door opened after running his ass off all night for a Donati Capo, when his phone started to ring in his pocket. He got that one single week after he was released from the hospital to relax, and then it was as if the entire world decided that was quite enough. For the last two weeks, he had been going non-stop, with very little downtime in between.

  He answered the call with little patience left, and kicked the penthouse door closed with more force than was necessary. “Yeah, what?”

  “Principe,” Rick said.

  Cross pinched the bridge of his nose. “Morning, Skip.”

  “You busy today?”

  Not currently.

  He was looking forward to a quiet morning, hopefully with Catherine, as it was the end of August, and she was starting her first year of university in less than two weeks. He was busy enough, and when she wasn’t sleeping in bed—something she was doing way too often lately—she was out with her cousin, working.

  Cross needed Catherine to slow down. He needed to slow down. That way, he could look her in the face for more than five seconds at a time, to reassure himself that she was okay. He hadn’t been able to do that at all.

  “Well?” Rick demanded. “Are you busy?”

  Cross couldn’t say no.

  That wasn’t how it worked.

  “Nah, but I am just getting into my place.”

  “Shower up, and meet me in Hell’s Kitchen at the coffee shop I like. We’re doing business today.”

  Cross’s jaw ached from clenching his teeth so damn hard. “Sure, Skip.”

  “Don’t fuck around, either.”

  Rick hung up without a goodbye, not that Cross minded all that damn much. He stuffed his phone in his pocket, and headed for where he knew Catherine would be. It didn’t matter that it was nine in the morning, and he already got four calls from Dante Marcello wanting to know why his daughter wasn’t picking up his calls, and hadn’t been over for dinner that week. It didn’t matter that Cross told Catherine again and again that she was worrying him, and her family.

  He knew where she would be.

  In bed.

  Sleeping.

  She kept saying she was fine; that she just needed some time, and him, for everything to settle again. That was a huge part of the problem for Cross; he didn’t know what she was trying to settle. Maybe if she would say something beyond white lies of being okay, and to give her time, he could understand.

  Right then, he didn’t.

  At all.

  He knew she was too quiet. He knew she didn’t eat nearly enough. He knew she preferred blankets and him, to public and people. He wanted to help; he didn’t know how.


  Cross also didn’t seem to have time.

  Sure enough, Cross found Catherine entirely covered in the large comforter on their bed. The only part he could see of her was her face. He swore in sleep, that was the only time she seemed to be content and relaxed lately.

  “Hey, Catty,” he murmured, stroking two fingers over her cheekbone.

  Pretty green eyes fluttered open, and focused in on him. She smiled. “Where were you last night?”

  “Work.”

  “Oh.”

  “You getting up, or what?” he asked.

  Catherine made a face. “Why don’t you get in bed with me instead?”

  “Can’t.”

  Her happiness bled away instantly. “Why not?”

  “I have to head out again. I’m going to grab a shower, and then I’m gone. I should be back tonight, though.”

  And he was going to turn off his phone, too.

  Screw the consequences.

  Catherine sighed, and pulled the blanket over her face. “Fine.”

  Then, she rolled over, and put her back to him.

  Cross tugged at the comforter, saying, “Your dad called me twice this morning. He’s getting pissed that you’re … well, he doesn’t know what you’re doing.”

  “Yeah, I’ll call him later,” she replied, muffled.

  She wouldn’t.

  Cross would end up lying for her.

  Again.

  Dante would blame him.

  This circle was goddamn vicious.

  He loved this girl too much to stop.

  “Catherine.”

  “I’m tired, Cross. Go shower.”

  He didn’t need to be putting her in a worse mood than she already was, so he headed for the master bathroom attached to their bedroom. He made quick work of shedding his clothes, and cleaning up under too-hot water that would keep him awake. By the time he got out of the bathroom, Catherine wasn’t in bed anymore.

  He strolled into the walk-in closet to grab clothes just as she was coming out of it, fully dressed in skinny jeans, a blouse, and sky-high heels. She’d tossed her hair up into a messy bun that somehow looked perfect, and like it had been done without effort. Her makeup was on, although, not a lot. Her lips painted, and her eyes darkened.

  Cross grabbed her arm before she could head out of the closet “You okay?”

  Catherine flashed him a smile. “Yeah, sure.”

  “Are you heading over to your parents’ place?”

  “No, Andino called while you were out. I’m going to meet up with him about some parties happening this weekend.”

  “When are you going to stop that?” he asked, holding her gaze so she couldn’t lie. “The dealing, I mean. Are you going to relax after you start your classes next month at Columbia, or what?”

  “Maybe,” she said, shrugging. “I don’t know.”

  “Catherine, just a couple of weeks ago, someone you sold to tried to fucking ra—”

  She jerked out of his hold. “I don’t need a recap, Cross. I know what happened.”

  “You know I don’t care what you want to do, right? As long as you’re happy and safe doing it, babe. I’m not sure that you are, though, on either account.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Catherine, I’m not trying to be an asshole. I just want to make sure you’re—”

  “Fuck, I am fine, Cross. Leave it alone.”

  Or was she really good at pretending to be?

  Cross didn’t get the chance to ask. Catherine stormed out of the walk-in closet. His phone started ringing as the penthouse door slammed loudly a few seconds later.

  He didn’t know how much longer they could do this.

  “You got a minute to chat, or what?” Cross asked.

  Andino looked up from the tablet in his hand, and waved at the empty seat next to him. “Sit, man.”

  Cross took a seat, although he didn’t intend to stay for long. “How’s your side of New York?”

  “Busy as fuck. Busier now that I’m working on getting my button.”

  “Shit, I know that.”

  Andino glanced across the table. “Fun being anybody’s bitch boy, isn’t it?”

  Cross smirked. “I mean, you might be that for somebody.”

  “Don’t act like every Capo in your family doesn’t have your number on speed dial, and use it day and night, just to get your ass out of bed and running from one side of the city to the other.”

  “No, they do.”

  That’s just how Cosa Nostra worked when a man was trying to get his in to the family.

  “Doesn’t mean I’m anybody’s bitch, though,” Cross added. “I would get called that once, and someone would eat from a straw for the rest of their lives.”

  “Point taken. What did you need?”

  “For you to get Catherine to lay off for a while.”

  Andino lifted a single eyebrow. “On dealing?”

  “Exactly that. She started classes two weeks ago.”

  “So?”

  “So, the girl has only attended maybe six days out of the ten she was supposed to go. She’s already dropped one morning class because she either doesn’t want to roll her ass out of bed, or she’s been out too late the night before and can’t get up. She needs to slow down, and relax.”

  Andino tipped his head to the side, as though he was considering Cross’s words. “Listen, I know you don’t like getting involved with Catherine when she’s dealing and all, but the girl is magic at it. She’s got skill, and she keeps bringing them back. She’s … shit, good to look at when she’s working her pedigree. Her last name alone is making her a socialite in New York, which means she’s getting a taste of what being exactly that means right now. I can’t make her do shit, man, not if she doesn’t want to.”

  “How about you try?”

  “How about you take it up with her?”

  “I’ve tried.” Cross wiped at the corner of his mouth with his thumb, mulling over what he wanted to say. “Thing is, I’m not sure this is good for her up here,” he said, pointing at his temple, adding, “I mean, not after what happened a while back at the races. Besides that, this whole game she plays forces her to live a goddamn lie, Andino. All the time. Her entire day is a lie. She wakes up lying. To me, that she’s fine. To her parents, what she’s doing, what she’s done, where she’s going, or been, or anything. You can’t tell me that’s not fucking with her head somehow.”

  “That’s on her,” Andino said, “because she doesn’t need to be doing that at all.”

  Cross stilled in the chair. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Catty doesn’t need to be lying to anybody. You think Dante and Catrina don’t know what she’s doing, Cross? They know. They’ve known since damn near the night John took her out that first time and got her working.”

  “They know.”

  Andino shrugged. “We don’t hide shit like that in our family. It makes for bad family, man, and Marcellos aren’t about that nonsense.”

  “Why the hell doesn’t she know?” Cross demanded.

  “They don’t want her to, or … mostly Dante,” Andino said, like it wasn’t a big deal at all. “I mean, you would have to get the details from him on why, exactly, but he wants it to be on her. What she does or doesn’t do, or wants to do, that’s on her to decide. He doesn’t want to influence her either way. Since she’s determined to keep it to herself, that’s what her parents are letting her do. And she can let him and her mother in on the secret, or not. I keep it up—the lie, you know—for her benefit because that’s what she seems to want. She doesn’t want them to know, so I make it seem like they don’t.”

  “That’s the stupidest shit I have ever heard.”

  “Yeah, well, it is what it is. And you’re not to let her know the difference, either. Dante doesn’t want her to know that he knows what’s up. He’s the boss, maybe not yours, but he’s the boss, nonetheless. Her father, too.”

  “They know,” Cross repeated.

  “
I already said that. This conversation is starting to get fucking dull.”

  Cross agreed.

  He stood from the table.

  Andino glanced up at him, and said, “I was serious, too. Not one word to Catherine about what I just told you. It’s on her to figure her shit out—that’s what they want. It’s not your call to make.”

  “Get her to slow down a bit,” Cross shot back.

  He didn’t get a reply.

  Cross watched Catherine down her fourth glass of red wine in less than an hour. From across the dinner table, her gaze met his, and he knew two things instantly.

  One, she was lit.

  Two, she was pissed.

  The drunk thing, he could probably handle. She hadn’t been drinking heavily for a long while, and when she did, it was social occasions only, and just a mouthful to celebrate whatever was being toasted. The attitude, though, he wasn’t so sure on. He didn’t know why she was pissed, only that clearly she was. Their entire dinner with his mother and almost sixteen year old sister had been spent with her talking all the way around him just to avoid speaking to him.

  “You’re too busy lately,” Emma told him as he walked her to the door.

  “I know, Ma.”

  “Slow down, Cross. Let life catch up with you.”

  “I will,” he promised.

  Somehow.

  “You need to help Daddy pick out my car,” Camilla spoke up, grinning at her brother as she opened the front door to the penthouse. “Make sure he doesn’t screw it up.”

  Cross chuckled. “I can handle that.”

  “Good.”

  Emma patted his cheek. “Be good, huh?”

  “I’m always good, Ma.”

  “Well, that’s debatable. At least, be your kind of good, Cross.”

  He waited until his mother and sister were in the elevator, before closing the front door. It barely clicked shut before the first dish crashed into the sink, and then another one followed.

  “What the fuck?” he asked, spinning on his heel.

  Catherine glared at him, a wine glass in her hand. It, too, dropped into the sink without a care. He heard it shatter.

  Cross closed the space between them fast, done with her silence and burning looks. “Are you going to speak up and tell me what’s wrong with you, or what?”