Unruly: A Legacy Novel (Cross + Catherine Book 3)

by Bethany-Kris

  “So an attack like that, where we just hit them all at the same time, is basically impossible. But we do know who the main heads of the organization are.”

  “What do you want—specific details on those men, and their meets?”

  “All of that, and whatever else you can find for me,” Cross replied. “Shit, sit Katya down, too, and get whatever you can get from her, too. Women know more than they let on when it comes right down to it.”

  Zeke rubbed a hand down his jaw before saying, “We’ll need a few days to get everything ready, and worked out.”

  “Not an issue. After tonight, everyone who needs to be locked in for safety is doing exactly that. Men are coming off the streets. Donati business is on hold until I say otherwise. I am not losing one more person to these cocksuckers.”

  “Could I see her?” Katya asked.

  Her question drew Cross away from his conversation. Zeke, too, looked at his wife.

  “Cece, I mean. Could I?”

  Catherine passed Cross a look. “She’s not here, is she?”

  “She can be,” Cross said, “but only for a few minutes.”

  “You’re going into surgery in a couple of hours,” Zeke reminded Katya. “Maybe it would be better to wait until after when you’re home again and—”

  “Please?” Katya asked.

  Cross touched his friend’s arm to keep him from refusing again. “Cece will be here before you go into surgery. I’ll make sure of it.”

  And she was.

  “Plane takes off in three hours,” Dante said.

  Cross passed a sleeping Cece into her grandfather’s arms. “Just enough time for you to get to the airstrip, then.”

  “About that.”

  Further down the hallway, Catrina and Catherine quietly talked. Cross couldn’t hear their conversation, but he didn’t really need to. Besides, he had his own pressing matters to handle at the moment.

  “She’ll have fun at the Florida vacation house,” Dante said. “She always likes the beach.”

  Cross smoothed a hand over the crown of his daughter’s head. “Hopefully this won’t take too long, anyway.”

  “Take as long as you need to make sure it is done, Cross.”

  He heard his father-in-law’s words loud and clear.

  End them.

  “It’ll be done,” he said.

  “Have you considered closing ranks in the Three Families to have strength in numbers or some back up?”

  Cross shook his head. “It’s still only a Donati problem. The Donati people will handle it.”

  “Ah, I see.”

  “At least with Cece gone for a while, the cops won’t be bothering us about her.”

  Dante frowned. “Come again?”

  “Detectives at the hospital. They wanted me to hand Cece over to do interviews with a child forensic psychologist about the shooting.”

  “Of course they did,” his father-in-law grumbled.

  “I refused.”

  “It’s your right as the parent. Be concerned, however, if they attempt to legally force her testimony.”

  “That’ll only happen in the event of a Grand Jury or trial.”

  “I suppose.”

  “And we won’t be having either of those at all, Dante, not when I remove the people causing us all these issues.”

  Dante chuckled. “Mmm, true.”

  “Still pissed me off like nothing else, though,” Cross said.

  “It’ll pass. Once everything is said and done, it will all pass.”

  Hopefully.

  “But should you find yourself over your head,” Dante added when Cross stayed silent, “remember that John and Andino have phone numbers, and you have a phone.”

  “Yeah, I’ll remember.”

  How not to use them.

  Cross understood the point Dante was trying to drive home with him. The other points in the triangle of the Three Families were supposed to have his back, like he had theirs. Still, Cross had his own way of handling things, and this was one of those.

  He didn’t need help.

  He needed time and information.

  Cece’s sleepy eyes blinked awake, and the first person she looked for was her father. A little smile lit up her face. She’d had a horrible day. From the shooting, to the nurse at the hospital demanding to take her pretty jacket and ski-pants because they had blood on them.

  Evidence, the woman said.

  Apparently, anyway. That was before Cross had even gotten to the hospital, and he had already given the order for Cece to be taken to her grandparents the very second someone could do that.

  Catherine had been dangerously close to killing someone herself at that point. Not that Cross particularly blamed her.

  “Hi, Daddy,” Cece said in her sleepy, childish voice. Then, she noticed her grandfather was the one holding her and added, “Hi, Grandpapa Dante.”

  The two men smiled at her.

  Cross stroked her hair again. “Hey, bambina. You’re going to go on a big plane ride with your grandpapa and grandmamma. Doesn’t that sound fun?”

  “Okays.”

  “Okay,” he echoed.

  “I see Aunt Kats again?”

  Dante shot Cross a curious look, but he figured his next words would explain it well enough.

  “Aunt Katya will be with Uncle Zeke when you get home, and you can see her all you want then. How about that?”

  “Okays,” she said, slightly cheerier than before. “I gottsa pee.”

  “Cat!”

  Cross chuckled at Dante’s instant holler.

  Dante put Cece down on her feet as Catrina and Catherine came back down the hallway. Cece danced on the spot while her mother said goodbye to her, and then darted for her grandmother’s outstretched hand as soon as the bathroom was suggested.

  “She’ll be fine,” Dante assured Catherine.

  She pressed her lips together, looking entirely unhappy about the turn of events. “Mmm.”

  “She will, Catherine.”

  “She knows,” Cross said for his wife, “but it’s been a difficult day for everyone, I think.”

  “Exactly that,” Catherine agreed with a sigh. “All right, Daddy. Call us when you get to Florida?”

  “I will. By the way, Cross, what about your mother and father?”

  “Headed out of state tonight, actually. As soon as I picked up Cece, they were already on their way. They were going to Chicago for a week a bit later in the month, but they decided to speed that up.”

  Dante nodded. “Still a little close, isn’t it?”

  “A little for comfort, yeah.”

  “Calisto does what he wants, hmm?”

  Cross laughed. “I get it from somewhere, don’t I?”

  “It’s definitely a Donati thing, Cross. I will give you that.”

  Dante reached for Catherine, and gave her a hug. A quick kiss to her cheek, and then Dante held out a hand for Cross to shake as well. One thanks between them all, and another word of advice for Cross to be safe, and they were gone.

  It was only once Cross and Catherine were inside their Rolls-Royce that his wife finally turned to him. In her eyes, he could see the same thing he had been feeling all damn day. Catherine, like him, was just really good at hiding it.

  “What?” he asked her.

  “How long before the bastards are all gone?”

  Cross turned the car around in the circular drive as he considered how to answer her question. “Well, a few days likely. That’s only because I want it done right.”

  Catherine nodded. “All right.”

  “Was that all?”

  “No.”

  “What else?”

  Her green gaze turned on him again—all fire and ice in a blink.

  “Bury them.”

  Cross kept his head low as he slipped out of the skylight window. With darkness all around, and his black clothing, he doubted anyone could see him on top of the empty house, anyway. Apparently, the place had been for sale coming
on two years, now. The market was shit, and the seller was asking six million for the place.

  After seeing the inside the other day, he knew it wasn’t worth the price they wanted. It needed major upgrades to get it into this century, a new roof, and the chimney needed either torn out or replaced.

  However, he’d made it seem like he was interested in every nook and fucking cranny inside the three-level, old Victorian when he called up the realtor. So much so, that the realtor had been so excited for a possible sale, he didn’t even realize Cross had left the window unlatched and the bottom floor window unlocked after he checked them out.

  Two days after that initial meet with the realtor, and here he was. Slipped in the back window, and straight onto the roof.

  Cross carefully climbed to the peak of the roof, mindful of the slipperiness. At the peak, he rested down on his stomach, and grabbed the medium sized case at his back. Setting it beside him, he opened the case up and began slowly assembling the pieces of a Mosin-Nagant. A Russian sniper rifle.

  He felt it was appropriate to use, all things considered. The weapon certainly wasn’t the best of sniper rifles—fuck, it wasn’t even the best in his collection. However … appropriate.

  Cross grabbed the magazine inside the case, and checked the number of bullets inside. He dumped out all but two back into the case. Even the best shooters in the world had to take a second shot sometimes, and he wouldn’t have time to take more than that after the first one.

  Clicking the magazine into place, Cross set the tri-pod of the gun just before the crest of the roof’s peak. Beneath the black wool mask covering all of his face except for his mouth and eyes, he felt invisible. A quick check of the houses around the one he was currently on top of told him that most of the residents were asleep at almost midnight.

  Across from him, two roads over, and a large hill upward, a single house sat on a property guarded by four men, and a six-foot high stone fence. About six hundred meters, he figured. Of course, he couldn’t get much closer than he had already been without possibly drawing attention from the Russian organization, or the man inside the house.

  Vlad Sokolov, that was.

  Cross’s hit.

  Rick had the man’s Sovietnik hit—a consigliere type situation, as far as Cross understood the guy’s title.

  A Donati Capo that Cross knew had one fucking hell of a shot due to his hunting skills had Vlad’s Obshchak to kill—an underboss, or something of the sort.

  He didn’t really fucking understand Russians. At this point, he figured he didn’t need to, and wasn’t about to start learning.

  However, what Cross did know was that the three men they were about to take out were the highest three in the Sokolov organization. It meant that every Russian who wielded some kind of power over the other Russians in the business were about to meet their maker.

  No boss would be there to answer to in the morning. Revenge would be the last thing on the Russians’ minds when something more important needed done—actually organizing an organization.

  As for Zeke?

  Cross smiled to himself as he shifted the gun in front of him, and looked through the night vision scope.

  Well, after Zeke’s work for five days straight to get every single piece of information he could that would be usable for them tonight, Cross let his friend take his pick.

  Zeke’s pick was Timur.

  Surprise, surprise.

  In both ears, buzzing began almost one after the other. Cross let go of the gun to press the Bluetooths’ on buttons. Instantly, he heard Rick’s voice in one ear, and the Capo—Jason—in his other.

  “You there, boss?”

  “In position,” Cross replied to Rick. “You two?”

  “I’m good,” Rick said.

  “Almost,” came Jason’s voice. Then, an oof noise before he muttered, “Fucking slippery ass roof, piece of shit.”

  Rick chuckled.

  Cross just rolled his eyes. “Who has Zeke on their end?”

  “Me,” Rick said. “He says he’s good.”

  “All right,” Jason grumbled. “Freezing my balls off on this roof, boss.”

  “You’ll be fine. Let’s not pretend like you don’t have a piece of pussy at home waiting to warm ‘em up,” Cross replied.

  “Yeah, well—”

  “We gonna shoot, or what?” Rick asked.

  “Relax, Rick. You fuck up your shot when you get too excited. Remember, always—”

  “Slow down your breathing, get your heart rate settled, and take the shot between beats.”

  So, maybe Cross had been training some of his guys on how to properly shoot a sniper rifle for a while. It was a good skill to have.

  Clearly.

  “In sights,” Rick said.

  That was Cross’s cue to look in his own scope, and find his target. Through the haze of greens and blacks, he zoomed in on a window on the third floor of Vlad Sokolov’s home. An office, he thought, when he had checked out the place in the daytime from afar.

  “Confirm with Zeke that the wife is out of town,” Cross said.

  He heard Rick pass the question along before a simple, “Yep.”

  A human-like green-shaped form passed the window. Cross adjusted his shot accordingly.

  “Likely in sight,” he said. “Jason?”

  “Working on it.”

  “Work faster.”

  A sigh echoed.

  “Jason, hang up from me and get Rick on your call.”

  One step at a time …

  “Got it, boss.”

  Jason’s call clicked off a second later, leaving him with only Rick.

  “Still think it’s a good idea to call him before you kill him?” Rick asked.

  “For one, I need to make sure my target is the right one. For two, if he’s distracted for a minute, he might stay the fuck put in front of that window if it is him.”

  “Yeah, all right. Point made.”

  Their targets were easier. Lazy fucks who sat in front of television screens most of their nights, and took phone calls. Vlad, not so much. Cross suspected that was why the man was a boss.

  Cross pulled his cell phone from his pants pocket without ever taking his eye away from the scope. The phones were all burners he and his guys had picked up the day before, and preprogrammed with numbers they needed. Like the guns they were using, the phones would also be crushed and gone before the night was out.

  Again, the form passed through his line of sights as he hit the number two button on his phone, and held it to automatically dial.

  He pushed the Bluetooth in his right ear on, shut the phone screen, and put it in his pocket as the phone call switched over to his ear. The desk was right in front of the window by the looks of the shapes in his scope.

  And apparently, so was the phone Vlad needed to pick up for Cross’s call.

  “In sight,” Cross murmured before Vlad picked up.

  Vlad greeted in one ear.

  Rick spoke in the other.

  “Zdravstvuj. Vlad here.”

  “Jason confirms in sight, boss.”

  Cross didn’t speak to Rick, only to Vlad. He did not want the boss to know what was happening only a few miles away at one of his man’s homes, and then further east another five miles, at his other man’s house.

  “Vlad,” Cross said.

  In his scope, he saw the green human form become a little straighter.

  “Donati, is that you, no?”

  “It is. I did not appreciate that mess in the park a week ago,” Cross said. “I’m sure you can understand why. See, now I have cops trying to question my three-year-old daughter.”

  “Lucky she’s alive to be questioned, boy. I ordered she be killed.”

  Rage slipped down Cross’s spine.

  Cold and unforgiving.

  He welcomed it.

  He knew it well.

  Take me back, old friend.

  “I did tell you a lesson was in order,” Vlad said a little too happily. �
��Your man is not the only one in the wrong, yes? You are, too.”

  Cross rolled his eyes upward, but went right back to his scope. “Well, that lesson failed.”

  “It’s fine, boy. I have others in the works.”

  He did not like the sound of that. Then again, Cross figured after tonight, the Sokolov organization would be in too much turmoil to worry about old plans and never-given orders from a dead boss.

  What would honestly be coming back to him?

  “What’s that old saying?” Cross asked.

  At the same time, Rick’s voice in his ear confirmed, “Jason took his shot. Hit, target down.”

  “What saying?” Vlad asked. “You Americans drive me insane with your isms.”

  “Mmm. Only because you don’t understand them, you piece of Russian shit.”

  “Now—”

  “Too little, too late,” Cross interjected, his gun adjusting and his finger wrapping the trigger. “That’s the saying. You waited too long to make a second move. Now, Vlad, it is too little, too late for you.”

  In his scope, he saw the form move.

  Likely to turn and face the window.

  At the same time, Rick said, “Shot taken. Hit, target down.”

  “I will ruin you, boy,” Vlad said into the phone, “never forget that it will be done.”

  Right.

  “Famous last words, asshole. Wave for me?”

  Deep breath in.

  Finger tight.

  Between the heartbeat.

  Cross took his shot.

  “Shot taken. Hit, target down.”

  Catherine paced the length of the hallway in the foyer of the brownstone. Another week or so, according to the contractor, and they would be back in their own home. Never again would a bullet be able to pass through their bottom level walls or windows. And apparently, Cross ordered special bulletproof glass for the upstairs windows, too.

  Honestly, that wasn’t what had Catherine pacing or still awake.

  The purr of a familiar engine outside the brownstone made her steps falter. She stilled, listening to make sure it was in fact who she thought it was. As the garage door lifted to let a vehicle into the underground parking, she let out a slow breath.

  Never did she think her husband could fail.

  Never did she distrust him.

  Never.