by Bethany-Kris
“I’m okay,” Cross kept saying over and over again.
Finally, his father asked, “Why are you still such a little shit? Why?”
Cross laughed.
His throat hurt like hell.
“Why did you make me this way?”
“Daddy gones!”
“No, Cece, Daddy is not—”
“Daddy gones!”
Catherine sighed, and scrubbed her hands down her face. If only she knew what to say to calm Cece down. She didn’t know anything. This tantrum was going on two hours. It didn’t seem like it was going to end.
“Ma, my daddy gones!”
“Cece, he is not gone.”
“Daddy gones!”
“Okay, that’s enough, Cece.”
Her daughter didn’t hear a thing. It wasn’t like Cece to have tantrums. She was spoiled, sure, and a little difficult at times. Outright tantrums was still a rarity, though. It was something she was usually grateful for. Didn’t they have enough to deal with?
Catherine had heard the car pull into the underground garage beneath the brownstone. The call from Zeke a couple of hours earlier to let her know they had landed at the private airstrip was a goddamn relief. She looked up to see Cross open the front door to the brownstone, and warily peek inside. He could probably hear the tantrum all the way outside.
She was the only one—down the hallway—to notice his arrival. Cece was far too busy with her fit. Catherine’s relief was sweet, but she couldn’t deny the annoyance bubbling up, either.
Later, she told herself. Deal with it later.
Cece, on the other hand, sat in a puddle of toddler tantrum. Her nightgown was twisted every which way. Wild waves of her hair flew all over the places—bits that weren’t already stuck to her face. She thrashed on the floor, all arms and legs, and anger.
“Cece, look who’s here, baby.”
“Daddy gones!”
Catherine’s gaze drifted upward, and she sent a silent prayer to the heavens. All over again, the tantrum started. Like somebody had hit Cece’s restart button, and she gained new energy to kick and hit the floor, all the while screaming her lungs out.
Maybe Cross wouldn’t have minded one more night in the woods after coming home to this …
Joking.
She was joking.
Mostly.
At the moment, if Catherine didn’t joke, she was going to scream. Mostly at her husband for scaring her half to death.
Zeke’s hand landed on Cross’s shoulder, and squeezed. Catherine could plainly see that Zeke was uncomfortable with the scene, and likely wanted to bolt as fast as he could out of the brownstone. He did not do well with angry children.
She figured life would settle that all out for him in time. Karma was good that way.
“You good?” Zeke asked quietly.
Catherine continued to try to soothe her daughter—failing miserably—while she listened to the men’s conversation down the hall.
“Yeah, sure.”
“Remember, you have to—”
“Stay low, keep my head down, don’t cause any problems, and make sure the attention stays away from us for a while. Don’t worry, I know.”
“Plus, sit down with Andino and explain you botched his gun run again.”
Cross scowled. “Yeah.”
“And Guzzi, too, because you know they probably had money already in the pot.”
“Yeah.”
Zeke nodded. “Should be fun.”
Right.
Fun.
“We’re good here,” Cross said.
Cross slapped his friend’s cheek gently, then cupped Zeke’s neck and drew him closer until the two were grinning at one another.
“Thanks for saving my ass again,” Cross told Zeke.
Zeke laughed. “I guess I owed you.”
The shouting picked up down the hall. Cece still hadn’t noticed her father was perfectly fine, and right there. Cross met Catherine’s gaze again, and she hoped he could see every little thing she was feeling in that moment. She wanted to both hug him and strangle him.
“All right, head out,” Cross told Zeke.
One last nod from Zeke, and he headed back out the front door without as much as a look over his shoulder.
“Daddy gones!”
Okay, that one damn near busted out her eardrums.
“Cecelia Catherine Donati. You stop that right now.”
Cross tried to keep his tone stern, but his words still came out raspy. Worry filled Catherine all over again as she looked her husband over. Wearing clothes that weren’t his, and exhaustion weighing heavily in his features, her heart plummeted. He had probably caught his ass some kind of pneumonia out in the woods.
He was home now, though.
They could deal with the rest.
Cece tensed up on the floor like someone had tossed a bucket of ice water over her. Catherine let out a loud sigh that felt loaded with relief as Cece rolled over. Her daughter’s face was a tear-stained mess. Fear and sadness stared back at Catherine as Cece looked between her mother and her father like she didn’t believe what she was seeing.
She blinked a couple times.
A few more tears fell.
She sniffled and hiccupped on little sobs.
Cross simply … waited her out.
“Daddy?” Cece asked, all three-years-old and hesitant as hell. “Daddy?”
He bent down to one knee, and waved his hands toward his daughter. “Come here, mia topina.”
It was a terrible nickname for her. Cross still used it even when Catherine pointed it out over and over again that nothing about Cece was quiet like a little mouse.
Cece pushed to her feet with a sob, and then flung herself down the hall. Cross caught her easily enough, and then picked her right up off the floor. All her tiny arms and legs wrapped around him while he held her close. Catherine had a feeling that Cece wasn’t going to let go of her father for a while.
Cross looked to Catherine in explanation. “What was this fit about?”
“She overheard a phone call,” Catherine said, coming closer. “She wouldn’t listen when I tried to explain you were safe and on your way home. She just heard me talking about you being gone, and I said something about not knowing when you were going to get back in. She just went with it. Here we are.”
“Did she sleep at all last night?”
Catherine shook her head. “Not a wink.”
Me, either.
She didn’t add that bit out loud.
It was only six in the morning. Catherine was seriously hoping that Cross could get Cece to sleep now that he was finally back home. She needed it, badly.
Catherine rubbed a hand up Cece’s trembling back while her other reached out to stroke Cross’s cheek. Her annoyance with him over everything wasn’t entirely gone, but her fear still simmered high enough for her to ignore it at the moment.
Cross seemed to read her mind.
He always did.
“I’m sorry,” he told her.
Catherine nodded. “Later, Cross. We’ll deal with it later.”
Cece’s arms tightened impossibly hard around Cross’s neck. Catherine wondered how he was even breathing like that.
“Loves my daddy, Daddy.”
God.
“Daddy loves you, Cece. Daddy will always, always love you.”
Cross stepped into the entryway of the kitchen just as Catherine’s mother finally picked up. She turned her back to her husband for the moment to focus on Catrina.
“Ciao.”
“Ma,” Catherine said, “I just wanted to let you and Daddy know that everything is good here.”
Catrina let out a quiet sigh. “He’s home, then?”
“Safe and sound.”
“For how long?”
“A couple of hours. We’ve been busy with Cece.”
Or rather, Cross was busy with Cece. Their daughter wouldn’t let her father out of her sight. She fought her very obvious exhaustion
with every ounce of effort she could put forth. She probably thought that if she closed her eyes, Cross was going to disappear on her again.
“I will let Dante know,” Catrina said.
“Thanks, Ma. Also, the Newport house is going to be finished in a couple of days.”
“And?”
Catherine hadn’t let her mother in on the little secret she now knew about Evira. She wanted to do that face to face. Honestly, Catherine wasn’t even all that angry about it now. Confused and a little frustrated, sure, but not angry.
She couldn’t be surprised. Not when Catrina had proven time and time again that she was more than willing to use unconventional methods to teach Catherine whatever she needed to learn.
Still, she had to talk to her mother about it.
Soon.
“I think we need to have a chat about some things,” Catherine said after a minute.
Catrina cleared her throat. “Anything in particular?”
“Not really.”
“It can’t wait?”
“It shouldn’t wait,” Catherine replied.
“Fine. Give me a call when you want me to come over.”
“Will do, Ma. Love you.”
“Always, reginella.”
Catrina hung up the phone, leaving Catherine to close one door on something causing her emotions to be in turmoil. Still, it left another door wide open.
Cross.
Catherine turned to face her husband. In the entryway, Cross leaned against the side with his arms folded over his naked chest. He still wore the jeans he had come home in, just not the shirt for some reason.
“Where’s your top?” she asked.
Cross chuckled dryly. “Cece took it.”
She lifted a brow.
He shrugged.
“Is she sleeping?”
“Finally,” he muttered.
Catherine nodded, and suddenly found she had to look anywhere but at her husband. All the emotions she had been suppressing from the moment she got that phone call from Zeke telling her Cross was fine came bubbling up like a tsunami.
“Catty?”
She kept her gaze firmly stuck on the phone she placed to the counter. “Yeah, Cross?”
“I’m sorry I scared you.”
She wet her lips. “Mmhmm.”
“This never should have happened.”
“Fair enough,” she agreed. “It did, though.”
“Just … won’t you look at me, Catherine?”
She did, but those damn sneaky tears of hers had started to gather in her eyes. She was trying as hard as she could to keep them from falling, and she failed terribly. Her eyes stung as the tears fell, and even more gathered. Her chest tightened fiercely as she sucked in a breath, while her fists balled at her sides.
“You know my heart is somewhere in California right now,” she told him.
Cross frowned. “I don’t—”
“Zeke called when I was still in Cali. I think my heart just … came right out of my fucking body in that hotel room. Gone. Poof, just like that. Maybe I can understand why Cece went into a full blown fit earlier like she did because I damn near did the same. I thought … oh, my God, I couldn’t breathe, and nothing was right. Nothing at all.”
“I’m sorry.”
“This scared the hell out of me, Cross.”
This situation.
Not him.
Catherine had faith in Cross. She always would. He never failed, and certainly not her. That didn’t mean every single fucking second hadn’t been some kind of terror for her from beginning to the bitter end. It had. Entirely.
He nodded. “It won’t happen again, Catherine. Next time—”
Her loud scoff stopped him from saying anything more.
“Next time?”
Cross stared at her, saying nothing.
Catherine shook her head wildly. “There won’t ever be a fucking next time, Cross.”
“Come on, now, babe. You have to consider things.”
“I don’t have to consider shit.”
Cross pushed away from the wall, and moved closer. Catherine held a hand up to make him at least keep some distance between them while they worked this nonsense out. She was not budging with him on this. He would have to deal with it.
“You do know what would have happened had they found you, right?” she asked.
Cross sucked air through his teeth, and looked away. “Of course I know, Catherine.”
“Yeah, prison. For life. Where the fuck would that leave Cece, the baby, and me, Cross? What would we have done with you locked up, huh?”
“That could happen from the business I do on a daily basis, Catherine!”
“Except it doesn’t happen at all because you’re not playing with the kind of fire you do every single time you make a gun run for Andino.”
He inched closer. “Babe—”
“No,” Catherine said, taking a step back until her side hit the kitchen island. “No, you need to stay over there, and I am going to stay here. We’re talking. We’re not hugging or kissing, or any of that other shit we should do because this is a big fucking deal to me, Cross.”
“I can’t just not run Andino’s guns, Catherine. I made a deal years ago. I intend to keep my end of the bargain for the sake of peace in this goddamn city.”
Cross wasn’t getting it. Then again, maybe Catherine wasn’t making much sense, either. Her emotions were high. She guessed his probably were, too.
A shit-show.
That’s what this was.
“Every run you make after this one is Russian Roulette,” Catherine pointed out. “Every single border is going to be looking for smugglers given what happened. I know how this works because you have told me. Tell me I’m wrong, Cross.”
“You’re not wrong.”
“Why would you risk that, then?”
Her shout echoed.
Cross didn’t even flinch.
“What choice do I have, Catherine? I made a deal.”
“Until you couldn’t. That was the deal, Cross. You would run his guns until you were no longer capable of running them. I would say now, you are in no way safely capable of running anyone’s guns.”
Cross stared hard at her.
Catherine still didn’t budge.
On this, she couldn’t.
It was more than him.
More than her.
It was the little girl sleeping upstairs that thought she had lost her father, and spent hours of her small life living in a kind of hell Catherine couldn’t save her from.
It was the unborn child she carried.
It was their whole life.
Cross broke their staring contest first by moving closer to her once more. Catherine held up a hand, shook her head, and moved past him.
“Catherine,” he said at her back.
“No.”
That was all she knew to say in that moment.
No.
Catherine sunk lower into the hot, bubbly water of the Jacuzzi bathtub. The jets were beating into a particularly hard knot of tension in her back. Likely caused by stress because apparently that was her fucking life now.
It was closing on noon, and Cece was still sleeping away. Catherine had considered waking the toddler up just to make sure she wouldn’t be awake all night, but she couldn’t bear to do it once she saw Cece sleeping. After the night her girl had, Cece deserved to do whatever in the hell she wanted.
So did Catherine.
Hence, the bath.
Sunlight filtered in through the high bathroom windows. Colorful streaks lit up the tiles on the floor and wall, putting her in a daze as she watched a bit of dust dance in the light.
Outside the bathroom, she heard Cross talking.
A one-sided conversation.
She shouldn’t eavesdrop, but since they hadn’t spoken a word in two hours, she kind of wanted to hear his voice. Their silence was her fault, too, so …
“Yeah, I thought a mediator would be good,” Cross
said.
Catherine waited to hear more, and wondered what in the hell her husband was talking about. Never mind to whom he was talking with at the moment.
She found that out in his next statement.
“Well, he respects you, Dante. That’s why.”
Catherine sat a little higher in the tub.
“Where is the choice in this?” Cross asked. A beat of silence passed, and then her husband added with a chuckle, “Exactly, there isn’t one. So you’ll do that for me?”
More silence.
By the sounds of the footsteps moving back and forth outside the bathroom door, Catherine assumed her husband was pacing. Something that was entirely unusual for him.
“Good. I appreciate it … Yeah, I will. Bye.”
Catherine sunk back into the water as Cross finished his conversation. Seconds later, a rap of knuckles hit the bathroom door gently. She eyed it, deciding whether or not she wanted him to come in.
“What?”
“I’m not conversing with a door between us, Catty.”
“I’m trying to relax, Cross.”
“Let me come in, and I’ll really give you a reason to relax, babe.”
She pressed her lips together to keep from smiling. His suggestive tone hid nothing.
“You’re kind of fucking terrible,” she said.
Cross made a dismissive sound in the back of his throat. “Not news.”
“Come in.”
Her husband didn’t need to be told again. He slipped into the bathroom, and closed the door without making a sound.
Cross didn’t bother to give Catherine a passing look as he slipped out of the clothes he wore. He ignored her quiet hey as he slid into the tub on the opposite side. The two person tub was more than big enough to hold both of them, but that didn’t mean she wanted him in there with her right then.
She was trying to stay mad, so he would bend to her wants.
Or … something like that.
She glared at him.
Halfheartedly, but still.
“I’m cold,” he said defensively.
“I bet.”
“I just spent forty-eight hours being perpetually wet and on my feet moving, Catherine. Knock off the attitude, and let me be warm for five minutes.”
She stopped glaring.
A little.
“I stand by what I said earlier,” she told him.