“Okay, somebody needs to tell me what happened yesterday,” Catherine said.
She was getting really sick of being stared at as though she was diseased.
Liliana barely looked up from her phone. “You haven’t heard yet?”
“How can I hear anything? I’m the new school pariah, for Christ’s sake.”
That meant she wasn’t being talked to, but talked about. Her friends were keeping a distance—except her cousin—and everybody else kept staring and whispering while her back was turned.
“I guess Cross and Derik traded punches in the locker room at the pre-game practice yesterday,” Liliana said, offering the information as though it meant nothing.
“Maybe that’s why Derik wouldn’t answer my text last night.”
“Oh, and then after, Dina made a scene with Cross in front of the office while the team and her friends waited.”
“Why were they waiting there?”
Yes, Catherine, that is the most important thing in what she just told you.
Catherine ignored her inner voice.
“Probably to see if they were going to lose Cross as their quarterback—they did, by the way, and the game.”
Catherine didn’t care about the game, or the school’s loss. “That explains why she and her little band of merry bitches have been particularly awful to me today. What do you mean she made a scene with him?”
Liliana shrugged, still typing out messages on her phone. “I heard she yelled a lot, tried to hit him a few times, and that your name was mentioned. Someone said she called you a whore—Cross told her to shut up, or something like that.”
Well, the staring, whispering, and lack of friends was starting to make a lot more damn sense. Catherine didn’t understand why she had been the topic of conversation for anybody, though, but especially Dina and Cross.
“What was the fight between the guys about?” Catherine asked.
Liliana side-eyed Catherine. “Seriously?”
“I don’t know!”
“You, Catherine. They were fighting about you.”
“But … that doesn’t make any sense.”
They had no reason to fight about her.
Liliana shrugged. “Ask Derik or Cross, then. All I know from what was spread by some of the guys in the locker room was that Derik told Cross to back off, said something about you, and Cross kicked the shit out of him.”
Catherine cringed. “Yikes.”
“I don’t know. Derik should have known better, to be honest. Cross goes for the jugular in a fight. He’s out to win, and he’ll break his hands on somebody’s face as long as that means they’ll be staying down. Derik is an idiot.”
“What did he say about me—Derik, I mean?”
“That, I don’t know,” Liliana said. “But hey, maybe you could find out.”
“What?”
Her cousin pointed across the parking lot. A familiar silver Audi pulled into one of the few parking spots closest to the school’s entrance. Derik’s car.
Catherine didn’t even think about it; she pushed off the wall of stones, and headed in Derik’s direction. She made it to him just as he stepped out of the car. He barely passed her a glance as he slammed the door, but it was enough.
Black eyes.
Busted nose.
A fat lip.
Catherine didn’t know what Cross looked like, but she was willing to bet it wasn’t as bad as Derik.
“You got into a fight with Cross Donati?” Catherine asked.
“Yeah. Came to grab my shit for the week. Seven-day suspension.”
“Why would you get into a fight—”
“Because the guy doesn’t know how to back off on something that’s not his,” Derik muttered.
Catherine stiffened, remembering what her cousin told her. The fight in the locker room had been about her. “Wait, say that again.”
“I told him to back off. What part of that don’t you understand?”
“No, the other thing.” Catherine tipped her head to the side, adding, “Because I’m pretty sure I’m not anybody’s, Derik. And certainly not yours. You don’t get to stamp your fucking logo on me like I’m a product for you to brand and then go around making a scene about it.”
Derik nodded, scoffing. “Right, okay.”
“No, I’m serious. What exactly did you say that pissed Cross off enough to do this?” Catherine asked, waving a hand at his face. “Because I’m not with Cross, I’m not dating him, and the first time I’ve actually spoken to him in a year was yesterday morning when I was running late for homeroom. So if he felt the need to break his fists on your face, there must have been a reason. What was it?”
The guy wouldn’t look at her.
Catherine took that as a bad sign.
“Well?” she demanded again.
“You know what,” Derik said with a shrug, “you’re not even worth it, Catherine. Not the effort or the trouble. Maybe if you were putting out, then I might give a shit. But not like this, and not like you are.”
Catherine managed to fold her arms over her chest instead of slapping Derik across his stupid mouth. “Is that so?”
“Yeah, it is.”
“Great, thanks for letting me know that now. Go fuck yourself, Derik.”
“Give me a few days to fix this,” he said with a smirk and a gesture to his face, “and I’ll certainly be fucking someone. It just won’t be you.”
Catherine smiled sweetly. It was something she learned from her mother.
Smile before you gut them; they never see you coming. And go for the throat. Every time.
“But that wasn’t by your choice, was it?” Catherine asked, sickeningly saccharine. “Remember that, Derik.”
Red filled his cheeks—a sure sign of humiliation.
Catherine smiled once more, knowing she had won, and walked away.
Fuck him.
She belonged to no one.
“I’ve got to head out,” Michel said down the hall.
Catherine poked her head out of the bedroom doorway. She could see her brother standing just outside of their parents’ office. Catrina and Dante had been going over some sort of bid for an industrial building her father wanted to renovate into rental office space.
“The party in Brooklyn?” their father asked.
Michel nodded. “Some Academy seniors are throwing it. I got a call from Andino when he showed up—might as well make my way over.”
“Be careful,” Catrina said.
“I got to go, Ma.”
“Go, then.”
“Can I go?” Catherine asked from down the hall. “If it’s Academy kids, can I go, too?”
Michel stiffened, and his gaze darted down to Catherine’s spot, and then back inside the office to where their parents were. “Uh … I don’t think that’s a good idea, Catherine.”
“If you’re going, how come I can’t go?”
Their father and mother appeared out in the hallway, both staring down at Catherine.
“I want to go to a party,” she said. “Why can he go, but I can’t go? He’ll be there, right? How much trouble can I get in with him there?”
“Because I’m not going to party,” Michel said slowly.
Catherine didn’t know why her brother was going, but she also didn’t care. “Can I go?”
Her parents were not exactly strict on things like parties or going out with friends. Or rather, they had gotten less strict about it over the year. She didn’t understand what the problem was.
“It’s the weekend,” Catherine pointed out, “and I don’t have any homework. I’m not in trouble, and Michel is going to be there. Why can’t I go?”
“Listen, I’ll take her,” Michel told their parents, “but I’m going to be kind of busy while I’m there, that’s all.”
Catherine could plainly see the silent conversation happening between her parents, but she already knew their answer before her father even spoke.
“No drinking,” Dante warned.
“Or anything else,” Catrina added.
“And you check in with me on everything,” Michel said as he passed her by in the hall.
Catherine darted out of her bedroom after her brother. “I will, I promise.”
“Keep an eye on her, Michel!”
Her brother answered their mother’s yell with a single wave of his hand over his shoulder. Catherine was just happy to be doing something, instead of sitting alone in her room.
“Why are you going to the party if you don’t want to … well, party?” Catherine asked as they went down the stairs to the bottom level.
Michel didn’t slow in his stroll, simply opened the messenger bag he had slung over his shoulder. Catherine got a quick look at the contents inside before her brother closed the bag back up like nothing had happened.
Drugs.
Lots of them.
Mostly powder and tablets, though. “There’s a demand,” Michel said, “and I don’t mind supplying when I can.”
Catherine shrugged on a wrap sweater at the door. “But … since when?”
“Eighth grade or so.”
“What?”
Her brother was not exactly the type to deal drugs. Sure, their parents did their things—a whole lot of bad things—but Michel had always seemed very straight and narrow. He studied hard, worked harder, and had a clear path set out for what he wanted to do with his life.
Catherine remembered once, when she was new to the Academy, she had gone looking for her brother when he wasn’t waiting in the parking lot after school for her. She was still in the lower, while he was in the upper. She found him outside the locker room, bag open, money being exchanged between him and other students. She hadn’t seen what he was selling at the time, and someone shoved the little lower Academy girl away and out of their space before Catherine could ask her brother. She forgot about it by the time he found her in the parking lot.
She hadn’t thought drugs.
Not then.
Or maybe she was just naive.
Michel laughed. “Jesus, pull your head out of the sand, Catherine. We all get our kicks somewhere, and I happened to be pretty good at this when John needed a hand.”
“So you’re just going to the party to deal?”
“Supply and demand, little sister. I do like money. People, not so much.”
“Huh.”
“And don’t drink out of a cup you don’t pour yourself,” Michel warned as they walked out the door.
Noted.
Catherine was starting to regret wanting to go with Michel to the house party. Apparently, being the school’s pariah for a whole week also extended to outside of school.
Usually, she liked the atmosphere of house parties, especially ones thrown by Academy kids. She didn’t partake in the same shit they did with drinking or getting high, but she still enjoyed going. They were always big enough for her to get lost in a sea of people, but it seemed like no matter how hard she tried, Catherine couldn’t exactly disappear.
People stared.
They talked.
She could still hear them, even when they whispered.
Catherine pushed through a crowd of kids in the large kitchen, and headed through the maze of halls she had just come from. She wanted to find her brother, and see how much longer he planned to stay. When they first arrived, Michel headed into the house with another warning for her to check in, be safe, and stay sober.
Another trip through the massive house, and Catherine still couldn’t find Michel.
Shit.
She ended up settling into a corner of a sitting room, and trying to avoid drawing more attention to herself. It was just easier this way than glaring at every single person she walked by.
It was only the buzzing of her phone in her pocket of her jeans that brought Catherine out of her thoughts. She pulled the phone out, and glanced at the screen.
Busy?
Catherine’s brow furrowed.
She didn’t recognize the number at all.
She quickly typed back, No, and who is this?
Bored?
Who is this?
You don’t look around much, the next text read, and you’re not smiling.
Catherine tried not to make it obvious that she was peering around the crowd of drunk—or high—kids. There were too many people for her to really see anyone that might stick out to her, so she just went back to her phone.
Tell me who this is, Catherine texted.
Straight ahead, all the way across the room.
Catherine finally found her unknown messenger, although he wasn’t all that unknown. Cross stood exactly where he said he would be when Catherine looked for him. He leaned against the far wall—alone, like her—with one of his Doc Martens propped up so that his knee was bent. In dark wash jeans, a white T-shirt, and a leather jacket, he radiated a cool, unbothered, and sexy demeanor.
And yet, he didn’t have company.
He didn’t particularly look like he wanted any, either.
Cross flashed her a wink, and waved his phone. She only shook her head and smiled back. Catherine went back to her phone, since he seemed comfortable being on the other side of the room.
No friends?
Cross’s reply came a few seconds later: Friends are more trouble than they’re worth lately.
Catherine frowned. That’s not nice.
Where’s your friends?
Good point, she texted back.
No Derik tonight?
Catherine peered up under her lashes again, and now that she knew where Cross was, she picked him out easily. One could not tell the tone of a text, but for some reason, she felt the need to see Cross’s face after reading those three simple words he had posed to her.
His face was blank, sure, but his dark eyes were burrowing straight into her. He was good at a lot of things, she thought, but hiding his intentions when he was looking at someone was not one of them.
Cross did not like Derik.
Or he did not like the idea of Catherine being with Derik.
Either way, she figured it worked out to the same thing in the end. Cross was jealous. Unsurprisingly, that look fit him just as well as any other he wore.
She didn’t quite understand why she liked the way it made her feel.
Catherine went back to her phone. No Derik ever.
Let him make of that what he wanted.
After thirty seconds of waiting for a response, Catherine looked up to find Cross had closed the space between them, and then he leaned a shoulder against the wall. Staring down at her, he folded his arms over his chest, reminding Catherine all over again just how well a bit of time had treated Cross.
“Heard you got into a fight with Derik,” she said.
“Oh, did you?”
“Something about me, apparently.”
“Something like that,” he agreed.
Catherine eyed Cross from the side. “What did he say that pissed you off so much?”
“Nothing worth repeating.”
“But something.”
“Something worth getting his mouth busted for.”
“As sweet as it is to think you might have been defending my honor or something, you didn’t need to do that, Cross.”
“That is a sweet thought. Keep thinking it.”
Catherine shook her head. “You do realize the whole school is on your girlfriend’s side in whatever happened, and hate me.”
“Not my girlfriend, and worry less about what people think, Catherine.”
“Easier said than done.”
A comfortable silence filled the small bit of space between them. Catherine didn’t mind, and with Cross’s gaze surveying the people, she had all the time in the world to appreciate the lines on his handsome face.
Then again, looking at Cross for too long seemed to be bad for her insides. It did all kind of strange and terrible things—things she liked far too much.
“Let’s get out of here,” Cross murmured.
Catherine sighed. “Not sure that’s a good idea.”
Because the more he talked, the harder the invisible butterflies beat inside her stomach.
“Besides, where in the hell are we going to go?”
“I’ve got a new Range Rover and a nice set of keys to match,” Cross said.
She frowned. “You have your license already?”
Cross shrugged. “I’m almost finished with my hours and can take my road test, but for now … I’ve got a license that looks real enough to get me by.”
Jesus.
Catherine could only laugh. “That’s … wow.”
“The Range Rover was supposed to entice me to get in my driving hours. It certainly enticed me to do something.”
“How are you not locked in your room, grounded for life?” she asked.
Cross grinned wickedly. “Mostly, I do what I want, but sometimes, what they don’t know won’t hurt them.”
She could relate to that.
Far too well.
“So, you coming?” he asked.
Catherine drummed her fingers against the wall behind her. “There’s no reason for us to hang out, Cross.”
Except she wanted to.
Badly.
She just didn’t want to get herself mixed up in his brand of trouble, even if every part of her thought it would be all kinds of fun.
“I think there’s lots of reasons,” he replied, “starting with a conversation about why you broke my fucking heart.”
Catherine stiffened. “That was over a year ago.”
“So? Considering I kicked a guy’s ass for you, got a nice public shaming from Dina, and I still think it was worth it, you owe me a conversation. At the very least, Catherine.”
“A lot has changed. We’re not the same, Cross.”
Cross looked down at her, unflinching, gorgeous, and oh, so damn familiar. “I think a lot might have stayed the same, too.”
“You know, people are going to see us leaving together, and that’s only going to make things worse at school.”
“You’re under some kind of impression that I give a shit what people think—I don’t. Are you coming, or not?”
God.
Catherine quickly found she was not good at telling Cross no, mostly because she didn’t want to refuse him at all. She understood all too well what he meant about her breaking his heart, because in the process way back then, she’d broken her own heart, too. He probably didn’t know it, though.
“A Range Rover, you said?” she asked.
“All white,” he confirmed, “and black on black rims.”
“Let me find my brother first.”
Cross pointed to a large set of patio windows. “He’s dealing on the back deck.”
Well, that made things faster.
“And I’ll be outside,” Cross added.
Catherine quickly found her brother sitting on the railing. A lit cigarette dangled out of the corner of Michel’s mouth as he chatted with a guy Catherine didn’t recognize. He was too old to be in high school, she thought, yet he was at a party thrown by school-age kids.
Michel and the guy quieted as Catherine approached. “You better not want to leave yet because I’m still busy, Catherine.”
“Yeah, I can see how busy you are.”
“Everything good?”
Catherine nodded. “I guess.”
“What do you need, then?”
She peeked over her shoulder, but Cross was already gone out of sight. “Would you mind if I left for a bit? I’ll be back before you’re done, I promise.”
Michel landed to his feet on the deck. “Go where?”
“Not sure.”
“With who, exactly?”
“Cross Donati,” she said.
“Since when did you start dating him again?”
Catherine rolled her eyes. “I’m not.”
“Although, I bet your dad would like that,” the unknown guy said.
Michel waved a hand. “Shut up, Charlie.”
“I’m just sayin’.”
“I told Ma and Dad I was bringing you here,” Michel said pointedly, “but not here for you to go somewhere else, Catherine. And you don’t have an enforcer to trail behind you tonight.”
“So don’t tell them. It’ll be fine—it’s just Cross, and they know him. I’ll be back before you’re done, like I said.”
Michel’s lips flattened into a grim line. “What if I said no?”
“Honestly, I’d probably go anyway. But you said check in, so I’m doing that before I do something else.”
“Yeah, I figured. Be back here before twelve,” Michel said. “Got it?”
It was only nine.
“Got it,” Catherine confirmed, already turning away.
“And tell the Donati principe to keep his fucking hands to himself,” Charlie called after her.
Catherine froze on the spot, unsure if she had heard the guy right. “What did you just say?”
Charlie smirked. “You heard me.”
Michel flipped his friend off, and then pointed down the deck. “Go somewhere for a bit, huh? Jesus, learn to shut your mouth.”
The guy stalked off, but Catherine didn’t move an inch.
Principe, he’d said.
Catherine heard it loud and clear, and she knew what that title meant. It meant the same thing when her very Italian, very criminal family called their children—her included—a principessa or principe.
Princess.
Prince.
A principe or principessa della mafia.
Catherine distinctly remembered when she first met Cross, his surname had been familiar to her. She recognized it as Italian, sure, but that didn’t automatically label someone like her. A surname didn’t make them affiliated—it didn’t mean they came from the same world and life she did.
“Michel?” Catherine asked.
“What?”
“Is the Donati family like ours? You know, like how we are?”
Michel raised a brow. “Damn near the same. Why?”
“I didn’t know that.”
“Now you do, I guess. Does it make a difference?”
Not really.
A lot of things about Cross made much more sense, now. Catherine didn’t wonder why Cross had never told her, either. He was like she was—he would have been raised like she was. There were expectations and boundaries set out for her that outsiders would never experience for her family’s safety and privacy.
You didn’t talk about the family.
You didn’t talk about business.
Not to anyone.
It was a rule.
“Be back before twelve,” Michel reminded her.
Catherine was already walking away.