Parents fell in two categories where their marriage and sex life was concerned. They either learned to get creative and make time, or they dried up like an old well.
Given how busy their life was, Catherine had been terrified her and Cross would fall into the latter category after Cece’s birth. Clearly, the two of them were a lucky pair.
That, and they liked sex.
A lot.
Catherine’s fingers curved around the edge of the kitchen counter, while her body arched into the delicious sensation of Cross’s lips teasing at the column of her throat. Lower, she thought she heard herself say. Lower, lower, lower.
It was hard to tell.
They also learned to be quiet.
Cece wasn’t exactly a light sleeper, but still. She also tended to sleep in their damn bed, or she would just make her way there come morning.
Whether or not Catherine actually said the words didn’t seem to make much of a difference to her husband. He knew what she wanted. He always knew what she needed. He was the musician between the two of them, after all. She didn’t mind being another one of his instruments to play.
Especially not when he played her right.
Dark eyes flicked up to meet hers. His tongue traced a circle around her navel. He bared his teeth like the goddamn tease he was when he grinned.
Catherine let out a breath through her nose while she abused her lower lip with her teeth. What else could she do? At this point, it was Cross’s game. She was collateral damage.
It would still be all kinds of fun.
“Here?” he asked.
“You know damn well—”
Lower he went, kissing a spot over her pubic bone. “Here, babe?”
“Cross.”
Goddamn, she sounded whiney.
Well, she was.
Very.
Cross’s husky chuckles washed over her senses like a tidal wave of lust and want. He knew exactly what he was doing to her, and planned on continuing for as long as he could. Catherine had two problems with that.
One, they didn’t have time.
Soon, little feet would be pattering down the stairs.
Two, she didn’t have the patience.
Catherine knew exactly what would get Cross moving and out of his little teasing kick. She had been holding the info in her back pocket for a couple of weeks while they dealt with getting their home ready for Christmas.
“Cross?”
“Hmm?”
From between her legs, he looked up at her. His tongue teased at her inner thigh, while his fingertips ghosted along her sex.
“Did I tell you that I didn’t get my shot two weeks ago?”
Cross stilled, and his eyes darted away before jumping back to her. “The birth control, you mean?”
“Yeah, that one.”
“No, you didn’t fill me in,” he said, drawing the words out slowly. “Is that so?”
“Yep.”
“Why didn’t you tell me before this? I mean, I knew you were. I just expected you to let me know for sure.”
Catherine shrugged. “Busy, I guess?”
“Busy, right.”
A happy rumble colored his words.
Catherine grinned.
The cat got the canary.
“Anyway,” she said with an innocent smile and a bat of her lashes, “just thought you might want to know that.”
His fingertips dug into her inner thighs.
Catherine sighed, pleased.
“And how long before this break is over for the holidays and you head back to work?” he asked.
She pretended to think about it for a few seconds just to draw his pain out longer.
“Maybe a week into January, Cross.”
“Oh, that is plenty of time.”
“Is it?” she dared to ask.
“It is for me.”
That was all he said before his head was buried between her thighs. The air that rushed out of Catherine’s mouth came like a hard hiss. Shock and pleasure curled through her bloodstream at the same time, taking her under the blissful current. With every stroke of his tongue, and push of his fingers into her sex, she edged a little closer to the orgasm she had been waiting for all damn morning.
Cross’s hummed approval vibrated between her legs, and sent tugs of bliss pulling from her nerve endings. One of her hands tangled into his hair, while the other kept her steady holding onto the counter. She rocked into the talented, arrogant tongue of her husband.
He always ate her like a mad man finding his last meal. Deep strokes of his tongue, his mouth covering her sex while he sucked, and his teeth nipping against the most sensitive parts of her body. It drove her damn near insane.
Every time.
Never failed.
Almost, almost …
“Make me fucking come,” she breathed.
And then it was there.
Catherine saw stars.
She didn’t even get to finish coming before Cross had pulled her off the counter, bent her over, and buried his cock balls-deep into her from behind. Jesus, it was wonderful. He fucked her while she watched snow fall from the sky through their kitchen window. Twinkle lights, garland, holly, silver bows, and Christmas presents sat waiting.
Merry Christmas to them.
“Santa day! Santa day!”
Cece’s screeching chants echoed from the stairwell, down the hallway, and into the living room. The more she said it, the louder her words became.
This would be the first year Catherine thought her daughter actually understood the concept of Santa, presents, and Christmas. The years before, Cece hadn’t shown much interest. One or two presents would get opened, and then she would either play with the paper and boxes, or if they were lucky, one of the toys.
They ended up wrapping presents just to open them for their daughter. So yeah, Catherine was just as excited as Cece sounded. She simply hid her excitement better than her girl did.
Cross shot Catherine a sly grin from his spot on the couch. She had curled up on the window seat bench with an afghan blanket while they waited for their daughter to finally wake up and come downstairs.
Cece rounded the corner at the living room entryway, and her brown eyes grew impossibly wide at the sight that awaited her. Gifts piled high. A miniature Beamer in pink with a big black bow on it that ran on a twelve-volt battery. One of those precious American dolls, except it wasn’t a regular one from the store that anyone could buy. No, it was original, one designed by the company based on a picture of Cece that her parents had provided when they placed the order.
A massive doll house.
With all the necessities.
And so much more.
It was going to take Cece quite a while to get through it all. Catherine was quite aware that it was far, far too much. As it was, they were a bit too privileged in their lives, and some might even consider a Christmas morning like this for a three year old as excessive and spoiling her.
Catherine didn’t much care for those people or their opinions. This was her baby’s first year of being excited. They were damn well going to bask in it.
And maybe next year …
Maybe Cece would have her little brother to share it with, too.
“Oh, mah God,” Cece shouted. “Santa came!”
Cross let out a laugh that made Catherine smile. “What do you want to do first, bambina? Open some presents, or eat chocolate chip pancakes?”
Cece just stared between her father and the gifts. In her usual excited way, she danced on the spot in her pink, frilly nightgown.
“Which one?” Cross pressed.
Why did he even bother to ask?
They both knew what the kid was going to pick.
“Presents!”
See?
Twenty minutes later, and Cece was still tearing into gifts. Although, occasionally she took a break to drive her little Beamer around the hallways and honk at her father.
Cross snuck in beside Catherine on the window seat bench as Cece overlooked her three-foot high dollhouse. “We have gifts under there, too, babe.”
“Mmm, later.”
Once things calmed down, probably after church, family dinner, and Cece was in bed for the night. Then, they would open their gifts.
Christmas wasn’t so much about them anymore as it was their daughter. Catherine figured that was best gift of all, anyway.
“Well, do you mind opening one?” her husband asked.
Catherine eyed from the side. “What did you do?”
“It’s actually … a family piece.”
Her brow knotted together. “What?”
He pulled out a long white box from behind his back. The gift was only twelve-inches long, by an inch deep. It was topped with a small red bow, tied perfectly.
Cross flipped Catherine’s hand over, and placed the box in her palm. She carefully undid the satin bow, and flipped the top off. Inside, she found a rosary with shiny black beads covering the long rope, and a delicate, intricate silver cross dangling from the end.
Catherine pulled the piece out, and looked it over. She rolled the black beads between her thumbs, feeling both soothed and curious at the same time. She had a rosary—of course, being Catholic.
Except …
“A family piece?” she asked.
“My mother gave it to my father one Christmas,” he said, leaning in to kiss her cheek. He lingered there, and so did she, enjoying his closeness and voice in her ear. “He held onto it when he had his spell. We talked about that.”
“The amnesia, yeah.”
“He always had the rosary in his hand or pocket, so she thought it might help him remember.”
“So why do you have it?”
“Calisto said it was time to pass it on.” Cross’s fingers slid under her jaw, and he turned Catherine’s chin up so that he could stare at her. Softly, he kissed her mouth, making her forget all about their surroundings and the busy day that was about to follow. His distractions, and his love, never failed. “Merry Christmas, Catty.”
Catherine smiled against his mouth. “Merry Christmas, Cross.”
“Catherine, I would like to talk to you.”
The ball of tension in Catherine’s shoulders tightened more at her mother’s request. She could have just kept walking forward and acted as though she didn’t hear Catrina. Still, for all her anger that she had bottled up and shoved down over the last month about what had happened in Italy, this was her mother.
Catherine didn’t know how to be rude to her mother.
“I’ll take Cece in and grab our seats,” Cross told her.
She nodded, and he kissed her cheek. With a nod at Catrina behind her, Cross snatched Cece’s reaching hand inside his own, and the two walked through the massive Cathedral’s doors into the main church.
Turning, Catherine faced her mother.
“Merry Christmas,” her father said beside Catrina.
“Merry Christmas, Daddy.”
“How was Cece this morning?”
“Terribly excited and spoiled.”
Dante laughed and smiled wide. “I expected nothing less.”
“Would you mind?” Catrina asked him, nodding toward the doors.
“Of course not, Cat.” Dante gave Catrina a kiss to her knuckles, and then headed past his daughter. “Don’t take too long, you two. Mass is meant to start in ten minutes.”
Wonderful.
“This won’t take long at all,” Catrina said, looking Catherine over. “I like that dress.”
The deep purple designer number hugged Catherine’s curves, and flared wide at her knees. The matching hat and high heels complimented the dress. It was church appropriate, and she always had a thing for purple.
Like the royals do …
“Grazie, Ma. And you, too.”
Catrina’s red dress was similar in style to Catherine’s, but with a deeper plunge at the neck. Her mother always did know how to push her limits in church, and she had the body to do it. She supposed Catrina’s wavering relationship with God and the church certainly helped her along to rebel in the little ways that she could.
It was what it was.
“Straight to the point, then,” Catrina said. “You’ve been avoiding me, reginella.”
“Sure have.”
No point in lying.
Catherine no longer lied.
Not for anything or anyone.
“Why?”
“You know why, Ma.” Catherine crossed her arms, and quieted as a group of people passed them by. A couple nodded to her and Catrina. They were familiar faces at the parish, as their family had attended for decades and took up the first two pews all by themselves. Once the people were gone from view, and they were alone, she spoke again. “You know why, so let’s not pretend like I’m doing it for some secretive reason. You pulled a shitty stunt on me in Italy, Ma, and left me holding the ball for it afterward. I don’t appreciate that at all.”
“I explained to you—”
Catherine waved a hand, frustrated all over again. “Yeah, yeah. I need to learn how to handle these meetings on my own. I need to find my own supplier. Guess what, Ma? I haven’t even figured out yet how I’m going to explain to Andino or John that I’ve effectively screwed them out of the shipments they were expecting in January, never mind the supplier as a whole. You know what else I haven’t figured out? Where it’s going to come from now.”
“Lower your voice,” Catrina murmured.
“We could have done this at dinner.”
“No business on Sundays.”
Catherine rolled her eyes. “For them, maybe. Not for us.”
By them, she meant the made men in their family. The women—her and Catrina, were not the same. Business was done when it was done. It was that simple.
“You won’t even take my calls,” Catrina said, disappointment curving her lips downward. “I am your boss as much as your mother. Who do you think you are disrespecting me in such a way, Catherine? Had you been any other girl, I—”
“What, Ma, killed me?” Catherine scoffed. “Please, let’s not even play that game. You and I, we’re too alike and too damn close to be playing the hierarchy game. I don’t need to be reminded of your position. I am quite aware where you sit.”
“And yet, you disrespect it.”
“I do not!”
“You do. And good God, if you make me tell you to lower your voice once more time, I swear …”
Catherine blew out a hard breath, and refused to meet her mother’s gaze. Catrina had a point, but that didn’t mean Catherine needed or wanted to concede to it. Sometimes, people just needed space. Especially when it was someone like her and Catrina. They were too alike for their own good, and often butted heads because of it.
Surely, her mother could understand.
Apparently not.
“Fine,” her mother said sharply, “then if you for some reason believe that my position is unworthy of enough respect for you to even pick up a call from me for an entire month, then perhaps you need to learn what it’s like. Hmm? How does that sound, reginella?”
Catherine’s gaze darted to her mother. “I don’t understand.”
“There is only one queen in this business, Catherine. One queen at a time. And that is me. But since you seem to be determined to challenge me in every aspect of this business, especially the way I choose to train you, then you are more than welcome to act like you have the experience and position to do so, too.”
“What?”
Catrina tapped the side of her cheek with her fingertip, and smiled. “You’re a smart girl. I raised you, didn’t I? I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”
“Ma—”
“Chin up, Catherine, or the crown slips.”
Her mother walked on past without another word. Catherine was left staring at the cross above the entrance doors.
What just happened?
She didn’t think she would like whatever it was when she did figure it out.
Catherine rubbed at the knot of stress forming in the back of her neck as she listened to the girl on the phone rant down the house.
“Regina hasn’t answered Jones’ calls in days, Catherine.”
“Reginella,” she corrected Sage.
“Listen, I don’t mean to be rude,” Sage barked, “but I don’t give a shit if I am talking to the man on the moon right now, okay? I need my details for next month, and if Jones doesn’t have them to give to me, then I can’t work.”
Catherine blew out a slow breath, willing her irritation to calm.
She finally figured out what her mother meant.
She was right.
She didn’t like it at all.
“I get it, Sage,” Catherine finally said, eyeing Cross as he came into her office. He stayed back as she finished her conversation, but she could see the concern burning in his eyes. The phone calls hadn’t stopped. All the L.A. girls that Catrina controlled, and their handlers, were left hanging in the wind all of the sudden. “I will figure something out, but hold tight until then, got it?”
“Whatever. Just … ugh.”
Yeah.
Ugh was right.
Catherine hung up the phone without a goodbye. She put it on the hook, placed both hands to her desk, and stared out the window. Darkness had already fallen over their property, and with the backyard lights off, the trees naked without leaves, and the heavy snow blanketing the ground, it looked … desolate and sad.
Kind of like how she felt at that moment.
Very appropriate.
Silently, Cross came to Catherine’s side. His hand found the spot she had been rubbing at the back of her neck. Deft, strong fingers burrowed into the knot of stress, and worked it out while Catherine finally relaxed.
God, she loved this man.
He knew just what to do.
“Talk to me, babe.”
Catherine looked over at him and frowned. “Ma left her girls hanging. She won’t answer their calls. They have no mediator between them and their clients. Their handlers are also getting radio silence. That’s fifteen girls who have zero idea where they’re supposed to be going over the next few weeks or what clients they’re working.”
Cross made a noise in the back of his throat. “Yikes.”
“I didn’t realize this is what she meant last week at church.”
“What are you talking about?”
She waved his question off. Cross had enough of his own business to handle without worrying about hers, too.
“It’s nothing. I do need to get this figured out, though. I have all the access to Ma’s girls, their clients, numbers, and whatnot. Clearly, Ma wants me to contact her and likely get her duties shoveled onto the fifteen other girls I already have.”
Your mother has done this for years, she told herself calmly. She handled all these girls, the business, and the clients long before you ever stepped in. Pull yourself up off the floor and handle your fucking business, Catherine.
“You have the cocaine issue and a new supplier to figure out, too, Catty.”
Fuck my life.
“I know,” she murmured.
“I could—”
“No.”
Cross sighed. “Listen, babe. I know we don’t mingle business beyond the deal you had made with Giuseppe, but I could work on one thing—the cocaine issue, even—while you handle shit in L.A. It’s not a big deal.”
Except it was …
Because it was her business.
She simply delegated a contact and contract to the Three Families, nothing more. Allowing more meant opening up the possibility that the Three Families’ business might bleed its way into hers. It was a longshot possibility, but still one nonetheless.
One her mother had always made clear was absolutely not to happen, no matter what. Catherine wouldn’t let it happen, either.
“No,” she repeated with finality.
Cross didn’t push the issue further. Catherine knew he wouldn’t bring it up again, either. That was just how their marriage and business worked. He was good that way, and she appreciated it.
“I’m sorry,” Catherine said quietly.
Cross’s hands slid down to her waist, and he turned her to face him. Her back pressed into the desk as he leaned into her. Those soul-deep eyes of his bore into hers as she tipped her head back to catch his oncoming kiss.
Her breath faded.
Her heart raced.
Calm resounded.
“Don’t ever be sorry for doing you,” he told her.
Catherine smiled a little. “Yeah, I guess. But that’s not what I meant.”
He lifted a brow high. “Do tell.”
“I need to head out of state.”
“To L.A., right?”
He didn’t even sound surprised.
Disappointed, sure.
That kind of cut her deep, too.
“I can work better when I can actually speak to the girls. They’re going to need meetings, sit downs, some kind of explanation, and more. Reassurance, you know?”
Cross nodded. “Sure, babe.”
“And I need to make it clear who is in charge at the moment.”
His grin turned sinful. “Sometimes I do wish I could be a fly on the wall for that.”
“Mmhmm. I bet.”
“We’ll figure something out.”
“Except January is your busiest month,” Catherine pointed out. “And we already decided that I would have to be home for the majority of the month to handle Cece when she wasn’t with my parents, or yours, or at daycare.”
“Shit.”
“I know they’ll take her—Cal and Emma, or my mom and dad. I know they will, Cross, but I hate handing her off like that.”
“I know, babe. I can delegate some shit to Zeke or Rick.”
“Your gun run is coming up, too, in a couple of months. I know how you get the closer that comes, Cross. Your attention needs to be on details, and routes, and whatever else. You’re not really here.”
Cross did not look pleased. “Just get to your point, Catherine.”
“I’ll take her with me.”
“To Los Angeles.”
“Yeah.”
“For how long?”
He hated being away from their daughter. Catherine hated taking her away for long periods.
“A couple weeks.”
“But maybe more,” he pressed.
“Maybe.”
Cross clenched his jaw, but eventually nodded as he stepped away from Catherine at the same time. “Fine, take her. It’s the better option, anyway.”
“You’re not mad at me, are you?”
“Never, babe.”
So why did it feel like it?
“She’s precious.”
Catherine smiled at Meeka, one of her mother’s girls. She brought in decent money, but was edging closer to thirty-five than she wanted to admit. Usually, around that age, the woman opted to step back and start living a more normal, stable life.
She knew Catrina had been waiting for Meeka to bring it up.
“Ma, what’s that?” Cece asked.
Miguel was supposed to be keeping Cece entertained in the connecting room. He had once been Catherine’s handler—every girl had one to keep them safe and manage their business between Catrina, Catherine, and the client. Now, though, he was more like her right hand. She figured the only reason Cross never felt threatened or bothered by the guy was because Miguel had a wife, two kids, and thought of her as a little sister to annoy.
Any other man that came near Catherine was fair game to Cross, though.
Miguel tugged on Cece’s pigtail. “Come on, principessa. Let’s go get a Popsicle from the kitchen.”
“No.”
Her friend shot her a look, silently asking, What do you want me to do, reginella?
Catherine shrugged. “She’s fine.”
Meeka was the last girl Catherine had a private face to face meeting with for the day, anyway. All the others had been handled. Tomorrow, she would have a meeting with all of the girls together—hers and her mother’s.
The Four Seasons penthouse suite that her mother kept constantly booked provided them with more than enough space and privacy to work. Small blessings in the current chaos of Catherine’s life.
“What’s that mean?” Cece asked again.
“Precious?”
Her daughter nodded.
“It means you’re too sweet for words. An angel, even.”
Cece stared at her mother for a long while before her brown gaze darted to Meeka sitting across from Catherine. “No.”
Catherine pressed her lips together to keep from smiling or laughing.
Meeka just looked confused. “I can’t call you precious, Cece?”
“No,” her daughter said again.
“Be nice,” Catherine said.
“I says what I says, Ma.”
Catherine sighed, and stared up at the ceiling. Miguel didn’t need to try and convince Cece to go with him to get a Popsicle again because she headed into the connecting room all on her own.
“She’s just like her father,” Catherine told Meeka. “I seriously don’t think she can help it.”
Meeka snorted and grinned. “I bet.”
“Let’s get down to business, okay?”
“Absolutely, reginella.”
“I’m sure you have heard through the grapevine of girls that Catrina has dropped off the radar for a bit. Have you attempted to contact her, or your handler, for that matter?”
“A few times. I knew some of my upcoming dates and trips, but some of the details still needed finalized for one or two clients. We got no answer.”
“Yes, well, for this time, I’ll take the blame. From here on out, I’ll be the one handling your business and clients. Miguel is my go-between. Your handler has been notified of how he can get through to me should he need to, but he will mostly defer to Miguel. I’ve got all the upcoming trips, so within the next couple of days, those details you were waiting on will be finalized.”
“One already passed,” Meeka pointed out. “A client here in Cali. I didn’t even get his stuff, so how was I supposed to deliver it to him?”
Shit.
Catherine reached for the tablet on the side table, and clicked it on. Going into the safe-screen with documents, she punched in the password and brought up Meeka’s profile. The contacts, client list, and dates stared back at Catherine as she read through.
“I’m not seeing the one that was missed,” she told Meeka.
“It should be there.” Meeka pulled out her own phone, hit the screen a couple times, and turned it for Catherine to see. “There, see? Last week.”
“It’s not on mine.”
Or rather, her mother’s documents.
The only reason why Catrina would take a client off her calendar would be because he or she no longer wanted to use their services. That was a rarity. Clients preferred them because of their ability to deliver, be sweet, sexy, and pretty, and stay out of their public lives.
Beautiful ghosts, as her mother would say.
Those who could afford high-class, A-list drug dealers, those who could not afford a scandal in their lives, and those who simply wanted something of a higher caliber called them.
“I’ll figure this out,” Catherine told her, “and get back to you on it.”
“I’m not the first.” Meeka shrugged, and crossed her legs. “There’s a couple of girls whose handlers mentioned clients dropping off the radar. Or simply stating they had something better to work with.”
Catherine stiffened. “Like another dealer?”
“It happens.”
Yes, but Catrina should have let her know if they were dealing with a competitor.
Catherine added yet another issue to handle onto her list.
“Any mention of who the competition might be?” she asked.
Meeka shook her head, and flicked a dark brown curl over her shoulder. “Nope, but get ahold of the right clients. Give them something worth making them talk, and you might find out.”
Yes, more shit on her list to do.
Catherine never got a break.
“Did you have any questions about what’s going on from here on out, or whatever?”
“I’m good,” Meeka said. “Tell the regina I said hi, okay?”
“Will do.”
Once Meeka was gone from the hotel room, Catherine stood. She found Miguel and Cece in the kitchenette of the very expensive suite. Cece sat on the counter eating a Popsicle and bobbing and shaking along to the music Miguel was letting blast through his phone.
The massive, barrel-chested Latino danced along with her little girl like he was having the time of his life.
He probably was, knowing him.
“Did you know my mother was dealing with a competitor?” Catherine asked.
Miguel handed his phone over to Cece before turning to face her. “No, why?”
“Because she is. Someone has been stealing clients, it seems.”
“That’s an issue that needs handling, Catherine. The longer you allow it to go on, the more clients we lose, and possibly girls, too.”
No shit.
“Which issue do I deal with first, then?”
“Pardon?”
Catherine started ticking things off her growing list. “Lack of cocaine. No supplier. Catrina is MIA. My husband hasn’t gotten any time with my daughter in a week, never mind me. And now, some fucking idiot is stealing my business. Which do I deal with first?”
Miguel frowned. “I would say that you should ask your mother, but …”
“Yeah, exactly.”