Cross was already standing when Vlad Sokolov and his men entered the quiet restaurant. He stood to greet the Russian boss only because he figured the man had enough to be offended about without adding an Italian Don’s theatrics to the situation. Besides, Cross might be a boss, but he was not this man’s boss. He could not expect Vlad to show him any sort of respect by way of their traditions.
Each step Vlad took echoed in the mostly empty space. Cross had made sure the place was cleared of patrons for the day, to give them a bit of privacy. The small staff on hand had been told to stay scarce unless called for. He was sure they would appreciate the bonus on their check for this.
Only half of Cross’s attention was on this meeting, and that was his own fault. A week after realizing his wife was pregnant, and he figured his distraction was … well, appropriate, considering everything. Still, he shook off the thoughts keeping his attention split, and focused on the meeting at hand.
Two men flanked the Russian boss. Both were large in stature, expressionless, and dressed entirely in black. Neither of the two graced Cross with their attention, but Vlad didn’t once take his gaze away as he closed the space between them.
Cross didn’t bother to offer his hand to shake, instead waving at the open seats at the table. “Care to sit, Vlad?”
“Nyet.”
He was quite sure that meant no.
Cross ignored the unsettling sensation weighing heavily in his gut. Flanking him, Rick and Zeke cleared their throats as the silence stretched on.
“Where is my man’s daughter, boy?”
The thinly veiled insult was easy to brush off. In fact, Cross barely acknowledged the man had said anything at all. It was far too common for men in their kind of business to see younger men as children compared to them. Vlad looked as though he had a good twenty years on Cross, or more.
“I believe Katya is at home,” Cross lied.
Katya was nowhere near Zeke’s home at the moment. Her safety needed to be taken into account, and it would be dumb to leave her alone at a spot that was well known as Zeke’s private residence. Even leaving her with an enforcer was stupid.
“Home,” Vlad said, as though he could taste the word in his mouth. “Not her father’s home, no?”
“I meant her home.”
Vlad’s blank expression cracked with anger, darkening his weathered features. “It is true, then. The suka married the prick. I told her father that she was a whore.”
Zeke moved forward, but Cross saw his friend’s action coming. He held up a single hand, stopping Zeke from coming any further, or from speaking up.
It didn’t seem to matter.
He had gained attention.
Vlad’s gaze shifted slightly from Cross, to Zeke. “This is him, yes? Zeke. Stupid name for a stupid boy.”
Jesus.
Apparently, Cross should have just went all out with his own theatrics anyway. The risk of offense be damned. After all, Vlad had zero issue with poking at them with insults. He had anticipated this meeting would go one way, but he hoped for too damn much.
Clearly.
“Pay no attention to my men,” Cross said. “They didn’t ask you here to talk, Vlad. I did.”
Vlad’s gaze cut back to him instantly. “I will give you a piece of advice, Cross Donati. It would be wise for you to heed it.”
“I didn’t ask for advice. I asked for a meet to chat about—”
“Too bad. I will give it. You should not protect men who break the rules of our life. It puts a target on your back, boy, as I am sure you know.”
Cross refused to respond.
He already knew this.
What was done, was done.
“I want what is mine,” said one of the men behind Vlad.
One of the two dressed all in black. The taller, bigger of the two. His gray eyes held no emotion. Possibly, no life at all beyond a beating heart.
Vlad held up a hand, quieting his man. “In a moment, Timur.”
“He’ll get nothing, and certainly not Katya. You’ll have to put me in the ground first. I promise you that.”
Zeke’s fast reply came before Cross could stop it.
Timur bared his teeth, and stepped closer, although he never passed his boss. “She does not belong to you. She was promised for me, you foolish Italian.”
“She’s not property!”
“Her father says differently,” Timur spat. “I’m going to enjoy breaking her in again. Did she tell you about what happened before I went in the pen? I bet she did.”
Zeke came forward, and Cross barely had time to stop his friend from causing a bigger problem than they could currently handle. He grabbed the back of Zeke’s jacket and pulled him back, uncaring that his friend stumbled from the force.
“I’ll fucking kill you,” Zeke snarled.
“Ask her what my cock tastes like after it’s been shoved up her—”
“You’re dead.”
“Rick, take him out of here,” Cross told his underboss.
Zeke hurled another insult—this time cursed, and in Italian—at a smirking Timur. Cross didn’t even think his friend realized it, but the Russian was only trying to rattle him. He had succeeded, too.
Rick bear-hugged a still struggling Zeke. His wary gaze drifted to his boss, and Cross nodded. Instead of taking Zeke through the front, Rick headed for the back of the restaurant. All the while, Timur kept up his taunting, and Zeke threw promises of violence back at the Russian.
This was not going well.
Cross hadn’t exactly expected it to.
Finally, Vlad spoke again. The first time since the entire interaction between Zeke and Timur began.
“Your man is weak in his emotions,” Vlad said. “Easily provoked, no?”
“Considering his situation, I don’t think he’s out of line, actually.”
Vlad raised his eyebrow, and made a dismissive noise in the back of his throat. “Say what you will, then.”
“I thought we could work something out instead of … this.”
A dry chuckle escaped Vlad.
“You thought wrong, boy.”
Cross did bristle at the insult that time. “So you’re entirely unwilling—”
“Katya Popov is to be returned to her father, or Timur. You have two weeks. Nothing more, nothing less. If you don’t return her, then I will begin extracting her.”
“Puzza,” Cross corrected. “Her name is Katya Puzza. She is the wife of my man. She no longer belongs to anyone except herself, and her husband. Take that as you may, Vlad.”
“I take that as an act of war,” Vlad murmured.
So be it.
“To be clear,” Cross said, picking his jacket up from the back of the chair, “this place is entirely surrounded by my people. Please, don’t get any bright ideas. I intend to leave here in one piece, as I am sure you do as well. Allow me to do that, and you will also get the same treatment.”
“I have men who tagged along as well.”
“Good. Seems we both expected this to end a certain way. Shame.”
“Only because you will not hand over our property.”
Cross sighed, and shrugged his jacket on. “She is a woman, not property.”
“You will do this, yes?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Protect your man, no matter the cost,” Vlad clarified. “You will do this for him.”
Cross nodded. “Yes, I will.”
“Then it is you who is giving him the power, Donati. You are in need of the lesson, no? Two weeks; return the girl.”
Cross smirked, and strolled past the Russian boss and his men. He was not about to show his concerns to these men. He certainly wasn’t afraid of them, but rather, annoyed.
They were like flies—buzzing and irritating.
Eventually, they would die off like all flies did.
“Two weeks,” the Russian called after Cross, “otherwise, I will ruin you and your family for this.”
“You can try, Vlad.”
Once a month, Cross and Catherine liked to gather with their parents for a dinner. Life was so busy that it often kept them apart due to circumstance. Because of that, Dante and Calisto had one day decided that they would plan a dinner, and Cross and Catherine had to show up.
No matter what.
That tradition stuck.
Usually, Cross was grateful for it. A couple of hours where he could spend time with his parents, in-laws, wife and daughter. No famiglia, no business, and no heavy expectations.
Today, he was too distracted.
“Happy Valentine’s Day,” his mother said, dropping a kiss to his cheek as she sat a plate in front of him on the table. “What are you and Catherine doing after?”
“Or have you already done something for the occasion?” his father asked from across the table.
Catherine smiled beside him. “I woke up to nice things on the table.”
“Like what?” Dante pressed.
His wife started ticking the gifts off on her fingers. “Roses. Those French chocolates I like. A new diamond choker. Heels.”
Cross chuckled at the way his wife stressed her new shoes. “That was your favorite bit, wasn’t it?”
Catherine shrugged. “I’m a shoe whore.”
“You get that from your mother,” Dante said.
Catrina nodded, but said nothing. She picked up her wine glass and took a drink instead. As far as Cross understood, tension was still thick between Catherine and her mother. He was still keeping a distance, and letting his wife figure her business out.
It was not for him to play in.
At all.
“Me, too!” Cece said, darting out from under the table where she had been playing. “I has gifts today!”
Wide smiles all turned on his daughter.
“Oh, what were your gifts?” Catrina asked.
Cece crawled into Cross’s lap, put her tiny hands to the table, and leaned forward as she spoke. “Like Ma’s.”
“All her chocolates are gone, though,” Catherine said, side-eyeing their daughter. “Can’t you tell?”
“That does explain the energy,” Calisto noted.
Cross laughed, and let his fingers drift through the soft waves of his daughter’s hair. Cece preened over her shoulder at him.
“Oh, and a brudder,” she said out of the blue. “I gots a brudder, too.”
Catherine froze in her seat beside Cross.
He, too, didn’t move an inch.
“Cece,” he said quietly, setting his girl in the seat beside him, “we talked about this, didn’t we?”
Cece smacked her little palms over her mouth, and her brown eyes widened in innocence. Her next words came out muffled by her hands. “Oh, I not tell, Daddy. Sorry.”
Cross shot Catherine a look, and she only frowned back at him. Apparently, his wife had been right when she told him not to tell their daughter about the pregnancy. Cece wasn’t very good at keeping secrets, but Cross felt if he told her she wasn’t allowed to tell then she wouldn’t say a word.
He had been wrong.
The table turned deathly silent.
Catherine let out an awkward laugh. “Can we just ignore the toddler at the table?”
“Not likely,” Emma said.
Cross cleared his throat, and avoided looking at his wife again. He had no doubt Catherine was cursing him to the heavens at the moment. She fully believed in waiting until the first trimester had passed before announcing a pregnancy, only because should something happen, it gave them the option to deal with it privately.
Right then, Catherine was only seven weeks along or so.
“When are you due?” Catherine’s mother asked.
Catherine sighed. “September thirtieth.”
Another beat of silence passed over the table before congratulations and cheers lit up the space. Cross peeked at his wife, and gave her a small smile. She shrugged a little, and reached over to pat his cheek.
“You were right,” he told her. “She has no concept of secrets or privacy. My bad. Lesson learned, Catty.”
“I am always right, Cross.”
Cece smiled brightly as her grandparents turned on her with their questions and excitement. Their angel loved being the center of attention, and apparently even more so now that it dealt with her getting a sibling.
“Yes, a brudder,” she told Calisto, nodding enthusiastically.
“You don’t know that,” Cross told her. “We don’t know that. It could be a little sister, Cece.”
“I says a brudder!”
Cross shook his head, and ignored the laugher rumbling down the table. Under the table, Catherine’s hand found his thigh, and squeezed. He snuck his hand around hers, and intertwined their fingers.
Life still wasn’t slowing down for them.
If anything, it had just picked up.
Cross felt the weight of the world come and sit down on his shoulders in that moment. He was always asking for life to slow down so that he could enjoy his family a little more. The problem was, he had put into motion something that could very well take away everything that mattered the most to him.
The Russians.
The meeting a week before still weighed heavily in his mind. It was every reason for his distraction lately. It wouldn’t leave. A bad taste lingered in his mouth. He hoped this was the right choice, and that his family wouldn’t be punished for it.
But was it?
Cross carefully pulled the afghan blanket over Cece’s sleeping form. The dinner had gone on longer than they expected, and Cece ended up falling asleep sometime between cheesecake and talk of an upcoming birthday for someone.
Once he was sure his girl was going to stay sleeping on the couch, he headed back the way he had come. To the dining room. He found it empty, but the echoing voices took him to the kitchen.
There, he found Catherine, Emma, and Catrina cleaning up the mess from the dinner. A perfectly fine dishwasher sat there, ready to be used, but the women opted to wash the dishes by hand. They always did that. He never understood why.
For a moment, he stayed and listened to their conversation.
Safe conversation, he noticed.
“Have you thought of any names?” Emma asked.
“Bit early for that,” Catherine said, “but I think Cross is set on a name for a boy.”
“Something like you did for Cece’s names?” Catrina asked.
Catherine nodded. “Something like that, yeah.”
It might have been safe conversation, but it was still conversation. Cross thanked God for small miracles. His wife was actually talking to her mother. After months of radio silence, avoiding, and silent stewing.
Sure, they played nice during family gatherings, but they still hadn’t actually talked.
Cross hoped this safe conversation would lead Catherine and Catrina into a chat about something else. Mostly, business. He figured Catherine was ready to woman up for stepping out of line with her mother, apologize, and get some real insight about where the hell she needed to go next regarding her issues.
Again, one could only hope.
Seemed he was doing that a lot lately.
“Where did Calisto and Dante go?” Cross asked, finally making his presence known.
None of the women turned around at his question.
His mother was the one to answer. “Upstairs. Dante’s office.”
All right.
He headed that way, seeing as how his presence wasn’t needed in the kitchen. He barely stepped foot inside Dante’s office, and already, his father had a glass of twenty-year-old bourbon ready for him.
Sipping from the drink, Cross let the nutty, spicy flavors wash over his palate as he took a seat next to his father. Across from them, Dante sat behind his desk.
“How’s it going downstairs?” Dante asked.
Cross shrugged. “Catherine is actually talking to her mother. Mostly safe conversation. I think it’s because Ma is down there. Not going to complain, though.”
“Good.”
“Something going on there?” Calisto asked.
Dante waved it off. “Stubborn women who are too alike for their own good.”
Cross pointed at his father-in-law. “Mostly true.”
“And Catrina is doing her thing again. Lessons, apparently.”
Calisto made a harsh noise in the back of his throat. “It’s not like being a made man, I suppose.”
“Not at all,” Cross agreed.
Dante’s gaze turned on Cross as he said, “I heard you’re having trouble with a man of yours, and some Russians.”
Cross scowled at his father, knowing that was likely where Dante learned that information.
Calisto wouldn’t meet his gaze. “Second and third opinions are good to hear.”
“Yes, but I don’t want this information getting out more than it already is. I am trying to handle it. I haven’t even brought it up to the rest of the Donati men yet, Papa.”
Dante rested back in his chair, and steepled his fingers. “That bad, huh?”
“Well, it isn’t real fucking good.”
“Yeah, it never is.”
Three days later, Cross stepped into one of the Donati family’s many warehouses. At his presence, the chattering men quieted instantly. Wary gazes drifted his way, and then behind him to see who had followed.
Only Rick entered behind him.
Cross knew who the men were looking for.
Zeke.
It was exactly why he had called this meeting, after all. Whispers had started to drift between the men about Zeke, Katya, and the Russian’s threats. Cross had expected that to happen after the meeting a couple of weeks earlier. For the most part, he had been able to keep Zeke’s impromptu marriage quiet until he could decide how to properly handle delivering the news to the rest of the family.
Now, he no longer had a choice.
Cross was not the type of boss who allowed rumors to circulate and percolate. It only made for bad situations, honestly. Rumors tended to only hold a small bit of truth, after all. Far more contained salacious nonsense intended to cause problems.
He planned to cut that off at the knees before it could go any further than it already had.
“Evening,” Cross said to the men.
Echoes of greetings answered him back.
He waved for Rick to join the rest of the men, and the underboss did as he was told. Cross waited until everyone was settled and quiet before he moved to the center of the floor.
“I hear there are some … questions floating around. I’m here to answer them.”
Silence replied.
Cross wasn’t surprised. His organization was accustomed to being held at arms’ length where he was concerned. Rarely did the Capos or their closest men get a close quarters meeting with their boss, unless something was very wrong.
Or unless it was tribute.
“Do you need me to repeat myself?” Cross asked.
“Did Zeke marry a Russian?”
The question came from the back. Cross didn’t even bother to look in the direction it came. He knew each of his Capos by their voice. He didn’t need to see their faces when he spoke.
“He did,” Cross said.
“Is it true she was arranged to marry someone else?” came another question.
Cross nodded. “That is also accurate.”
“The boss, right?”
“No, one of the boss’s men. She was intended to be a gift for his good behavior.”
Cross offered nothing else, and chose to allow his men to let their minds fill in the blanks he had not. It would work to both Zeke and Katya’s benefit if the rest of the men in their organization could pull forth sympathy for their situation. It was one thing for Cross to order the men to protect his consigliere and the man’s wife. It was another thing for them to want to willingly do so.
“He’s caused issues with the Russians,” someone said.
“He’s put this family in danger.”
Another asked, “How long before the Bratva comes down on us for this?”
“What will his punishment be?”
The discontent clung heavily in the air.
Cross could practically taste it.
He remembered what his father told him about being a good boss, and he thought perhaps his men needed a reminder, too.
After all, this wasn’t really about them. Or him, even.
This was about a man—a made man—who was only trying to protect the woman he loved. Sure, he had gone about it in the wrong way, and caused problems that left Cross in a bad situation and trying to clean it up.
It would likely bleed over to the rest of the men as well.
Still, respect was needed.
Always.
“We are a family first,” Cross said, making sure his voice carried over the concerns and demands shouting his way. “We will always be a family before anything else. We have always been this way. I understand that now we have to put more consideration into the safety of our families, and our streets. However, we’re doing that for the sake of family, so that one of us can be happy like the rest of us are in our own lives.”
Cross lifted a single hand, and tipped it over to show his palm as he said, “Don’t you understand? Don’t any of you know? I would protect each one of you in the same way, and with the same persistence that I am protecting Zeke. It’s what a good boss does for his men—for men who have shown him loyalty, respect, and honor. You don’t have to like what he did, or approve, because I certainly don’t. But if you expect me, him, or anyone else in this family to protect you the same way I am doing for him, then you have to give the same thing back.”
Silence stretched on.
Cross was okay with that.
“I expect you to offer him the same thing he has offered you,” Cross said simply. “Nothing more, and nothing less. Be good made men. Especially to each other.”
There.
His piece was said.
The boss had spoken.
The rest would be on the men to work it out.