Cross shoved the clip into his gun as Catherine disappeared behind the cabin door reserved for the captain’s private quarters. Knowing the one asshole was already dead in the other bedroom, he headed for the stairs. He would only get one shot out with his gun before Rhys Crain’s men would start reacting.
It was not a good situation.
Cross should be scared shitless.
Really, he was just enraged.
Rhys had sent a whole new group of men to pick up the drop. From the jump, Cross took note of the difference in the men from the last group he worked with for Rhys. They were rude, demanding, and difficult. One had grabbed a bottle of vodka from the yacht’s wet bar, and another had took a piss over the railing.
Behavior that was unsettling.
Still, Cross had directed them to the smuggled guns hidden in the one room and inside the ship’s hull. He had done what he needed to do because the sooner it was over, the sooner he could get Catherine back to safer ground.
Apparently, he should have forced her to stay on the beach.
Fucking assholes.
Cross came up on deck and kept his gun hidden just behind his back. Three men. Across the way, with about ten feet between their anchored boats, one man slipped out of Cross’s view as he headed below deck. He didn’t know where the other guy was that had been on the other boat when he went in search of fucker number four that suddenly went missing without his friends noticing.
The man on the yacht worked to untie the planks they had set up between the two ships. It was made up of boards and tied rope. The makeshift ramp had been set on the stairs to easily walk back and forth while the guns were moved from one ship to the other.
One down, Cross thought.
At least, the guns were on the other boat. That was going to make things … easier. Less clean up, anyway.
He lifted his gun from behind his back just as he noticed the man he couldn’t find on the other boat come back from the bow section. He saw Cross’s gun. It was too late to change plans, now.
“Hey!”
The guy working on the ramp turned to look at Cross.
He just pulled the fucking trigger.
Blood and other matter sprayed as another gunshot rang out. Instantly, Cross hit the fucking deck, and reached for the gun that was tucked into the dead man’s waistband. He kicked the ramp off between the two boats to keep the other fuckers from coming onto his yacht, and rolled over to his back.
“You’re a dead man!”
Whatever.
Cross ignored the threat.
Already he had the guns pointed toward the one man he knew was on deck. The guy fired a shot just as Cross aimed. The bullet plugged into the deck next to Cross’s leg. He didn’t even fucking flinch.
“You’re a shit shot,” Cross said.
He definitely wasn’t, though.
The guy tried to duck around a railing on the deck of the other boat, but Cross saw that coming. He adjusted his aim at the same time and fired.
The bullet ripped into the man’s shoulder, and sent him sprawling forward. Cross took a second shot without hesitation, and already had his arm with the other gun outstretched and pointing in an entirely different direction.
Once he saw the shot hit its target—right in the back of the guy’s head—he looked where he needed to for his next shot. Out of the corner of his eye, he had seen a flash of black clothing.
“Drop the fucking gun,” the man ordered.
Cross’s brow furrowed for a second. He stared ten feet across from him to where the guy was aiming at him with an assault rifle.
“Shoot,” Cross urged.
The guy didn’t move, and his finger wrapped the trigger.
“Come on,” Cross taunted.
Nothing.
Cross laughed at the fucking absurdity of the fool looking at him. He knew exactly what the guy had done—likely pulled out one of the very few assault rifles from beneath deck that had actually been fully assembled. Andino wanted it that way so the idiots could see some of the guns, or whatever else.
“That’s one of the guns I just smuggled here, asshole. It’s empty. What, you forget your gun today?”
He didn’t give the guy a chance to respond before pulling the trigger on the shitty little nine-millimeter he had taken off the first man he killed. The bullet plugged into the man’s face. The rifle in his hands flew one way, and he fell the other.
Cross was up on his feet in a second. He kicked the dead man on his yacht overboard. He didn’t have time to be fucking around, and he couldn’t go back into port with blood and bodies on his boat.
“Fuck,” he snarled to himself.
Back down below deck, he shouted for Catherine. She came out of the captain’s quarters as he disappeared into the bedroom.
“Cross?”
“Open some of those liquor bottles,” he called back.
Quickly, he wrapped the corpse on the bed in the gray blankets like a burrito. He probably weighed a good one-seventy without the blood soaked blankets. Heaving the deadweight over his shoulder, he grunted from the effort it took to just get the guy out the damn door.
Catherine’s eyes widened as he came out of the hall. From behind the wet bar, she froze in her work of opening liquor bottles. “What are you doing?”
“Getting him off this fucking boat.”
“And the others?”
“Did you hear the shots?”
She nodded.
“Yeah, well … stay below deck,” he muttered.
She didn’t need to be seeing that bloody mess next door.
“Grab some of those tea towels, cut ‘em into strips,” Cross told her, “and stuff them into the liquor bottles. Make sure one side of the towel is soaking into the liquor, and a dry piece is sticking out the top.”
Catherine looked up from the bottles. “Like a Molotov cocktail?”
Cross smirked. “Just like that, babe.”
“What are you going to do with them?”
“Use them to help sink a boat.”
“And then?”
Cross laughed.
What else could he do?
“We’ve got a plane to catch in the morning, so we need to get back to port after we get this mess cleaned up. I can’t hand over a bloody boat to the captain when we get back.”
Catherine swallowed hard. “Do you want me to start cleaning up in the bedroom?”
“Can you handle that?”
She didn’t even flinch. “I can do anything.”
He didn’t doubt her.
“Yeah, start in the bedroom, babe.” Cross moved toward the stairs leading to the upper deck, but hesitated on the first one. “Catty.”
“Yeah?”
“Are you okay?”
He found her staring at him.
Catherine nodded once. “I am.”
“You’re sure?”
“I promise, Cross.”
“I want to go back to Cancun,” Catherine said. “You know, without the whole shooting people, burning boats, and all that mess.”
Cross laughed. “Yeah, let’s hope not all our vacations turn into that.”
“We could have stayed on the island for a while, though.”
“It couldn’t be forever. I told you that before we left, babe. It was just one run. Besides, after what happened on this run, I’m not sure I want you going on another one just in case.”
“It was a nice thought.”
It was, but that just wasn’t how it worked. Nothing good would come from Cross taking Catherine away, even if it had only been for two weeks, given how delicate things had been with her family. Sure, Catherine was an adult, and she was given more freedom than most, but he didn’t think that would factor into Dante’s rage at all.
It was only a little about Catty, after all. It was a lot about how much Dante hated Cross.
The jet began to taxi on the private strip toward the hangar, and already, Cross could see the cars waiting. Some he recognized; most he did not know. He’d told his father he was coming back, that the run had failed, and gave Calisto the date and time when the plane would land.
It was too many vehicles to be only Calisto’s, though.
“Oh,” Catherine said lowly.
She’d seen the cars, too, it seemed.
“Probably a little pissed you forgot to call for two weeks,” Cross joked.
His attempt at light humor did little to shake the nervousness from Catherine’s face.
“It’ll be fine,” Cross said.
Catherine only sighed in response, but she did hold his hand against her cheek before kissing the inside of his palm. “He’ll be angry with me—I lied again. Only because I didn’t want to fight that I was going with you, though. I’m tired of fighting.”
“Dante loves you, my girl.”
Just in a different way than how Cross loved her.
The thing was, Dante would never admit that Cross did love Catherine; that he cared enough for her to protect and provide and adore her the way her father had for all these years. Cross was not good enough in Dante’s opinion; he would never be.
But what could he do?
“Just do as he wants,” Cross told Catherine, “and give me a call when you have time. Or give me what I want, and what you want, and come home. Where you belong, Catherine.”
“Cross—”
“You know what I want, Catty. You. With me. Always.”
Catherine sighed. “If I can get out of the house, you mean.”
“He’ll never lock you away—he loves you too much to cage you in.”
Catherine frowned. “He did lock me in once.”
“Again, because he loves you.”
“For now.”
“Stop that.”
“Well—”
“Stop, Catty. Your father reacts to your lies or the things you hide from him, and he wouldn’t have to react at all if you simply didn’t lie or hide it from him in the first place.”
She didn’t respond.
Cross didn’t need her to.
The one thing he refused to do where Catherine was concerned, was lie to her, or even sugarcoat his opinion.
Catherine was tougher than she appeared to be. Far stronger than she wanted to admit she was. His girl didn’t need to be coddled. Her spine was still growing where her parents were concerned, but he had a feeling it was about to grow a fuck lot faster.
Shit, even Dante, as tightly wound, severe of a man as he was, could appreciate the beauty that came with loving a difficult woman. He’d married one, after all, even if Catrina Marcello put on a good mask for the crowd. Her exploits were infamous in their circles, and it wasn’t as though her husband could pretend that he didn’t know about them all.
Catherine wasn’t much different.
All too soon, the jet had taxied in, and the stewardess and pilot came out to see Cross and Catherine off the plane. He helped Catherine with her small carry-on, and grabbed his own to carry with the same hand. It was awkward, but he needed at least one free to keep a hold on his girl.
He always needed to have a hand on her in some way, even if it was just his palm against her lower back. It made him … grounded.
Steady.
The door to the jet was opened after the exit stairs had been locked in place at the side of the plane. Through the porthole windows, he could plainly see a number of people exiting the waiting vehicles, including Catherine’s parents, and his own father in another black sedan.
No one looked particularly pleased.
“Fuck,” Catherine muttered, seeing the same thing he was.
Cross pressed his hand to her lower back a little firmer. “Smile. Everything is always far better when you smile, Catherine.”
“Your charm is great in bed, but not so great when pissed off people are just a hundred feet away.”
He smirked, unable to help himself. “Well, we can do the charm in bed thing later, if you want. Come home, my girl, and I’ll make it happen.”
Catherine smacked him in the stomach with the back of her hand just as the door to the jet was opened by the stewardess. Light streamed in through the gaping hole, blinding him momentarily. It didn’t matter, as Cross’s attention was back on Catherine, as though the people waiting for them outside simply didn’t exist in that moment.
He slid his hand up to the back of her neck, tangled his fingers into her hair, pulled her into his side, and kissed her forehead, lingering there like that for as long as he possibly could.
“I love you, Catherine.”
Catherine sighed, her lips curving into a sweet smile as she looked up at him. “Everyone saw that, Cross. It probably didn’t help our case.”
Like he fucking cared. They made it back alive, and in one piece. Kissing Catherine after all that was the very least he was going to do with her once he got the chance.
“They don’t matter.”
She did.
Only she ever mattered.
“You can exit the plane now,” the woman said behind them.
Cross nodded once, and pushed against Catherine’s lower back to make her move forward. She did without a fight, thankfully, staying by his side as they moved down the stairs. He handed over her luggage as her father and his own stepped forward, coming close enough to likely hear whatever goodbyes were said.
“The black Mercedes at the end is taking you home,” Dante said, not even giving Cross a passing glance as he spoke. “Your mother will be going with you.”
Catherine frowned. “All right.”
“Get going, Catty.”
She gave Cross a look, and he winked. “All is well.”
Or it would be.
Catherine gave his hand a squeeze, and then she was gone from his side. Cross didn’t bother to speak until he watched his girl get into her car, followed by her mother, and the vehicle was out of his sight entirely.
“Dante—”
The man held up a single hand, stopping Cross’s father from saying anything more. “I will speak. You will listen.”
Calisto scowled. “As long as speaking is all we do.”
Dante laughed dryly. “We’ll see.”
Cross set his small luggage to the tarmac. “She didn’t tell me that you didn’t know until recently.”
Angry, green eyes turned on Cross in a blink. He swore if Dante were capable, he would have killed him dead just by glaring at him.
“Do you honestly believe that I would allow my only daughter to travel out of country with a gunrunner for two weeks while he was partaking in an active fucking deal?”
Cross looked to his father. “I didn’t know you knew that was happening.”
“He asked why you were in Cancun,” Calisto said, “and I told him since Andino also has a hand in the whole thing.”
“Yes, so it’s better you don’t lie,” Dante said lowly. “Seems there’s been a bit too much lying already happening between Andino, you, and my daughter.”
“I didn’t know you knew about the deal that was going down.”
That was the truth.
He hadn’t planned on offering the information, either.
Clearly, Calisto had different plans.
“Is that supposed to make it better?” Dante roared.
“Everything was handled,” Cross said, refusing to be affected by Dante’s rage. “She was fine.”
He wasn’t going to offer more details in that regard, though.
“You … you are …” Dante turned away, pinching the bridge of his nose as he snarled to himself. “She is not one of your toys, Cross. She is my daughter!”
“Perhaps you should ask Catherine if I use her like a boy might use one of his toys, and see how she feels about it, huh? Besides, I tend to think she likes the way I use her.”
That was not the right thing to say.
Calisto’s gaze widened, turning on his son with a warning on his tongue that was already too late. Cross knew it as the final words had spewed from his own mouth because Dante had the gun in his hand, the hammer cocked back, and the barrel an inch from Cross’s face before he’d finished speaking.
Fuck.
“Why don’t I just ask you?” Dante asked.
Several voices called out from around them, ones Cross recognized like the other Marcello brothers, and even a man from his father’s Cosa Nostra. None of the voices objecting to the scene seemed to make any difference to the Marcello Don, though.
Cross didn’t blink, staring down the barrel of the Beretta to look Dante right in the eyes. “Well, that’s a familiar sight, Dante. How many times have we done this, now?”
“I see you still haven’t managed to learn proper respect when the better man is demanding it, and you’ve got nothing but your fucking arrogance and pride to offer back, Cross.”
All true.
Every single word.
“Yet, here I am, still alive.”
His father always said that his arrogance would be what killed him in the end. It was a very real possibility.
Dante smiled. “Depending on the next few words out of your mouth, yes, for now.”
“Come on, now,” Calisto said quietly, “this isn’t needed. He fucked up, but it’s not like—”
Dante’s gaze turned on Calisto. “Not like what, old friend? He won’t do it again? He’s learned his lesson? He gives a shit about the rules and place he’s been given? Tell me which one it is, Calisto.”
Calisto’s jaw clenched. “Likely none of them because he’s a little bastard when he wants to be, but you’ve got one of those yourself, don’t you? A mouthy son with little respect for anyone else but himself, who oversteps his boundaries every chance he can and makes zero fucking apologies for doing so. He found that Irish girl and laughed in her father’s face when he refused to marry her to an Italian’s son. We both know there’s more to tell, too.”
Dante stayed silent.
“Had I pulled a gun on your boy—on Michel—you’d have beaten me to death on the spot, Dante,” Calisto added quickly, “Don’t even dare to deny it. Your only daughter, yes, but he’s my only boy.”
“Do you think a nephew is worth the same as a daughter or son?” Dante asked.
Cross barely managed to hide his flinch because there were only two people—well, three, if what he thought about Giovanni Marcello was true—on the tarmac that actually knew the truth of his paternity. His father hid his hurt without even trying, offering Dante a shrug and a small smile.
“I’m the only father he has ever known, and he is the only boy I have ever raised as my own,” Calisto said simply.
“You’ve done a shit job then.”
“So be it, but he is mine. And while he’s worth a war to me, consider if he’s worth the same to you.”
Dante took a heavy breath, his gaze swinging back to Cross. “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t paint this tarmac with your fucking brain matter for what you did.”
Cross didn’t even have to think about it. “You don’t have to care. You don’t even have to believe me, but she’s the love of my life. Pull the trigger, but you’ll put two in a grave, Dante. I’m literally betting my life on it right now.”
A second passed, then a few more.
Dante’s gun never wavered, and if anything, Cross was pretty confident he had seen the man’s finger twitch a bit on the trigger. Fuck, he hoped the Beretta wasn’t a hair-trigger. Most weren’t, but some …
He couldn’t say for sure whether Dante would finally pull the trigger, and end this game that had been going on for a decade or more between them.
He just didn’t know.
Finally, Dante’s arm lowered just a fraction of a centimeter. “Don’t say things like that when you can’t possibly understand what they mean, Cross.”
How little faith this man had in him.
Cross didn’t blame Dante.
Not really.
“Like I said,” Cross replied, “you don’t have to believe me.”
“You’re twenty-six, what do you even know about something like love?” Dante spat out.
“Wrong—twenty-seven as of last week.”
“You just can’t reign that bullshit of yours in, can you? You throw that word around—love—as though it means something to you, but it might as well be shit for all I care. Had you loved my daughter, like you say you do, we would not be standing here having this conversation again.”
“What conversation? You’ve never asked me that, Dante. You’ve asked me a hell of a lot over the years. You’ve beaten the living shit out of me, but you never once asked me if I loved her. You didn’t care because to you she wasn’t mine. She was yours, and that’s fine, but don’t go there. We’ve never gone there.”
Dante’s gun lowered a bit more. “I—”
“You know,” Cross interrupted with a dry tone, “I certainly didn’t think I would ever tell you any of that, if I’m being honest. I mean, she knows I love her. I tell her that all the fucking time because she should be told, but I should never have to tell you. I can tell anyone I love her, but no one except her gets to know the rest.”
“How much you love her, you mean,” Dante muttered heavily.
Cross shrugged. “There you have it. You don’t deserve to know because you certainly don’t care, Dante, but there it is. She’s never quiet enough to let me tell her now, not like how we were before. Part of me thinks she’s scared to let me tell her how much because she’s terrified I’m going to break her heart again.
“The thing is, I have never had to be good enough for you because you don’t matter. Only she does. You’re right. I’m twenty-seven, and a made man under a Cosa Nostra boss who isn’t you,” Cross continued. “I don’t need your permission to go out of the country, or to take Catherine with me if she asks to go because she is an adult. I don’t need to make sure you are okay with letting her lay on the beach, swim in the ocean, or spend a few days getting a tan. But I would have asked—I would have—had she not lied and said you knew, because I might be arrogant, but I’m not stupid.”
Dante finally dropped his gun entirely, letting his arm hang limply at his sides. “I see.”
“No, I don’t think you do. I did business, and she was there, sure, but she was perfectly fine the entire time. Not once was she put in any serious danger, until something did come up that was instantly handled. You’re out money. The buyer is out guns. I fucked up a safe running route, and likely ruined a partnership simply to keep her safe on this run. It doesn’t matter, though, not to you, because it’s her, and I’m me.”
Cross barked out a laugh, adding, “Except the problem is, you don’t know a single fucking thing about me, Dante. You never cared to learn.”
“Cross,” his father started to say.
Cross was done. Done with this show, done with Catherine’s father, and done with the whole fucking day. He grabbed his luggage, and started toward the hangar where his car had been parked two weeks earlier before they headed for the boat.
“Cross!” Calisto called out from behind him.
He held up his middle finger, and never once looked back over his shoulder to see the men he’d walked away from, and managed to disrespect at the same time.
Everyone had choices to make. Everyone had to make them when they didn’t want to. Everyone faced different consequences for them.
This was just one of those times.
Cross still didn’t care.
Not one bit.
Cross opened the penthouse front door, and didn’t wait for his guest to come in before turning and walking back to where he had been pouring himself a glass of much needed whiskey in the living room. Wolf followed behind in silence.
He took his sweet time pouring the whiskey, watching the amber liquid fall over cubes of ice and filling the glass nearly to the rim. After his day, he needed a good drink.
“Your father sent me over,” Wolf said.
Cross tipped his glass up for a sip, looking out the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the busiest part of Manhattan. “That’s nice.”
He’d expected it, actually.
Calisto was good, and had given Cross space when he needed it. His father was even more careful not to insert his presence or opinion in a way that might bother his son. Cross had appreciated it.
Cross also missed Calisto often. Their conversations, his father’s advice, and long nights when his father was there simply because Cross had needed him to be. He missed those things, but he’d been the one to ask for space. Calisto have given it, no questions asked.
“He wanted a better update on what happened in Cancun, and what to expect now,” Wolf continued, “and he didn’t ask for anything else.”
Cross passed the man a look over his shoulder, noting how Wolf kept his gaze on the windows, and not on his companion. “Did he tell you about the shit show at the private air strip today?”
Wolf smiled thinly. “He didn’t have to; the words made the rounds. He did confirm it to me, though.”
“Surprised you weren’t there, actually.”
“My granddaughter’s recital was today—her first. I made a choice, Calisto didn’t argue against it.”
Ah.
Wolf looked to Cross. “The run, give me information.”
Cross sighed, setting his glass back to the table. He rolled the sleeves of his dress shirt up to his elbows, tired and disinterested in this entire conversation. He knew what Calisto was doing by sending Wolf to get information, and it wasn’t all about the gun run that had gotten fucked up, either.
His father wanted to check on him without inserting his presence, it was obvious. Wolf was there to make sure Cross wasn’t acting foolish in some way, and nothing more. Cross didn’t mind playing along, for now.
Truth was, Cross knew exactly what he needed to do for his father. Calisto was sick; he needed his surgery. No matter how unfinished his business was with his father, Cross was going to allow Calisto the chance to live and not worry about having another episode, or worse, dying.
Soon.
“Shit happened. The guns were already on the other boat, so I dumped the run load by sinking the fucking yacht of the buyer by burning it,” Cross said, skipping over all the details that had happened in between. “Dropped the yacht we were using where it needed to go, and grabbed the jet waiting. So, the run route is screwed because the boat is new enough to have auto-warnings that get transmitted when shit happens aboard. Then they’ll find the dumped guns, and they’ll be monitoring that route.
“The buyer—Rhys, I’ve run guns to him before, though not there—sent out new middle men to collect this time, and one was a little too interested in Catherine for his own good. Shit happened. I sent Rhys’ men down with the boat, so he won’t be buying from me again. Adding onto that, the Marcellos are out the other half due for the guns on delivery. A quarter of a million.”
Wolf whistled low. “Cazzo merda.”
“But it was needed, so like I said, shit happens.”
“Andino Marcello might not feel the same way when he learns how much money he’s lost because you dumped the guns,” Wolf said.
Cross scrubbed a hand down his face. “He’ll understand.”
Because of Catherine, Andino would completely understand. Cross wasn’t about to offer those details out, however. Or, he hoped Andino would understand.
“All right,” Wolf said, turning to head back the way he had come. “I will let Calisto know.”
“Tell him I’ll be over tomorrow—lunch, or something. I know he only sent you over here to check on me. He doesn’t give a fuck about those guns or the run.”
Wolf stopped, looking over his shoulder with a sad smile. “You worry him, Cross.”
“I needed time.”
“All he ever did—even back then—was love and protect you and your mother.”
Cross nodded once. “I know, but he still lied to me.”
“By omission, perhaps, but not in his actions. He’s never been anything else but your father, even if your birth certificate had a different name in the slot. Shit, you called him your dad your whole life, anyway, and he adopted you as soon as he was able. For all purposes, that man has always been your father, Cross. Now you know it’s not just because of his actions as you grew up, but your DNA, too.”
“Yeah, I got that.”
“You good for tonight, or do you need something?”
He pulled his cell out of his pocket, checking the screen for any messages. “Just waiting on a call, but other than that, I’m good.”
“I’ll let him know that, too.”
Cross turned back to face the windows. “Do that, Wolf.”
He had other things to wait for, like a beautiful brunette with green eyes somewhere across the city, doing her own thing too far away from him.
She needed to come home.
Cross was going to wait for her.