Page 18 of Unruly

“Apparently, she did not see her mistake.”

He stood.

Catherine followed suit.

“My mother called you yesterday to let you know—”

“This meeting is done,” he told her, “so have a wonderful evening, Catherine. Please, do pass onto your mother that we will not be working together again. I hope your next venture comes out better than this one has. Perhaps next time, you will realize threats do not work on men like me, and your business is only one of many. Your money is not needed, but appreciated. Never contact me again.”

Catherine stormed through the hallway of the Four Seasons as she headed to her room. She was going to go to her mother’s first, one floor higher, but ended up on hers. She wanted to get the hell out of her dress and heels before she flew into her mother, anyway.

What had Catrina been thinking?

Now what were they going to do?

This little trick was nothing new for Catrina where Catherine was concerned. It was not the first, or even the second, time her mother had put her in a situation to train her, so to speak. Most times, Catrina would at least give Catherine a heads up and decent time to prepare for whatever was coming her way.

Not this fucking time.

And look what happened!

Catherine had no idea how she was supposed to go home and tell the bosses of the Three Families—her cousins, and her husband—that she officially shattered the agreement she had with their cocaine supplier. Sure, they had a lot of other business to fall back on. Their money was not made only with selling cocaine.

But for Catherine’s business?

The majority was cocaine deals to clients all over the country.

Still, her contact and business relationship with Giuseppe was needed to also keep the Three Families’ supply up and at a cheap cost, too.

Catherine stood outside her room door, and stared at the brass number without going inside. Wow. This was not supposed to happen.

Jesus Christ.

She unlocked her room with the card key, and stepped inside the darkness of the space. She closed the door and reached for the light switch on the wall.

The man standing across the room waiting for her was not who she expected to see.

Not at all.

“So yeah, just give me a call when you get a chance, okay? Love you, Cross.”

Catherine’s message hung up, but he didn’t delete it. He hadn’t meant to be ignoring her calls. He just kept missing them. Knowing the time in Italy, he figured calling her back now was pointless. Cross shoved the phone back in his pocket.

Sitting at the crowded gate, Cross took the moment to people-watch. It wasn’t very often that he was alone, and capable of getting lost in his own head. He was always with someone else, or usually, someone would recognize him and want to chat.

Not today.

A mother three rows over balanced her attention between rocking a stroller with her foot, entertaining the toddler hanging over her side, and chatting to someone on the phone. A young couple—early twenties—sat close together, heads bent low over a tablet as they laughed about whatever was on the screen.

Cross soaked in the noise, but also, the silence in his own head. At that very second, he had nothing else to do except wait for his call to stand, and get lost in memories.

He did just that.

Cross lifted the white wine and took a drink.

Catherine lifted a brow at him from across the table. “Well?”

“It’s … dry,” he admitted.