Page 73 of Unruly

“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.