Page 81 of Cross + Catherine: The Companion

“Plausible deniability,” Naz added.

“Jesus, kid.”

“Well?”

Zeke scowled. “Are you going to kill someone?”

“No.”

“Cause property damage?”

“Try real hard not to,” Naz returned, though that was probably a lie.

Zeke grunted under his breath. “You get caught, then you didn’t get it from me, understand?”

“Swear on my life,” Naz promised.

“In the dash, principe.”

Sure enough, Naz found a switch blade in the dash. He flicked the blade out, and tested the sharpness of the edge with the pad of his thumb. Satisfied it would handle the business he needed it for, Naz slipped the blade into his pocket.

“Remember our deal,” Zeke said.

Naz nodded. “You got it, zio.”

Zeke wasn’t his real uncle, but he still loved him like he was.

Soon, Zeke was pulling up to the drop-off line for the lower and upper Academy. Naz said goodbye to Zeke, and stepped out of the car with his backpack tossed over his shoulder. He could see Cece on the steps of the upper Academy talking to one of her friends. She almost always traveled to school with one of her older friends.

Naz waited for Zeke to pull out of the line, and then drive out of the parking lot before he headed for the upper Academy. Or rather, the parking lot the upper Academy students used.

Cece had given Naz the name of the guy.

Teller Masterson.

Stupid fucking name.

Naz asked some friends—Teller was a senior in the upper Academy. What he was doing asking a fourteen year old to send him pictures was anybody’s guess.

He sounded like a creep.

Soon, Naz found the car he was looking for, and the dick it belonged to.

Teller.

The guy leaned against the side of the car, and smoked a cigarette. He gave Naz a passing look, likely not recognizing him.

That was okay.

He would know him after this.

“Aren’t you on the wrong side of the Academy, kid?” Teller asked.

Naz smirked. “It’s Naz.”

He didn’t give the guy a chance to respond—instead pulling out that switchblade from his pocket, flicking out the blade, and ramming it hard into the guy’s back tire. All the way to the fucking hilt so the tire was ruined.

“Hey, what the fuck?”

Teller came closer.

Naz yanked the blade out, and pointed it at Teller. “Next time, it’ll be your fucking throat.”

“Wh-what?”

Yeah.

Naz bet it was some kind of messed up shit to be threatened by a ten year old. But … Naz was Naz. He had a mind like lightning—electric, fast, and growing more dangerous by the day. He was a Donati, and his life was not anything like this rich, spoiled brat’s life. The first time he saw a man die—he was seven. The guy shouldn’t have pulled a gun on his dad.

That’s just how it went.

“My name is Nazio Donati,” Naz said quietly, “and make sure you get it right when you spread it around. You ever fuck with my sister—Cece—again, and they won’t be able to put all the pieces of you back together once I am done with you. Just so we’re clear, asshole.”

With that, Naz walked away.

Teller didn’t follow.