Page 1 of Always: A Legacy Novel

“What are you looking at?”

“A full shipment,” Wolf replied.

“Of the handguns.”

It wasn’t even a question.

“Sì.”

The olive-toned, dark-haired man on the other side of the table nodded. “One-hundred grand, then.”

Nearly fifteen-year-old Cross Donati’s brow furrowed as he surveyed the guns on the table again. He knew a thing or two about guns; he liked them. He liked them a whole lot for longer than he could remember. Instead of porn stashed under his bed, he had Guns and Ammo.

Nearly seventy percent of America’s black market gun trade was exclusive to handguns, with a large majority being semi-auto pistols. A very small percentage of that market went to rifles. It wasn’t where the money was.

All good dealers—the illegal ones, anyway—went where the money happened to be.

Cross glanced back to the table just across the way, where he’d left his backpack hidden underneath with his phone inside. The calculator on the damn thing would help him figure out the numbers, but he was sure—

“Cross, eyes on the table,” Wolf snapped at the back of his head.

Shit.

“I just wanted to get my—”

“We’re doing business, principe. What does that mean, huh?”

Cross rolled his eyes while his back was still turned. If his father’s consigliere saw him doing that, Wolf wouldn’t hesitate to smack him for it. “Means eyes on the table.”

“So get them there.”

The man who had brought the guns into the strip joint that Wolf owned chuckled, so did the three guys that accompanied him.

“He’s grown quite a bit, hasn’t he?” the man asked, watching Cross with a hard stare that betrayed his kind tone.

Wolf kept his gaze on the guns, even as he answered. “Quite a bit this last year, actually. Puberty kicked in hard with him a couple of years back before anyone knew what the fuck was happening.”

“Calisto’s got him under your feet, I see.”

“Somebody needs to keep an eye on the principe when his zio can’t do it,” Wolf said absently.

“How old is he now?”

“Four—”

“Almost fifteen,” Cross interjected before Wolf could finish. His mentor—for all purposes—gave him a side-eye that warned him to pipe down without even saying a thing. “Well, I am.”

Wolf lifted a hand and waved it at Cross as if to ask, what can you do with him? “He’s still learning, but he’s quick. He has a good interest in this sort of thing, and it would be a shame to waste it. Problem is, he’s also got a mighty attitude that can’t seem to be cured. Maybe it’s puberty, or maybe he’s just going to be one of those cocky shits when he gets older. Who the hell knows? Right now, I have his attention focused. That’s what Calisto wanted me to do. Focus him on something other than easy pussy, idle hands, and trouble. Mostly, he listens. It’s the best I can say for him.”

“Hey!”

The men ignored Cross’s indignant mutter, and went back to discussing the weapons on the table as though he wasn’t even there to begin with.

“One-hundred G’s, you said?” Wolf asked, scratching at his lower jaw.

The guy nodded. “That’ll get you a full shipment of these handguns and the pistols.”

Without a word, Wolf bent down and pulled one of two bags out from under the table. Both had cash in them, as Cross had seen Wolf check, double-check, and then triple check both bags before his … associates arrived.