Page 2 of Always: A Legacy Novel

Money was another thing Cross liked.

A lot.

Wolf set the heavy bag on the table with a thud. “There you are, all large bills.”

One of the three men that had been standing back stepped forward to stuff the guns into duffle bags, while another man grabbed hold of the bag with the cash.

“Leave the pistols,” the man told his man, “just pack up the rifles.”

Cross kind of wanted one of those rifles.

He stayed quiet.

“Pleasure doing business with you, Puzza,” the man said, smirking.

Wolf offered the same back. “And you.”

“Say hello to the principe’s zio for me. It’s been a while, but you know how the Marcellos are. We don’t mingle with other families very often unless it’s for business. How Giovanni gets away with it and doesn’t get himself killed, I’ll never know.”

“I’ll tell Calisto you asked after him, Lucian.”

That was the first time Cross heard Wolf use the man’s name since he had entered the strip joint an hour earlier. He stared at Lucian Marcello’s back as the man’s men flanked him from the sides and behind to follow him out.

Cross blinked out of his daze when Wolf’s hand ruffled through his dark hair, messing up his curls. He smacked the older man’s hands off his head. “Fuck off, Wolf.”

Wolf laughed loud and hard, turning back to the table. “Just figuring out who that was now, are you?”

“Lucian Marcello.”

“Yeah, yeah. But why is he important, kid?”

Cross bristled at the kid comment, but spoke anyway. “He’s Dante Marcello’s underboss.”

“And?”

Cross was not a stupid teenager, despite what Wolf liked to sometimes say. Besides, he was pretty sure Wolf told people stuff like that to keep them from looking at Cross too hard. Like then they might see that Cross had a better understanding of the shit happening around him than anyone was aware of.

He knew who his step-father was in New York. Although, technically Calisto Donati was his cousin, despite the fact Cross referred to him as an uncle, who had married his mother when he was just a baby. A mafia boss, running a criminal organization and living his life by the Cosa Nostra code.

Cross figured all that shit out when he was younger, and realized no, not everyone got a bodyguard like he did when he played in his own backyard during turbulent times. No, not every kid had rules that dealt with things like respect, honor, and dignity repeated to them over and over again by every man in their life. And no, not every kid got someone like Wolf to take them on trips and business meets that they weren’t allowed to talk about with people outside the family.

Also, family meant a whole different thing to Cross compared to other people.

It wasn’t just blood.

It was famiglia.

No, Cross wasn’t stupid.

“Cross,” Wolf said.

“What?”

Wolf gestured toward the front door of the strip joint where Lucian had disappeared out of earlier. “And?”

“And the Marcellos dominate organized crime in New York,” Cross said. He parroted the same words that had been repeated to him a thousand times in an effort to teach him about the rules, families, and expectations of a business that his step-father kept telling him he couldn’t keep his nose out of.

“So what does that mean to us?”