Page 169 of Revere: A Legacy Novel

Cross chose to keep talking. “The thing is, I fucking like you. I like you a lot. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have gotten the chance to marry my little sister. You know what I don’t like enough about you to do? Sacrifice Catherine. So here’s the thing, man. You might not want to explain to my sister about how you got me killed, and that’s fine. But I will absolutely explain to her why I killed your ass tonight. I will do it with a smile. She’ll hate me for it, sure, but that’s okay.”

“Cross—”

“I don’t have time to explain more,” Cross barked out, “so look at it like this. If you were me and Catherine was Camilla, I would expect you to do exactly what I am right now, and nothing less. Wouldn’t you do that?”

Tommaso clenched his teeth together, and glanced away. “Jesus Christ.”

“Because you would.”

“You’re killing me here, Cross.”

“Tom, please.”

Tommaso cussed low, and waved an arm at the eighteen-wheeler behind Cross. “You’ve got two hours, and then I’m making a call.”

“Thank you.” Cross smirked, adding, “Have your father call Dante Marcello, though, and not me. I’m not cleaning up this one. Neither one of us are bosses yet, right? Let the bosses fight it out.”

“You’re such a shit. Make sure you’re out of this city when I make that call, Cross.”

Oh, he definitely would be.

“Nice boat,” Cross said.

The sixty foot luxury yacht aptly named Beauty would do the job.

Giovanni Marcello smiled. “I’ll let my father know you approve.”

Up above, Cross watched Andino and John Marcello work with the other guys that were loading dismantled weapons. The guns would be moved beneath deck, and then all should be fine, if they could get out of port first.

Cross headed back to the table that had been set up for him, and started working on the route for his run. It as a delicate endeavor—gunrunning always was. The runner had to have a Plan A, a Plan B, and if all else failed, a Plan C. Usually, each plan had a different run route, a method of escape, and more.

He just didn’t have time for all of that, and it left him with more anxiety than normal. His runs were clean and successful because he took the time to plan everything. Every mile, storm, gas station, and more. So much more.

That couldn’t be done here.

Wordlessly, Catherine’s other uncle—Lucian—slid paperwork across the table to Cross. “Coastguard info for tonight—approximate times and likely locations. We’re running a bit short on time for a proper bribe and all.”

Cross looked over the info. “This will have to do.”

He went back to the map.

Calisto and Wolf came up to the table. His father said, “How many men are going to be on the boat with you?”

“I don’t want to antagonize Rhys when we get there,” Cross said, “or make him feel threatened. Me, and the Captain. That’s it.”

“That seems … dangerous.”

“Very,” Cross agreed.

What choice did he have?

“It’s fine,” Giovanni said to Calisto, “we’re going to have a boat in the water down on the other side of Mexico, anyway. We’ll fly down, be there before he even gets to that area. We’ve got a contact with some of the shit we need, anyway. The satellite phones will keep us in touch with his boat—as long as we get into the water and stay a few miles back from him, all should be fine.”

Cross wasn’t really listening. He was more concerned with his run, and the exchange that he would be doing, than whatever the rest were planning. He couldn’t pull off their plans, after all, only his own.

“You stole guns from the Chicago Outfit?”

Dante’s roar felt like drums beating in the back of Cross’s skull. His fucking vision swam with the things right in front of his eyes starting to melt together. He was dead on his feet, and the last thing he needed at the moment was someone shouting at him.