Page 193 of Revere: A Legacy Novel

“No eloping?”

“The biggest wedding this city has ever seen,” Cross promised.

“Then that’s my blessing.”

“Done deal.”

Catherine sat down at the table just as the conversation finished. “What did I miss?”

“Nothing, my girl.” Cross tossed an arm over her shoulder and pulled her close enough to kiss her temple. “Nothing at all.”

“Really? Because you’re all kind of quiet. We’re not arguing again, are we?”

She was so accustomed to some kind of tension between Cross and her father that he couldn’t find it in himself to be surprised she was concerned. Frankly, even he never thought he would invite Dante Marcello to breakfast on a regular basis, never mind be comfortable and friendly with the man.

Yet, there they were.

All because of a green-eyed, dark-haired beauty.

His beauty.

“No arguing,” Dante said with a chuckle. “Not anymore.”

Catherine reached for Cross’s coffee cup, and took a quick sip. “So, we’re good?”

“Perfect,” Cross said.

Catherine beamed.

With her, everything was always perfect.

“Something has come up with another girl in Los Angeles,” her mother said over the phone, “so I need to make a quick run down there. I won’t be meeting you in Maine; you will have to do this exchange on your own.”

Catherine shifted in her heels, and enjoyed the warm August breeze blowing around her legs. “That’s fine, Ma. I can handle it.”

She had been working for her mother for months. Eight months, to be exact. Catrina gave her a bit of time to relax after everything that had happened down in the Gulf, but that was it. One morning her mother called, demanded she pack a bag with beautiful things, and Catherine made her first trip to L.A.

Her mother’s empire was nothing like what Catherine had done before. At first, it had been shocking for her to realize there were men and women who paid a great deal of money for Catrina’s girls—and a very few number of men—to deliver their needs regarding substance.

Catherine had simply shown up to events and places her face would be recognized, and dealt to those who had too much money and time on their hands.

Catrina’s girls were paid to simply show up, with a client’s drug of choice on hand. Private jets, luxury cars, and whatever else might be needed to get one of the women from their place, to the client’s place.

And that was it.

Nothing else.

The clients paid for gorgeous, quick-witted women to provide their substance on call. They did not—at least Catherine had not seen it happen—expect anything more from the girl once she had shown up and done her job. She was their beautiful ghost; there when they needed her, indulging to their lifestyle and providing specifically to their wants regarding drugs, and then gone. Never intruding on their lives, but for when she was called to do so.

“Make sure Miguel goes in with you,” Catrina said. “It’s a private estate, no party. I’m less trusting when they call a girl in during their private hours, and worse when it is still not a public place.”

“I’ll be safe,” Catherine promised.

“I know—my smart girl. Unfortunately, your history makes you even less trusting of them than I am.”

“Miguel just stepped off the plane, so I have to go.”

“I will see you when you’re back, reginella.”