Page 78 of Revere: A Legacy Novel

Cross stiffened, but said nothing.

Apparently, his father didn’t need him to.

“I got a call.” Calisto sneered, quickly saying, “A warning was more like it.”

“From who?”

Cross asked, but he didn’t need to. Not really.

“Dante Marcello. Seems his daughter has found an interest in you again. Or you found an interest in her. Why didn’t you give me a heads up so I knew this might be coming? I mean, I figured something was coming because of that stunt you pulled at Lucian Marcello’s restaurant. Fuck me for thinking you might have thought to come to me first before you pulled a gun on another family’s boss.”

“There wasn’t anything to tell.” Cross smirked, adding, “And that man deserved what I did.”

“You have nothing to tell me at all?”

Cross met his father’s gaze and stared him down. “I’m not giving you a play-by-play of my sex life.”

Calisto cleared his throat loudly. “Well, then.”

“What was Dante’s warning?”

“For you to stay the hell away from his daughter.”

“And if I don’t?”

“He didn’t say, but frankly, I think the outcome is probably self-explanatory.”

“His men, then,” Cross muttered to himself.

“Pardon?”

“I have men following me. On and off. They come and go. Likely Dante’s men.”

Calisto blew out a heavy breath. “I know it will do me no good.”

“Go ahead for your peace of mind, anyway.”

He expected his father to warn him.

To tell him to stay away from Catherine.

Calisto did neither. “Please be careful, son.”

Cross waved at the girl waiting tables to get her attention. He pointed down at his empty glass. “Top up my whiskey?”

She nodded. “Sure, Mr, Donati.”

Quick as a little mouse, the waitress scurried off. Cross preferred this restaurant—one owned by Calisto—when he was doing meetings with made men. The staff inside were well versed on the owner’s less than savory business dealings. The extra bonuses on their checks allowed them to turn their cheeks when things happened that were a little unusual or … downright awful.

By the time the waitress came back with his two fingers of whiskey in a lowball glass, the first man Cross was waiting for showed up. Rick, one of the two Capos he needed to deal with, spotted Cross instantly. He headed in his underboss’s direction as the waitress sat Cross’s new glass down and took away the old one.

“Principe,” the Capo greeted.

Cross sipped the top shelf liquor, and set the glass down with a clink. “At least one of you cafones showed up on time.”

Rick’s brow furrowed. “Pardon?”

He didn’t bother to explain, but he didn’t need to. James, the other Capo in question, strolled through the entrance of the joint looking as though he had a rough night.