Page 9 of Revere: A Legacy Novel

“Doesn’t mean you had to tell, asshole.”

“Knock the attitude down a notch,” Wolf said. “It’s a bit early to be drinking, isn’t it?”

Cross took another sip and let the top shelf whiskey burn on its way down his throat before he spoke again. “Little late in my life to find out everybody has been lying to me, isn’t it?”

“Cross, now—”

“Did you know?” he asked Wolf.

Wolf had been friends with his father for longer than Cross had even been alive, as far as he knew. The older man was the first in the Donati Cosa Nostra to be promoted to one of the highest seats as Calisto’s consigliere when he took over as the boss. Zeke, Wolf’s only son, and Cross had been friends since they were in diapers.

“Well?” Cross questioned when Wolf stayed silent.

Wolf passed him a look.

Cross knew it then.

“So you did,” he said.

Wolf sighed. “There were very few men your father could have trusted with that kind of information. An affair between a Don’s wife and his nephew would have resulted in a terrible outcome for them, Cross. Not to mention, a child being a product of that affair. We all did what we had to do so that neither you, nor your mother, would ever face backlash—”

“Fuck off,” Cross barked out. “They lied because they’re ashamed of what they did. You lied because he’s your friend.”

“That’s not true.”

“Did you know?” he asked Zeke.

His friend shook his head. “Not until this morning, man.”

Cross believed Zeke.

He needed one goddamn person in his corner.

“Where is Affonso Donati?” Cross asked Wolf. “See, my whole life, I’ve been told he fucked off somewhere. So where is he really?”

“That’s something you should talk with your parents about, Cross. It’s not for me to tell.”

“Well, that’s not going to happen.” Cross slid his empty glass across the bar, and pushed off the stool to stand. He shrugged on his suit jacket, and fished the Porsche keys from his pocket. “I won’t be talking to them for a while. I need time to figure my shit out after this. Let Calisto know that, too, the next time you see him. I’m sure you’ll be running your ass right over to his place to fill him in after this.”

“He’s your father. He worries.”

Cross scoffed. “You do realize how ironic that is, don’t you?”

“Cross—”

“I’m done. I said what I said. Let him know it.”

Wolf nodded. “Fine. I just …”

“What now?”

“Calisto needs surgery, Cross. He knows it. You know it. I know. We all fucking know it. His episodes are getting worse. They’re becoming more frequent, and last longer when they do happen. The surgeon in Scotland that specializes in the kind of surgery he needs has already said the longer Calisto waits, the longer his recovery will be. He’s not going to get it done when he knows it’ll force him to be down for a long period of time, and make him a target.”

“Say what you want to say and be done with it,” Cross forced out between clenched teeth.

“You’re still going back and forth to Chicago to run their guns every other month for weeks at a time,” Wolf said quietly. “Sure, you’ve moved back here, but your focus is in two different places. What do you want to be, Cross, your father’s underboss or a gunrunner? You can’t be both.”

“The only reason I can’t be both is because being one means giving up the other.”