Page 39 of Unruly

All. Him.

“Do you realize the position you put me in yesterday, Ma?” Catherine snarled.

“I realize you needed to learn how to handle meetings without me sitting beside you to hold your hand through it.”

“Yes, and look what happened!”

Catrina scoffed. “Catherine, what happened was not because of anything you did, honestly. Giuseppe Bianchi is not a compatible supplier for your personality. He’s worked with me throughout the years because he’s known me since I was twenty. He’s become accustomed to who I am, and how I behave. He knows what I will and will not accept from him. You, however, are an entirely different story.”

Cross peered into the bedroom, seeing his wife and her mother standing almost toe to toe with one another. Their argument was loud enough that Cross had been able to hear it outside in the hallway.

Little Cece sat on the edge of the bed, swinging her bare legs to and fro while she sat in her bright red bathing suit. Her gaze kept darting between her mother and grandmother as the two hurled words at one another, but she stayed quiet.

At breakfast, the two women had been exceptionally chatty.

Just not to one another.

Cross didn’t miss how Catherine made every effort to smile and chat with her father, daughter, and him, but did everything in her power not to talk to her mother.

Now, all those words his wife hadn’t said were spilling out. She was not holding back for a minute.

“You,” Catrina continued, “I knew he would not be able to work with.”

Catherine stiffened. “What?”

“He’s a … difficult man. A spoiled man, even. He likes his ego stroked along with something else. Even at his age, his antics with women are quite well known. So you offended him by refusing a drink, Catty. That shouldn’t be a big deal. Except with him, it is. Is that the sort of relationship you want with your supplier for the unforeseeable future? Because the only way that man will find some semblance of respect or even mild care about your business is if you flip your skirt up and bend over for him.”

“Ma!” Catherine’s gaze darted to Cece, who was still watching their conversation with rapt attention. “Don’t talk like that with her here, Jesus Christ.”

“Yes, because that is so much better, Catherine.”

All right.

Cross decided he heard enough. He wasn’t about to step in between their argument. He could tell that Catherine didn’t want Cece in there listening to it, and neither did he. Also, he wasn’t too keen on listening, to be honest. Catherine’s business with her mother was not like his, although he understood the shitty position she was now in. He certainly couldn’t tell his wife how to manage her affairs with her mother, but his Cosa Nostra, like the other two in New York, needed their goddamn cocaine.

Catherine had a point that morning.

They would run out, and fast.

Still, this was something his wife had to deal with. He couldn’t do it for her. Sure, he could make some calls and maybe get enough in until they could work on a deal with a new supplier—likely a cartel down in Mexico, but that could take a while. Nothing was ever simple or easy. Not in this goddamn life.

“I’m just …” Cross stepped into the bedroom, ignoring the glares the two women shot at him. He pointed to Cece, who was now looking his way and making grabby-hand motions at him to pick her up. “Just, yeah, going to take her downstairs to the pool. All right?”

Catherine’s posture softened, and she nodded once.

Catrina didn’t move an inch, and she didn’t seem to be done talking, either. Regardless if Cece was in the room or not, she had shit to say, apparently. “Catherine, you need to understand this lesson, reginella. Giuseppe was my supplier. A man I worked with for decades. A relationship I curated while building my reputation as a much younger woman in Italy all those years ago. He is not yours. He does not respect you. He won’t. He never will, not unless you’re willing to give something up in return.”

“And you’re not,” Cross said as he snagged his daughter into his arms.

Cece bear hugged him, all tiny arms and legs wrapping him like a damn spider. She smelled like sunlight, innocence, and baby shampoo.

“Ma yells,” Cece whispered in his ear. “Yells to Grandmamma.”

Mmhmm.

“Of course not,” Catherine snapped at him. “You know that, Cross.”

He should have just kept his mouth shut.