Page 8 of Unruly

“Like fucking crazy, Catty.”

“Love you.”

“Always, babe.”

Cross tugged his daughter’s tiny leather jacket from her arms. “Be a good girl for Grandpapa Dante, Cece.”

She wouldn’t even speak to him. He pulled the mini Doc Martens off her feet, all the while ignoring her little glare. “Stop that nasty look, Cecelia Catherine. Right this minute.”

“Clicky shoes.”

“It’s the end of November. I am not putting those damn shoes on your feet.”

“Clicky shoes.”

Cross pressed his lips together, and eyed the pink, sparkly shoes his daughter was currently hugging against her equally pink and sparkly dress. She all out refused to leave the house unless she could at least bring the fucking things along. She loved her leather jacket. It didn’t matter what she was wearing or the time of year, she wanted that jacket on. At least, that was one less fight for him to have with his child.

“Give me the shoes, Cece.”

“Noes!”

“Then I won’t put them on you now that we’re inside.”

She eyed him warily before hesitant, tiny hands passed him the shoes. He slipped them on her sock-covered feet, and snapped the buttons on the straps around her ankles.

“No running in—”

“Thanks, Daddy!”

He didn’t even get the chance to finish his sentence before she was pushing up to her feet, her tulle skirt blew wide around her legs, and she bolted down the hallway. He let out a heavy sigh, and shook his head as he stood to his feet.

Chuckles echoed a few feet away.

Cross ignored his father-in-law’s amused grin. “Her bag has everything she’ll need.”

“No worries.” Dante Marcello pushed off the wall, and glanced at the watch on his wrist. “Cutting it a bit close, aren’t you?”

“Someone fought me to leave the house.”

“Yes, the shoes,” Dante murmured. “God, I love that kid.”

“Because she gives me hell.”

Dante flashed a smile. “Well, for other reasons, too, but also that.”

Of course.

Thankfully, Cross had found an easy relationship with his father-in-law over the years. It certainly helped a great deal when Dante stepped down from his position as a crime boss for the Marcello Cosa Nostra. Then, there were no hidden rules or expectations between the two men, simply family and a long history to work through.

It took a while, but they repaired their bridges.

Cross respected Dante a great deal.

He’d learned the feeling was mutual.

“Oh, I have something for you,” Dante said, “to open before you go.”

Cross stuffed his hands in his pockets. “A gift?”