So it has been a while since I have done a blog post, and for many reasons. For one, I just didn't have much to say on here that wasn't already being said in three other places, and for two, I needed to cut out some of my time that was better spent elsewhere.
This pregnancy has been interesting, to say the least. Quite a few physical issues have popped up that take away my ability to make posts every day on here, because those ten to twenty minutes are far more precious when I am using them to put words down on the next book.
With that being said, I made a promise on my Twitter earlier today. And if you don't follow me on Twitter, you should, because I am on there far more often than I am anywhere else. @BethanyKris is where you will find me, in case you want to.
So, on Twitter, I mentioned that this morning I woke up with this super persistent scene in mind for a very special couple that A LOT (read A FUCKING LOT) of people keep asking about. I try not to say much about the Legacy novels and the couples, because I won't even give release dates for books that aren't entirely, fully finished writing-wise. So no one gets very damn much from me where future books are concerned.
Except today, Cross wanted me to write. And he's a persistent fucker, so I did what he wanted. It's not the first scene that opens the book, but it is an important scene, and the first one of the book that I have written so far.
I promised the Twitter people I would share a small snippet of that scene, on the blog, so here I am to do that.
This is unedited. It is subject to change. I will NOT answer questions about this book, or it's release, because I won't make promises for an unfinished WIP.
But I can give you this tease ... because they are coming.
The Marcello Don held up a single hand, stopping Cross’s father from saying anything more. “I will speak. You will listen.”
Calisto scowled. “As long as speaking is all we do.”
Dante laughed dryly. “We’ll see.”
Cross set his small luggage to the tarmac. “She told me you knew.”
Angry, green eyes turned on Cross in a blink. He swore if Dante were capable, he would have killed him dead just by glaring at him.
“Do you honestly believe that I would allow my only daughter to travel out of country with a gun runner for two weeks while he was partaking in an active fucking deal?”
Cross looked to his father. “I didn’t know you knew that was happening.”
“He asked why you were in Cancun,” Calisto said, “and I told him since Andino also has a hand in the whole thing.”
“Yes, so it’s better you don’t lie,” Dante said lowly.
“I didn’t know you knew about the deal that was going down.”
That was the truth.
He hadn’t planned on offering the information, either.
Clearly, Calisto had different plans.
“Is that supposed to make it better?” Dante roared.
“She was perfectly safe,” Cross said, refusing to be affected by Dante’s rage. “She was fine.”
He wasn’t going to offer more details in that regard, though.
“You … you are …” Dante turned away, pinching the bridge of his nose as he snarled to himself. “She is not one of your toys, Cross, she is my daughter!”
“Perhaps you should ask Catherine if I use her like a boy might use one of his toys, and see how she feels about it, huh?”
That was not the right thing to say.
Calisto’s gaze widened, turning on his son with a warning on his tongue that was already too late. Cross knew it as the final words had spewed from his own mouth, because Dante had the gun in his hand, the hammer cocked back, and the barrel an inch from Cross’s face before he’d finished speaking.
“Why don’t I just ask you?” Dante asked.
Several voices called out from around them, ones Cross recognized like the other Marcello brothers, and even a man from his father’s Cosa Nostra. None of the voices objecting to the scene seemed to make any difference to the Marcello Don, though.
Cross didn’t blink, staring down the barrel of the Beretta to look Dante right in the eyes. “Well, that’s a familiar sight, Dante. How many times have we done this, now?”
“I see you still haven’t managed to learn proper respect when the better man is demanding it and you’ve got nothing but your fucking arrogance and pride to offer back, Cross.”
Every single word.
“Yet, here I am, still alive.”
His father always said that his arrogance would be what killed him in the end.
It was a very real possibility.
Dante smiled. “Depending on the next few words out of your mouth, yes, for now.”
“Come on, now,” Calisto said quietly, “this isn’t needed. He fucked up, but it’s not like—”
Dante’s gaze turned on Calisto. “Not like what, old friend? He won’t do it again? He’s learned his lesson? He gives a shit about the rules and place he’s been given? Tell me which one it is, Calisto.”
Calisto’s jaw clenched. “Likely none of them, because he’s a little bastard when he wants to be, but you’ve got one of those yourself, don’t you? A mouthy son with little respect for anyone else but himself, who oversteps his boundaries every chance he can and makes zero fucking apologies for doing so. He found that Irish girl and laughed in her father’s face when he refused to marry her to an Italian’s son. We both know there’s more to tell, too.”
Dante stayed silent.
“Had I pulled a gun on your boy—on Michael—you’d have beaten me to death on the spot, Dante,” Calisto added quickly, “Don't even dare to deny it. Your only daughter, yes, but he’s my only boy.”
“Do you think a nephew is worth the same as a daughter or son?” Dante asked.
Cross barely managed to hide his flinch, because there were only two people on the tarmac that actually knew the truth of his paternity. His father hid his hurt without even trying, offering Dante a shrug and a small smile.
“I’m the only father he knows,” Calisto said simply.
“You’re doing a shit job then.”
“So be it, but he is mine. And while he’s worth a war to me, consider if he’s worth the same to you.”
Dante took a heavy breath, his gaze swinging back to Cross. “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t paint this tarmac with your fucking brain matter for what you did.”
Cross didn’t even have to think about it. “You don’t have to care, and you don’t even have to believe me, but she’s the love of my life. Pull the trigger, but you’ll put two in a grave, Dante. I’m literally betting my life on it right now.”
Author. Canadian. Mother. Lover. I write about bad guys who fall for their women and fall hard. To visit my old blog for older posts, please go HERE.