ALWAYS, A Legacy Novel
Cross + Catherine, #1
Publication Date: October 2, 2017
Genres: Adult, Contemporary Romance, Coming of Age, Mafia
A Legacy Novel
A wild boy.
A sly girl.
Cross Donati defines trouble. He does what he wants because he’s never known anything different. He’s unapologetic, and he owns it.
Catherine Marcello is every bit a good girl … on the outside. Her entire world is a legacy, and she lives it. She’s curious, and she’s exploring it.
She chases bad things.
He never learned to be good.
They’re late nights, stolen cars, first times, fist fights, leather jackets, beaches, bloody smiles, and life.
They’re vicious and precious, dangerous and harmless, innocence and sin. They are love.
Love is killing for someone.
Love is living for someone.
Sometimes, you can’t keep saving your heart when it means sacrificing it, too.
Sometimes, you have to learn to save yourself.
Sometimes, love has to fall, crash, and burn.
This is what love is like when you’re a principe and principessa della mafia.
This is what love is like when you’re Cross Donati and Catherine Marcello.
Always is a Legacy Novel, and while it is standalone, it can also act as a prequel for Revere. Each Legacy Novel stands alone from any other book, series, or collection.
“My mother would kill me,” Cross said.
“If I came home married, and she hadn’t even met the girl? Fucking right, she would pickle my goddamn nuts.”
Catherine giggled. “That’s awful.”
“No, that’s me being nice because it would probably be worse.”
“After everything you put your parents through as a teenager, that’s what would send them into a rage, huh? You getting married without a word?”
Cross considered that for a moment. “Not both, just my mother. Cal wouldn’t give a fuck, as long as I was happy. After the pickling bit, Ma would calm her ass down, too.”
“Well apparently Michel did a bad thing,” Catherine said, “because I overheard them talking later, and I guess they can’t go back to Detroit now.”
Cross’s hands teased up her dress and skimmed her bare thighs as he asked absently, “What do you mean, bad?”
Catherine shifted on his lap again, feeling talented fingers slide along the line of her panties. If they weren’t in such a dark corner of the club, she might have told him to knock it off, but they were alone at the table for now, and her back was turned.
No one could see.
“I mean, she’s from a family like ours are, and—”
Cross let the chair fall to the floor, and his hands left her skirt. “Shit, seriously?”
Catherine pouted. “I liked where your hands were, you know.”
“Calm down, you’re going back to my apartment tonight, anyway.”
“Yeah, but right now you were working on something and I’d like to get back to that, Cross.”
“In a second. So, she’s from a crime family, they eloped, and then took off?”
Catherine shrugged. “Yep.”
“That’s why it’s bad,” he told her, “and you think she’s Irish?”
“Yep, definitely is.”
Cross whistled low, and then his hands were back up under her skirt again as he tipped the chair onto two legs once more. “Michel’s got some fucking stones on him, I guess.”
Catherine grinned, sighing as his fingers skimmed under her panties, his thumb circling her clit while his others teased at her entrance. Slow and steady, sure and knowing. “Is it really that bad?”
“Yeah, it’s not great, Catty. You don’t marry a girl from another family without permission, which is probably why they took off back here. Michel’s got protection here, and nobody’s dumb enough to march onto Marcello territory and start making demands. That’s how people die.”
“Okay, let’s just move on from people dying while your hands are between my thighs.”
“You’re no fun.”
“Or maybe your type of fun is just wrong.”
Cross shook his head. “Never. My kind of fun is what gets you off, babe.”
He was right.
She kind of loved him for it.
Bethany-Kris is a Canadian author, lover of much, and mother to three young sons, one cat, and two dogs. A small town in Eastern Canada where she was born and raised is where she has always called home. With her boys under her feet, snuggling cat, barking dogs, and a hubby calling over his shoulder, she is nearly always writing something … when she can find the time.
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