Page 4 of Reckless Promises

This is it.

2

Cillian

The metal detector ringsout as I step through it, and it’s laughable. Everyone in here is armed, and no one is hiding it. One guard glances at the gun peeking out from under my suit jacket, simply nodding as I pass.

“Mr. Cross.” The head of security steps aside for me. “Glad you could make it.”

It’s ironic how quickly I became my father without asking for the role. How one title can hand you the power to walk in any room without having to explain yourself.

Eyes are on me the moment I step inside the ballroom. Fear so thick it hangs in the air. Not that it’s enough to stop them from turning against me if they had the chance.

Stepping deeper into the room, I take count of the East Coast mafia families filling the seats.

The Morenos. The Davenports. The Russos.

It’s clear with one sweep this isn’t a charity auction like Mom led me to believe.

“What is this?” I pause to glance at her, making sure my surprise doesn’t show on my face.

The worst thing you can do in my position is let someone think you’re caught off guard. They’ll take it as an opening—a weakness. It didn’t take working security eight years to learn that lesson as I stand here now in my father’s shoes, knowing what they did to him.

“I told you.” Mom stops beside me, leaning close so no one can hear. “It’s a benefit hosted by the Moreno family. You have to be seen more if you want to earn respect in this community.”

“Who says I care about that?”

Her green eyes flick up at me. A crack in her otherwise almost perfect facade. Her frown draws out the wrinkles around her mouth as she wraps her hands through my arm.

“Cillian, if you’re going to be the face of this family, you need to understand there’s more to it than just running your father’s business. If he wanted that, he would have left the estate to Shane. He needs you because you understand influence, not just finances.”

“I’m not going to behim,” I remind her; the thought alone makes my skin crawl.

“I know.” She pats my arm, being condescending as always. “Just mingle, play nice, and pretend to care for my sake. Then find something nice to bid on, and we’ll be on our way.”

She smiles at me, and while my mother might fool everyone else in this room, I know she’s up to something.

Maeve Cross is an exception when it comes to mafia wives. It didn’t matter that her marriage to my father was a business transaction, or that he cheated on her so many times it was impossible to learn the names of all his mistresses. She’s smart. She played her role carefully. Mom knew when to be quiet, and how to pull strings without being noticed.

I watched her do it to my father for years, and now that he’s dead, she’s trying to do it with me.

Not that it makes her malicious.

Unlike my father, who controlled people for his own egotistical agenda, my mother actually cares about the survival of her family above everything else. So while I’m exhausted with her opinions and never-ending input, I also know it’s her way of looking out for me as I step into my new role.

As the eldest Cross sibling, I was summoned home before Dad’s blood had a chance to dry on the pavement. I’d spent eight years avoiding my family and their messy trade business. And in one moment—with one bullet—I was again reduced to nothing more than my last name.

I expected Dad to leave his empire to my brother, Shane, when he was the one who stood at his side for the past eight years, ensuring the family’s survival and growth. But as I should have expected, tradition won out. And when the will was read, I had no choice but to drop the life I’ve been building to take my father’s place.

Stepping into the party, I pause to assess the scene.

There are twenty tables with ten chairs at each. At least two hundred guests, but that doesn’t account for the staff or those lingering in the back. There are at least three hundred people in this room, and anything over a hundred is a difficult situation to manage if things go sideways.

It doesn’t matter if I’m no longer a part of my own security team, I can’t break the habit of assessing every room. It’s where I’m comfortable, and why I chose that line of work over sticking with my family in the first place.

Watching. Observing.

It’s easier to strike when you aren’t in the center making a scene.

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