130: Gotcha, Trouble

RUE

"Dad?"

The Cross mansion was too quiet. That was suspicious, considering that my father's version of downtime usually involved yelling at his men to be faster with the damn numbers.

I climbed the marble stairs two at a time, heading straight for his bedroom. If my mother's gossip was accurate...Killian Cross, the devil of Bellator Crux himself, had been plagued with migraines and high blood pressure lately. The mighty lion had been pacing his cage a little slower.

I knocked lightly, and then I pushed the door open.

He was in bed, a laptop balanced on the nightstand beside an untouched glass of water, an ice pack pressed against his temple.

His glasses had slipped down his nose. Even with the lines around his eyes and the gray streaking his black hair, my father looked... unfairly good.

Mafia lords weren't supposed to age like wine. They were supposed to shrivel into bitter husks, not look like they could still seduce a boardroom and break kneecaps all in the same afternoon.

I padd