by Bethany-Kris
Cara snorted. “Probably the hallway.”
“I’ll have the coffee ready by the time you find it all and get dressed.”
She could manage that.
Surely.
Gian moved easily through his bedroom, picking up a dress shirt and slacks as he went. He didn’t even bother to put them on, staying naked like he didn’t have a single fuck to give in the world. Not that he had to cover up, Cara mused, as his body was a work of art that needed to be appreciated in the light of day.
Once he was gone, Cara went in search of her clothes. Like she thought, she found most of it in the hallway, but her heels and panties were very close to the front door.
God.
It had been worth it, though.
Cara headed for the kitchen once she had made herself decent, only to find Gian wasn’t there, and no coffee or food was in the works. But as quickly as she realized Gian was not in the kitchen, she heard his footsteps approach from behind her.
She turned fast on her heel, thinking he was up to his tricks again.
Cara came face to face with heartache. Gian looked like heartache.
“Gian?” she asked.
He stared at her for a moment, running a hand through the slightly-longer bit of dark hair at the top of his head. In his other hand, he held a cell phone.
“Rain check on the coffee, at least?” He tried to smile, but he ended up with a frown, anyway. “I know that’s not what you agreed to.”
“A rain check?” Cara asked faintly.
“I’ll call you a cab, if that’s all right. I have to head out.”
“Is something wrong?”
Cara knew better than to ask.
She should have taken this saving grace for what it was, and run with it. Whatever happened, it would get her out of Gian’s penthouse quicker than before, and maybe she could leave her strange feelings behind with it. A part of her didn’t really want that, though.
“My grandfather,” Gian said, glancing down at the phone in his hand, “was murdered this morning, when he stood in front of the terrace windows of the room he uses at my parents’ mansion. Sniper shot to the head—dead before he hit the ground—and he didn’t see it coming.”
Cara’s body grew cold all over. “I’m sorry.”
What else could she say?
She knew far too well how this life took and took and took, but rarely ever gave back.
“Rain check,” Gian repeated.
Cara nodded. “Rain check.”
Someday.
“A shame, that’s what it is. Dio. Rest his soul.”
Cara tried to brush off the mutterings of her uncle, but given the way her aunt passed her a false smile and rolled her eyes, this clearly wasn’t a first-time thing.
“It’s good to see you, dear,” Daniele said, taking Cara’s coat.
Constantino came into the house behind her, not even bothering to say hello. He passed his suit jacket off to his mother before she asked for it, and he disappeared down the hallway, likely heading for his father.
“Don’t mind the men this week—they’re a bit off,” her aunt muttered, shooting a glare in the direction her son had gone.
It had been three days since Cara spent the night with Gian Guzzi, and she had not heard a single word from him, about him, or his family. She had come home from school to find a message on her voice mail from her aunt, asking her over for dinner.
She knew what Daniele wanted, and while it irritated Cara to feed into the whims of others, she went. Her aunt meant no harm, she only wanted to check up on Cara and likely make sure she was still amongst the living.
“Food is nearly ready,” her aunt said, “so I hope you’re hungry.”
Cara almost asked if her aunt was going to report her state back to her mother, or even her brother, but thought better of it. No need to be rude to the only family she had left around, even if she would rather keep a distance, given her uncle and cousin’s involvement with the mafia.
“Sure, Zia,” Cara replied, “I’m starved.”
Then, her uncle’s voice boomed through the house again, making her aunt sigh heavily.
“But, Dad—”
“No one is saying anything, Constantino,” Claud complained. “No one knows who killed the boss, or who would even want to. No matter, Edmond and Gian will figure it out, and make whoever it was answer for what they’ve done.”
Gian.
It was the first time in three days that Cara heard his name.
Like his touch, it still made her shiver.
Edmond Portella’s calls and demands were not ones that Gian typically put in high priority, given both men’s status in the Guzzi Cosa Nostra. Gian, as the underboss, and Edmond, as the consigliere to a now-deceased Corrado put them on an equal playing field. Well, to a point. It also put them on very different scopes, regarding la famiglia and what their duties were to both the men, and the boss.
Most, if not all, of Gian’s control and duty came down to the men, but more specifically, the Capos of the family. He dealt with their issues, kept an eye on them, and if needed, stepped in to handle any problem that came up when his grandfather hadn’t wanted to bother.
Edmond, on the other hand, had been Corrado’s left-hand to Gian being his right. What Gian didn’t step in to handle, like the more personal side of business, Edmond was there to do whatever was needed.
Gian was the business hand of the boss.
Edmond was the personal.
Therefore, whenever Edmond had an issue or demanded someone’s presence, it was rarely ever Gian’s. Their respective positions neither depended on, nor required, the other.
And yet, ever since Corrado’s murder the week before, Gian found himself on the opposite end of Edmond’s calls more often than he liked. Sure, the Guzzi Cosa Nostra was facing an upset of sorts, with their long-reigning boss dead, and no one to immediately take the open seat readily available. A murder that, for all purposes, had been done in cold-blood, and for no apparent reason other than to kill the boss.
It was more than that, too.
More, because Edmond had made demands. More, because he made no qualms about hiding the fact that perhaps it would be him who would best fill the open position in the family.
The highest position.
Gian was the messenger for the Capos of the family. Whenever Edmond wanted the men to know something or do something, it was left to Gian to deliver the orders.
It was easy to attribute the murder of his grandfather—Corrado had always been more than just the boss to him—as to why Gian didn’t immediately step in to take control of the family. It was also not that simple.
Maybe he felt he wasn’t ready. His grandfather had never told him that he was, after all. Maybe he felt that at his age—twenty-nine—someone older might fill the position with more experience and a stronger hand than he could. That reasoning, too, was a born and bred respect that had been pounded into Gian over the years where Cosa Nostra and made men were concerned.
It was also a major reason why there was so much unrest in the family. He was not the only young Guzzi man, a made man of a generation that was often overlooked or dismissed because of their age, which felt it was time for the older men to step aside.
That particular unrest had been brewing long before Corrado’s murder, and Gian didn’t think it would lessen anytime soon.
However, it was that born and bred respect of Gian’s that got him out of his bed at twelve at night on a fucking Thursday, when Edmond called and asked him to come over. Edmond lived outside of Toronto’s city limits, in the outer suburbs of a gated community. The large property cost far more than any Canadian would ever hope to make in their lifetime. It took Gian a good hour and a half to get to Edmond’s home, and all the while, he still couldn’t figure out what the hell the man wanted.
Edmond hadn’t offered any hints.
Gian disliked that even more.
It was as if Edmond felt he could simply demand, and Gia
n should answer, no questions asked.
“Ma called today, going on like she does,” Domenic said, his voice echoing through the speakers of the Lexus. Gian had been so caught up in his own thoughts that he’d forgotten about being in mid-conversation with his younger brother. “I think she’s overwhelmed with what’s coming up next week, and all that shit.”
“Probably,” Gian agreed.
The massive funeral arrangements had been mostly left up to Gian’s father, who had passed the task onto his wife.
“You sound off, man.”
Gian kept his eyes on the suburb streets, not wanting to get lost in the catacombs of his mind again. “Thinking.”
“I could have come with you tonight, if—”
“No, you couldn’t.”
“Well, I could.”
“You’re not a made man; you can’t attend meetings, Dom.”
His brother grunted under his breath. “Not for lack of trying, Gian.”
“You’ll get the button, eventually. It takes time, but until then, you can’t attend this kind of thing. Whatever it is,” he tacked on at the end, still irritated at being left out of a very important loop.
Finally, the long driveway leading up to the massive house belonging to Edmond came into view, and Gian turned off the road. “I’ll call you when it’s over, Dom.”
“All right. And hey?”
“What?”
“Be careful,” his brother said. “A lot of people you don’t get to talk to that I get to talk to on the streets aren’t happy right now. You only chat with made men, I get the word from the soldiers, too. I think they might get to hear some shit being said from their Capos that you aren’t getting to hear at all.”
“Go on.”
“I told you—people aren’t happy, Gian.”
“That’s not news, Dom.”
“No, I don’t mean the usual younger guys having rifts with the older guys. I mean they’re looking for some kind of stability here, and coming up with nothing. That’s not good on the streets. It makes people fight about stupid shit to have something to do.”
Gian scowled. “Yeah, I got it.”
“So yeah … maybe be careful.”
He didn’t need his younger brother lecturing him on how Cosa Nostra—or the made men within the family—worked, but he let Domenic have his moment. If nothing else, to let his brother feel like he had done something useful.
“I’ll call you when I’m done,” Gian repeated.
He hung up the call through the Bluetooth before Domenic could reply. Soon, he had driven the long length of the Portella driveway, and parked his car, cutting the engine as he surveyed the circular entrance.
Gian did not like what he saw.
Cars.
Several cars.
Yet, not enough for it to be a formal family meeting.
Of course, he recognized the vehicles, and could name the men to whom they belonged. A significant portion, if not all, of the older generation of Guzzi made men. Not one younger man, or one closer to Gian’s age.
Except for him.
Gian stepped out of his car, not bothering to lock it as he headed for the front entrance of the large home. Edmond’s wife let him in with a quiet greeting, and pointed in the direction of the upstairs.
“You’ll find him in his office,” she told Gian.
“Grazie,” he thanked her.
Sure enough, Gian walked into an office that wasn’t entirely filled with made men, but held a significant number to pull weight. All of them, with their graying hair, slightly rounded bodies, and older features, barely spared him a glance as he entered.
Edmond sat behind his large desk, a glass of scotch in his hand, and a lit cigar in the other. “Took you long enough, Gian.”
Gian shrugged, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his suit jacket. “Seems everyone else that you wanted to be here must have gotten a call before me, Edmond.”
“Oh, it isn’t that, now. I made a call to Matthew and he called a few more.”
Matthew, the older Capo in question, tipped his glass at Gian in greeting.
Gian offered nothing in response.
His attention was back on Edmond instead. “We both know that there are a lot of issues right now within the family, between the generations of men, and this isn’t going to help, Edmond.”
“I’m not sure I get what you mean.”
Really?
That was likely half of the damn problem.
“You’ve called a meet for the men—clearly, look around—but not all of them. It’s not good for the divide between the generations to add fuel to a fire when half of them already feel dismissed or overlooked in their positions. This will do exactly that, once they hear about it.”
Edmond sighed, using two fingers to massage his forehead while his cigar dangled dangerously between his lips. “It won’t matter after tonight, anyway. I called in the men who make a difference, the only ones whose voices need to be heard in this case.”
Gian didn’t like what he was hearing.
Nor what Edmond suggested.
“And what case is this?” Gian asked, not bothering to hide the edge of irritation sharpening his tone.
“It’s time to fill the seat, Gian. We’ve gone a week without a boss, now, and that’s not how it works in la famiglia. We’ll do the nomination tonight, and take a vote. By morning, the Guzzi family will have a new boss, and we can all move forward.”
“Except that’s not how it works, Edmond.”
“Why not?”
“Because every made man gets a voice in that vote, not a select few that you picked to be here for it.”
Edmond smiled, a sight cold enough to make Gian stand a bit straighter. “As I said, once the boss is the boss, there is nothing to argue about. Your grandfather would have understood, given the current atmosphere of the family, that this is the best way to go about stabilizing the ground floor of this famiglia.”
“Not to the detriment of more possible problems,” Gian argued.
“Right now, you’re the only one causing a problem, Gian.”
“Or is that how you want it to look, Edmond?”
Gian had hit the nail directly on the head, and he knew it in that moment. The old consigliere to his grandfather was not even bothering to hide the sneaky way he intended to go about taking the boss’s seat. He was not going to even allow the majority of younger made men in the family to speak.
Perhaps because they wouldn’t choose Edmond.
Perhaps because they would pick someone like Gian.
That pissed Gian off.
But what could he do?
Gian was acutely aware of his current situation, and how dangerous it could be for him. In a room full of made men, he would likely be the only one on his side. He could be killed, though, it was technically forbidden without proper reasoning, and no one would speak up and say why. Not when the older men felt as though they were getting what they wanted.
This was not a good situation for Gian.
Suspicion weaved through Gian’s bloodstream, and he disliked how it left him feeling. A distasteful sentiment stuck heavily on his tongue as he looked to Edmond, and was forced to wonder … had he found the hand that ordered the gun on his grandfather?
He had no real reason to believe that, and the friendship between Corrado and Edmond was a long one. Far longer than both men’s marriages, even.
It could be that Edmond was a fucking upstart, and this had been his chance to take control. Something that was entirely unrelated to Corrado’s murder, but rather, a happy by-product.
Gian didn’t particularly like either of those ideas.
But here he was.
Fucked.
“I know you’re unhappy about this,” Edmond started to say.
“That’s an understatement.”
“But it is for the best, Gian.” The older man rested back in his chair, steepling his fingers in front of his face before he spoke again. “And consider t
hat once the men have proper stability again to fall back on, we can begin to work on other things.”
“Like what?”
“Corrado’s killer, for one.”
Gian’s jaw ached from clenching so hard. “I see.”
“It’s time to let the men nominate, and take their vote to fill the seat. Don’t you think so?”
No.
Absolutely not.
It would not help the unrest within the family ranks to allow a boss to be chosen without every man’s voice being involved.
He still didn’t have a choice.
“I guess it is,” Gian said quietly.
“Any other day would have been far better than today for this,” Gian muttered.
His attempt to complain quietly to his father without his mother overhearing had not been missed, unfortunately. Celeste glared over her shoulder, effectively quieting her son and whatever else he might say.
With his mother’s attention back on the speaking lawyer, Gian glanced up at the ceiling.
“A funeral would have been enough, I agree,” his father said softly. “But apparently, Corrado wanted his Last Will and Testament read before burial, and this was the only time the lawyer had available this week to do this. It’s extensive.”
Obviously.
They had already been stuck in the reading for two hours.
Once it finished, they had to be at the church for the ceremony and subsequent entombment of Corrado’s casket until the thaw came in the spring. The mid-February ground was still far too frozen to dig.
“To my eldest grandson, Gian …”
Gian’s head lifted at his name being called out by the lawyer. It was the only time that Gian had shown any interest in the reading of his grandfather’s Will, and not because he didn’t care. He simply wished that it could be done one thing at a time. He didn’t want to watch the things and legacy his grandfather worked so hard for be handed off and divided up on the same day they had to say goodbye.
The lawyer continued speaking, explaining the details of the things Corrado had left to Gian, including a trust, two antique roadsters that had been stored in the city, and other family heirlooms.
