Unraveled (Guzzi Duet Book 1)

by Bethany-Kris

  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.

  “And the building, including the two-level penthouse, in Ottawa,” the lawyer said, looking over the rim of his large glasses to stare at Gian. “You’re aware of that property, correct?”

  Gian stiffened as the room quieted.

  Of course, he knew the property. Everyone in their fucking family knew it. And what his grandfather had used it for, three decades ago.

  At his side, Gian’s father cleared his throat uncomfortably, spurring him to talk.

  “Yeah,” Gian answered quickly, “I know it.”

  “Good,” the lawyer said, glancing back down at the papers. “All that’s left in regard to you, Gian, is a few words your grandfather wanted you to hear. Duty, legacy, and only then, love—always in that order. Always.”

  Those words were not new to Gian. He had heard them spoken from his grandfather’s very mouth more times than he cared to count. He figured Corrado wanted the chance to say them one last time, to remind Gian.

  It wasn’t like he could forget.

  He certainly couldn’t forget what Corrado had left unwritten in his final note, either. For when a man fails at duty, Gian, his legacy becomes nameless, and his love, hopeless.

  It seemed for a time, the usually bustling streets of Toronto where Corrado Guzzi had spent his life building an empire suddenly quieted. As if the shopkeepers knew what the gray skies meant, and the constantly moving people felt the need to step aside, away from the grief.

  It was the only day, in a string of many days, where the men of the Guzzi Cosa Nostra quieted their grumblings, put aside their misgivings, and settled in to pay respects to a boss unlike any other.

  Gian had expected sadness.

  He’d prepared for it.

  He found his grief was different for the funeral than it had been leading up to it. Not lessened, but rather, softened. He had done well to keep his emotions buried when he needed to, but as he traveled behind the hearse in a black town car, the grief was not as striking.

  It still ached.

  It still hurt.

  It had simply softened for a moment.

  Gian surveyed the familiar faces as the vehicles parked in a long line along the church, and then began to empty of people. He stood alongside his mother, father, brother, and sister as the hearse backed up to the entrance of the church, stopping at the steps.

  Despite all the people, Gian still felt singular. Above, perhaps, looking down. Not entirely there, as the back of the hearse was opened to showcase the shined, black casket with gold-plated bars and leaf designs along the corners and sides. The casket matched the one his grandmother had been buried in two years before, after her heart had finally given out.

  The whole day felt familiar.

  Except for the fact that the men who pulled their caps off and bowed their heads, were not doing so for respect of their boss’s grief, but rather, the loss of that very same man. He had not been expecting that second of distant familiarity.

  “Let’s go,” Domenic said, his hand landing hard on Gian’s shoulder.

  Gian stepped forward with his brother as another six men filed in behind them. Six familiar faces to help carry the casket in, before they would help to carry it out, too.

  One of those men happened to be Claud Rossi.

  Gian had known that Claud would be one of the pallbearers for his grandfather, chosen by Edmond and several others in the family. Still, he looked around for the man’s family, only finding Claud’s wife and son. His oldest friend, Constantino, nodded at Gian as he passed, but oddly, that wasn’t the face of a Rossi he had wanted to see.

  He’d wondered if Cara might show up.

  She certainly had no reason to, and no connection to his grandfather.

  Gian had a million and one other things to let consume his mind lately, but more often than not, his thoughts drifted back to the redheaded Cara, and the coffee she had promised him.

  He was going to need a break from his life after today.

  Something to let him breathe.

  Cara just might do …

  Gian simply had to figure out when.

  “Whiskey, neat,” Gian ordered.

  His grin deepened as Cara’s head popped up at the sound of his voice. From behind the bar, her eyes widened.

  “Gian.”

  He leaned over the top of the bar, pointing at the specific brand of whiskey he wanted. “That one, please.”

  Cara didn’t make a move to reach for the bottle. “What are you doing here?”

  “I could ask you the same thing.”

  “I asked first.”

  So she did.

  “I have a meeting with your uncle and cousin. I’m a bit early—better that than late, I suppose. I figured I would get a drink while I wait, and here you are.”

  Under the specialty lights of the restaurant’s bar, Cara’s red hair seemed darker. Her blue eyes surveyed him with barely-hidden interest, and curiosity. Gian had the strangest urge to reach out and tug on one of the curls, to feel the softness under his fingertips, but he managed to hold back. Somehow.

  “My uncle had a server that took sick, and his back up is gone for the week on vacation. I happen to know how to mix drinks,” Cara explained. “Plus, my aunt thinks if someone doesn’t force me out of the apartment every once in a while, I will likely die in there.”

  Gian chose not to comment on the second part of her statement, instead focusing on the first. “Yet, you don’t drink them.”

  “A dichotomy, I’m aware.”

  “In a way,” Gian agreed.

  Cara reached for the bottle behind the bar, and a clean glass to go along with it. She poured Gian’s drink with a smile that he returned.

  Soon, her smile faded.

  “I’m sorry about your grandfather,” she said quietly.

  Gian let out a sigh. “Thanks.”

  “The funeral was a couple of days ago, right?”

  “It was. I didn’t see you there.”

  Cara shrugged as she slid the drink across the counter. “Don’t take offense, but I try to stay away from family business, you know.”

  “So you told me in bed.”

  At the mention of their hookup, Cara’s cheeks flooded with a pretty red. It wasn’t quite the same shade as her hair, but it was damn close.

  Gian chuckled. “How—after that—can you be shy with me?”

  She shot him a look, her lips curving with amusement. “A gift, I guess.”

  “Well, speaking of that night,” Gian started to say, reaching for an item he had in his pocket. “I have something for you.”

  Cara’s brow lifted. “Oh?”

  “You forgot it. Or I broke it and you probably didn’t think much about it after that.”

  Gian pulled the thin, double-wrapped choker with a small bow from his pocket. He had taken it to a jeweller to have the velvet fixed, and the small piece of the chain that had broken repaired as well.

  “Here,” he said, holding it out and letting it dangle on two fingers. “Ready for you to wear again.”

  Carefully, Cara plucked the item from his grasp. “You didn’t have to—”

  “Of course, I did. I broke it; it’s only right that I fix it.”

  “It’s just a cheap necklace, Gian.”

  “Maybe. I liked the way it looked around your throat. I might like to see it on you another time.”

  All over again, Cara’s cheeks reddened.

  “Huh,” she said quietly.

  “You do still owe me coffee, mon ange.”

  “I figured you would have forgotten about that by now,” she admitted, glancing up at him.

  “Why?”

  Why on earth would he have forgotten about her? She was not easily forgotten, even with the sudden craziness his life had become. Gian fully intended on learning more about Cara Ro
ssi, even if he knew that he had zero business doing so.

  “For starters,” Cara said, “because we hooked up and that’s all it needs to be.”

  “Tell me that’s all it is, though, and then and only then, will that be all it needs to be, Cara.”

  Cara didn’t get the chance to answer.

  “Gian, you’re early!”

  He spun on his heel, whiskey in hand, only to come face to face with a stone-faced Claud Rossi. Constantino stood at his father’s side, his hands shoved in his pockets.

  Claud passed a look between Gian, and Cara. “Busy night, Cara?”

  “Busy enough, Zio.”

  “Good, good.” Claud turned his gaze back on Gian. “Thanks for agreeing to meet with me. Constantino says he’s sure we can work something out about the little problems the guys have been having on the streets, if you’re involved.”

  Gian nodded. “Sure.”

  He hated to end his conversation with Cara short, but …

  “That coffee,” he told her over his shoulder, “is happening soon.”

  He didn’t even leave it open to question.

  It was no longer an offer.

  Cara nodded, but quickly headed to the other side of the bar.

  Then, as Gian turned back to discuss the business at hand with the father and son Capo-duo, Claud was still watching him. It was a pensive sort of stare that put Gian on edge.

  “What?” Gian asked.

  “Should I be asking you that, Gian?” Claud asked.

  Constantino cleared his throat. “Dad—”

  “Did I see you give my niece a gift like you’re friendly with her?”

  Gian resisted the urge to tell Claud to mind his business, though he had every right. “And if I did?”

  “What in the hell are you doing, Gian?”

  That was the million-dollar question, wasn’t it?

  Even Gian didn’t have the answer.

  Cara tried to listen to the lecturer at the front of the hall, but her gaze kept drifting back to the time on her laptop. It wasn’t that the lecture was boring—the effects of mental health driven on or exacerbated by addiction and the statistics for the children growing up in those situations, was a particular subject Cara had great interest in. If for no other reason, to help better understand her own childhood and parents.

  For whatever reason, she couldn’t concentrate long enough on the lecturer’s words to keep track of where the guy was, or what he was currently discussing. That was probably caused by the fact this was her last thing to get done at school, and then she had the weekend free.

  Cara had been doing well.

  Two weeks, no missed days.

  She hadn’t even missed study halls or the specific lectures that were not considered required attendance for her grades.

  Given her track record over the last few months of missing more time than she actually attended, Cara was going to take that as a win. It was one lecture—the current one—that she probably could have afforded to give herself off to relax, but she had refused. Seems she should have skipped it and downloaded it later off the university’s online portal, because she wasn’t getting a damn thing out of it anyway.

  While it wasn’t good form on a student to leave a closed lecture hall, Cara considered doing just that and grabbing a bite to eat on her way to the bus stop. She ended up pushing through those last ten minutes or so, taking the time to close down her laptop and pack her things away. Some lecturers went far over their time, but thankfully, this one was done the second the clock hit four.

  Cara was done, too.

  Normalcy, she told herself as she walked out of the lecture hall. You’re trying to get back to some kind of normal here.

  So far, she was succeeding.

  Or it seemed so.

  She hadn’t stayed in bed for hours on end. She went out and did things, grabbed groceries, paid bills, and whatever else needed done. It wasn’t like she was a social butterfly, but she made it a point to grab coffee with a couple of friends, and have lunch with her aunt, too. Which was a hell of a lot more than she had been doing before.

  Cara hadn’t realized how deep her head had been stuck in the sand for all those months. To an extent, she had liked the darkness of being alone, even if the loneliness felt like it might kill her.

  She figured, what did it matter?

  No one would be able to understand her grief, anyhow.

  Cara was right on that end.

  No one did understand.

  But they sympathized.

  Maybe it was that the hardest part of her grief was finally waning enough to let her breathe. Maybe she had somehow managed to survive the depression that had sank its dirty claws into her mind for so long. Or maybe forcing herself to do normal things and actually see what was happening around her had been enough to wake her the hell up.

  Maybe it was none of those things.

  She did know that whatever it was, she was grateful. There was nothing to life, if a person wasn’t living it. Lea would have understood that better than anyone else.

  “Hey, Cara!”

  She had opened the main doors to Hall Three to leave, but turned to face the familiar girl running up to her. Lynn had been one of the few mutual friends that Cara and Lea had shared together, who had come from them attending the university.

  “What’s up, Lynn?”

  The girl smiled widely. “Just wondered if maybe you might want to hang out this weekend? We’re all thinking of heading to the new club that opened up in Niagara Falls.”

  “That club is supposed to be crazy popular right now, isn’t it?”

  “Yep.”

  “So, four hours of waiting in line to get inside a club that is so full, you can barely see what’s happening five feet in front of you?” Cara asked, slightly amused.

  Lynn shrugged. “I guess. You interested?”

  “Not this weekend, but thanks.”

  Cara didn’t regret refusing the invite. She didn’t have shit going on, she had no plans coming up, and she liked that fine. Lynn didn’t seem to mind either, giving her friend a hug before heading back in the direction she came.

  Normal, Cara found herself repeating.

  Like a damn mantra.

  She was coming to learn that sometimes, breaks were good, too. A break from the world, from friends, and from life. It didn’t mean she was doing worse or whatever, just that she needed a little time out.

  That’s what she wanted this weekend.

  A little time out.

  Of course, he would be waiting in front of her apartment building when Cara got off the city bus. Of course, he would be wearing one of those fucking three-piece suits, looking like a goddamn God, as though he had nowhere else better to be in that moment.

  And fuck, did he look good.

  Cara hated how almost every part of her knew instantly that her attraction to this man was not the least bit containable or innocent.

  Gian Guzzi.

  Leather driving gloves. Shined, leather shoes, untouched by the dirtiness of the winter in the city. Lazy grin. Confident posture.

  Gian.

  She didn’t have the slightest clue how Gian knew where she lived—she hadn’t given him her address that morning weeks ago, and she hadn’t even given him her phone number, despite his promise of coffee. She knew that him showing up at the restaurant when she was filling in for a bartender that night a few days back had been nothing more than happenstance, and even then, he still hadn’t asked for her information.

  Almost like he didn’t have to.

  Like maybe he already knew.

  Cara couldn’t decide if she liked that, or not.

  She stayed back a few paces, as he clearly hadn’t seen her get off the bus, and decided to watch him for a moment. He was exceptionally beautiful for a man, in a rough, cocky sort of way. When he tugged on the wrists of his leather driving gloves, Cara’s cheeks heated with the memory of taking them off, just so he could get his bare hands up her dress i
n a car.

  Nothing innocent about this at all.

  Gian both amazed and terrified Cara.

  Never had a man had the ability to make Cara so entirely aroused, yet coy at the same time.

  She was not shy, yet in a blink, he could make her that way. She was not loud, but he could easily make her scream. She was not controlled by selfish desires, but a big part of her still screamed want, want, want when it came to Gian Guzzi.

  And that was bad all over.

  Or was it?

  Cara didn’t know.

  “Are you going to stand there and stare at me all day, or come over and talk to me?” Gian suddenly asked, never once looking away from the opposite direction of where Cara was standing. “Not that I mind your staring, because, well … Tu as de beaux yeux, ma chérie. But I already have a big enough ego to fill this city, no need to go adding to my complex.”

  That fucking French of his was going to kill her someday.

  And she wasn’t even sure she understood what he said.

  “Did you say I have beautiful eyes?” Cara asked.

  Gian’s grin turned even sexier as his gaze finally landed on her. “I did—well done, Cara. Brava.”

  And there went his Italian.

  Cara sighed. “You’re Catholic, right?”

  Sure, he was.

  He was French and Italian.

  He was a damned Catholic.

  “Of course,” Gian said, turning to face her more. “Why?”

  “Then you’re familiar with the Bible and sin. Tell me, is there any place in the good book that explains how much of a sin it has got to be that you can manage to be that attractive and charming in three languages?”

  Gian laughed loud and hard.

  Cara’s stomach tightened into a dozen more knots.

  Fuck.

  Yes, that’s what she was.

  Fucked.

  “There is no such thing in the Bible,” Gian assured.

  “There should be,” Cara mumbled to herself. “It’s not fair to all us unsuspecting women walking around, you know.”

  Gian lifted a shoulder. “There’s really only one woman who needs to be worrying about it, at the moment.”

  “Oh?”