by Bethany-Kris
Cara grew silent as the elevator began to move upward, and she eyed the security camera in the upper left corner of the tin box, pointed right at her. She wondered if Gian was watching, knowing that the elevator was solely used for entrance and exit from his penthouse, and none of the other suites in the building. Someone had to be watching that camera.
She shot it the middle finger for good measure.
Just in case.
Childish, maybe.
Who cared?
As the elevator came to a slow stop at the top, Cara was surprised to find her inner turmoil had almost calmed completely. She didn’t know what to expect from herself—more nerves, perhaps, but definitely well-deserved anger.
None of those feelings came immediately as the door opened.
White walls, a vaulted ceiling, and the huge brass and crystal chandelier caught her eye first. She stared upward, soaking in the familiarity of the penthouse, and remembering how the first time she had seen it, it had damn near taken her breath away. She almost wished that Gian had given her the decency of choosing somewhere else to have this fucking meeting. He had to know how the penthouse would affect her, how the memories would sting her.
Cara shook the heavy sensation off her shoulders, and walked further into the penthouse, down the entryway, and toward the main floor of the place. She didn’t have to be told to know that’s where Gian would be waiting for her. Not close to the elevator, where she could make a quick exit if she needed to, but deeper into the penthouse, where he might have a chance to convince her to stay.
She had news for him.
Cara wouldn’t be staying.
Ever.
Gian stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows, staring out over the busy city streets as Cara entered the dining room. As Chris had said there would be, a lunch spread was waiting on the large table. It looked as though it hadn’t been touched. Cara didn’t make a move to go near the food, or Gian as he finally looked over his shoulder to acknowledge her presence.
A wariness settled in his eyes as he looked her over, and his usual grin—that sexy, confident smirk that was always in place—had vanished. He seemed older standing there staring at her, like the weight of the world had come along and sat itself down on his shoulders for the moment. His hair, the longer strands at the top, were messier than normal. A clear sign he had been running his fingers through the dark strands, speaking of his hidden stresses.
“Cara,” he murmured.
She still didn’t move.
Not when he spoke, or when he turned completely to face her, and certainly not when her heart ached to go to him.
She didn’t realize how hard this was going to be.
Not being angry, or even knowing what she had to do, but actually doing it. Saying this would be final—the end of them, whatever they were. That was the hard part.
“I’m sorry,” Gian said.
“I wish that made a difference, Gian.”
“I know that I should have told you, dolcezza, there’s no reason why I didn’t, except that I was being selfish.”
“You’re right, you should have told me, and you are selfish.” Cara shifted from one foot to the other, restlessness settling into her heart. “Aren’t you going to ask how I found out?”
“It doesn’t matter, really. You know, and that’s the important part.”
She was going to tell him anyway.
“Pictures,” Cara said quietly, “of your wedding. She looked beautiful, like a proper bride should.”
“Can I explain a few things about Elena and the marriage? Her and I, we’re not together in that sort of way. We haven’t been for years, we don’t even speak on a regular basis. Just let me—”
Cara shook her head, cutting him off with a quick, “No.”
“Cara, please.” He took one step forward, and Cara moved one step back accordingly. “You might understand—or shit, maybe not, but I need you to know why and how this happened, please.”
“No, Gian. I don’t care, because you didn’t care enough to tell me the truth from the start. You’ve lied to me. Maybe not in your words, but in your omissions, and the things you kept from me. You didn’t let me have a choice, you made them for me. You made me look stupid—like your foolish little whore, constantly running back to your bed whenever you snapped your fingers.”
He flinched. “That’s not what I meant to do, amore.”
“You didn’t have to mean to, your actions did it for you!”
“I’m sorry, Cara.”
“Sorry won’t fix this, Gian. It’s not a fucking time machine.”
“I know, I just—” His words cut off as he looked away, his strong jaw working as he chewed over his next words. “I want to explain, but it won’t help, will it?”
“No.”
Honesty was the best policy.
He should have followed that rule, too.
Gian rubbed a hand over his lower jaw, bringing Cara’s attention to the glint of jewelry on his ring finger. Never had she seen him wear the wedding band before, and in that moment, it felt like nothing more than a slap to her face.
He caught her stare, and dropped his hand when he realized that’s where she was looking.
“I have to wear it, given how things have changed, for appearances and—”
“Stop,” Cara whispered. “You don’t have to explain. It’s a little late for that, anyway, and I’m not in any position to need an explanation. Not like your wife would need one, you know?”
Pain colored Gian’s brown gaze, darkening them briefly.
“That was low,” he said.
Cara shrugged. “Sometimes, the truth hurts, Gian. Seems I’m not the only one who needed to learn that lesson, lately.”
With that statement, Cara turned on her heel and headed back to the elevator, determined to let those words be her final goodbye. It had said much more than she could. It wasn’t a proper goodbye, but it would have to do.
“Cara, wait.”
His footsteps echoed behind her, but she kept walking.
The elevator came into view fast, but not fast enough.
Gian grabbed her arm, spinning her back around to face him. “Wait, I said.”
Cara glared right back at him, letting her anger swell for the first time since she had entered the penthouse. “Don’t manhandle me, Gian. You don’t get to order me around, not now.”
“Let me speak for five minutes. Let me explain, and then you can do whatever the fuck you want to do.”
“What is there to explain?”
“I—”
“Are you married?” she asked.
“It’s not that simple.”
“Are. You. Married.”
“Yes,” he admitted.
“For three years.”
“And a couple of months.”
Cara took a deep breath. “Did you lie to me about it?”
“In a sense, yes, by omission.”
“Then nothing else matters.”
“It might, if you would let me explain, Cara.”
She doubted it.
“Let me go, Gian, I don’t belong here. You have a woman who can stand at your side, be in your bed, and whatever else you want, but I’m not her. I am not your wife. And I won’t pretend to be, when you want something different for the evening. I won’t be a goomah for a made man, and I certainly won’t be your whore.”
Gian released his hold on her arm, but it took a few passing seconds. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”
“You should have known it would. All lies unravel, eventually, no matter how good you are at telling them. And you’re so good, aren’t you? You made sure no one said a single word to me, but they all knew, didn’t they?”
“It wasn’t like that. They had no reason to speak up, and maybe some even thought you knew. Shit, at first, I thought you might have known.”
“Why would I have known, Gian? I knew barely anything about you!”
“I know.” Gian raised his ha
nds high and wide, as if to offer nothing but air. “I do love you, Cara. You know that’s true. You have to know that’s true.”
“Do I? I don’t think I know anything about you at all.”
Cara blinked, and the tears she had been holding back made lines down her cheeks. She didn’t make a move to wipe the wetness away, instead, letting Gian see them, so he knew. She needed him to understand how much he hurt her.
It couldn’t be fixed.
He’d done this.
“I’ve not been in a romantic relationship with my wife from damn near the day we married, though you might not believe it, and I certainly wasn’t with her when I was with you. For what it’s worth, I have only loved you, ever,” Gian said.
“It’s not worth very much now.”
More tears fell, but she didn’t make a sound.
Gian didn’t try to stop Cara as she took those last few steps toward the elevator. She wished that she could say it was only relief in her heart as she did what she knew was right.
It still hurt like hell. Her heart shattered when she stepped inside. She broke apart as the doors closed.
That was her goodbye.
Gian deserved to see every fucking second of it.
He was the entire reason why.
Every single reason.
Entangled
Please note, this is an unedited, and subject to change, excerpt of Entangled, Guzzi Duet, Book Two.
Chapter One
It was possible to be entirely alone in a room full of people.
Gian Guzzi had never had that experience before, but now it was all too common. He had wrongly assumed that taking the highest seat in his Cosa Nostra family would leave him with very little time to consider and wallow about his personal problems, but that couldn’t be further from the truth.
Already, it was August. A hot, humid summer month that Gian had planned to spend with someone else, ignoring the heat as best he could. Three months had passed since his last encounter with Cara Rossi, but not a single fucking day went by when he wasn’t reminded of her in some way.
Part of that was by his own hand, of course.
Being a boss, on the other hand, forced Gian to keep his personal issues quiet. He certainly couldn’t afford to let the men around him think that he was distracted by his emotions, never mind a woman that he could no longer have. He needed for them to think that at all times, he was on his very best game, no matter what.
Duty first.
Legacy second.
And only then, love.
Gian finally understood what his grandfather, Corrado, had been trying to tell him for years. He assumed that it was a sacrifice all made men needed to make for the sake of la famiglia, but he was wrong.
Only the boss made that sacrifice.
Cosa Nostra had to be his one constant. He had to breathe the business. He had to bleed the life. He was the one who was expected to repeat the rules, and enforce them. He was the only one who was looked to when something needed to be heard. His voice spoke for everyone.
That was what a good boss did. Then, if he did his job well, the boss’s men would never know that he was just like them, affected and ruined by silly things like love and a woman.
Duty. Legacy. Love.
Always in that order.
Always.
Oh, yes.
Gian understood those words perfectly well now.
It was better to listen to the people around him, let them talk, and then form his own opinions and give orders from what he learned. He learned that quickly enough as a boss. It also left him with too much silent time when he was alone with his thoughts.
All he ever did was think.
“Happy birthday, boss!”
Gian tried to smile as a hand clapped his back with enough force to shake him from his inner hell. It brought his attention forefront to the VIP section of the club, and the men, again. Men celebrating his thirtieth birthday.
He should be celebrating, too.
“Here, another drink,” Stephan said.
A whiskey was shoved into Gian’s hand.
He sipped at the strong liquor, as it gave him something to do. “Merci.”
Stephan said something else, but Gian wasn’t listening. He was not a big partier to begin with, and he had only agreed to this night with his men because they had asked for it. Given how quickly tensions could flare in the family, peace-keeping was a constant part of the business. Especially for Gian.
Earlier in the day, he had spent too many hours sitting around a dinner table with the older generation of Capos in the family and their important people. They, too, had wanted to celebrate their boss’s birthday in some way, but not like the younger men did. Which was understandable.
While the divide between the generational lines had closed enough for Gian to consider it comfortable, he still preferred to keep the two groups separate as much as was possible. He allowed everyone their voice, and their chance to express it. As much as was acceptable, anyway.
“Happy birthday to you! Happy …”
Gian was urged forward in the group of men as a server strolled forward, a cake in her hands. It was a two-tier cake, gold in color, with black trim. The Guzzi family colors. His name and the proper birthday greeting had been scrawled across the side. It certainly looked good, but even his appetite was seriously lacking lately.
Happy birthday, boss.
Dirty thirty, Gian.
The platitudes kept coming from everyone. Gian smiled and nodded, laughing when he needed to. He was never shocked anymore that no one seemed to notice his cheer and good-nature was nothing more than a carefully crafted lie.
He had perfected this shit in no time at all.
“Set it down,” someone told the server with the cake.
A table was pulled over, and the cake was set down. Another man passed Gian a knife, while paper plates, napkins, and plastic forks were set out on the table by another one of the girls who worked in Gian’s club.
“This one is all you,” Domenic said, nodding at Gian, and then to the cake. “Go for it. Might as well add some diabetes into the alcoholism these fools already have.”
Gian smacked his brother in the back of the head for that one. “You’re one to talk. How many nights a week are you in a club drinking, never mind at home alone?”
Dom shrugged. “It’s how I meet people.”
“Right. Good excuse.”
“Just cut your fucking cake, Gian.”
“You know I didn’t ask for a cake,” Gian said to his brother, lowering his tone so only Dom would hear. “I only agreed to a few drinks.”
Dom nodded. “They want to celebrate you, man. Let them.”
Gian sighed.
Right.
Celebrate.
It was only him that wasn’t feeling the party.
“Just cut the cake,” Dom said. “After that, they won’t even notice when you go. They’ll be too drunk and working on a sugar-high.”
“You get to be the lucky—or unlucky—fuck that stays behind to make sure they don’t tear my club apart,” Gian warned.
“I can do that.”
Fine.
As long as Dom knew …
Truthfully, Gian was grateful for his brother. Dom had been one of the very few constants at Gian’s side since he took over the family. He had made his brother, as he promised to do, and gave Dom his proper in to the family business. Besides, it was a hell of a lot easier to make Dom his consigliere when he was already a made man.
Dom became Gian’s right-hand man practically overnight. But that was how it needed to be, and Gian didn’t give fucking nobody the chance to argue or question it. Dom was better suited for the consigliere position than a Capo or underboss, simply because the men knew him, Gian trusted him, and he was not there for everyone else, only his brother.
As he had always been.
His underboss, on the other hand, had been something he allowed the men of the family to pick. It was unusual
, and certainly not the norm, but they had their voice and vote in something.
Stephan was who they chose.
Somedays, Gian wanted to kill the bastard.
Other days, he was worth his weight in arrogant, ignorant gold.
“Hurry up!” someone shouted from behind Gian.
Dom chuckled. “Let them eat cake, Gian.”
“Didn’t saying that get someone killed once?”
“She didn’t give them the cake, though.”
Gian didn’t think that was the point.
Still, he went ahead and sliced into the cake. While the outside had been a gold and black trimmed masterpiece, the inside was a vibrant crimson color. Red velvet, it seemed.
Like blood.
It was oddly appropriate, considering how much blood he had already spilled.
“All right, move over, let me handle this,” Dom said.
Gian willingly gave the knife to his brother, and let Dom get to work. If there was anything Dom liked, it was food, and good conversation. Gian was able to step aside, and barely anyone noticed as they were too busy drinking their liquor and shoving their face full of cake.
Gian knew, in that moment, he should take the time to appreciate what he was seeing. Calm and peace. Content men. Vanishing violence. A family ready to work.
He should have been happy.
He should have been … a lot of things.
Being a boss was not as easy as he had thought it would be. He had only been given a glimpse of what that position was like when his grandfather filled the spot. Now, sitting in the seat himself, Gian had his eyes wide open.
It was fucking lonely at the top.
Gian was constantly surrounded by people.
He had too much work to do.
He never stopped moving.
His time was thin.
His patience was thinner.
And yet, more than he cared to admit, he found himself entirely alone. No amount of work, Cosa Nostra, or distractions would help with his problem.
Only one person could—Cara.
She was out of his reach, now, to an extent. Physically, she wasn’t his to have, no matter how badly he wanted her. Emotionally, she had every fucking one of her claws buried into his heart, and she didn’t even know it.
