The Guzzi Legacy: Vol 2

by Bethany-Kris

  Plus, she loved John.

  Like crazy.

  Cella considered all of that a win and counted Siena as one of her friends. But like everyone else in her life that was important, Siena was yet another person who she felt like she had left to the wayside as she worked on this Toronto project and handled this thing between her and Marcus.

  “What other things are those?” Siena grinned. “Because I heard from a little bird that there might be a man in Toronto that caught your eye, huh? I was waiting to hear it from you, but I mean ... if the bird’s info is correct, I might listen to him a little more.”

  Lord.

  They were all nosy.

  She kind of loved it, though.

  Before she could answer her sister-in-law’s question, the kids came flying back through the hallway. This time, it was Tiffany leading the pack with the skirt of her pink dress swishing wildly with every step she took. John wasn’t far behind the kids, his laughter making the house even noisier than it already was, but he loved this, she knew.

  All his kids.

  His wife.

  These years were some of the best for her brother after the hell of the previous ones. He seemed content to live in the present more than he ever did his past, which was yet another reason why Cella attempted to mend those bridges between the two of them.

  John let the kids continue into the sitting room where all the toys were set up without him, and stood next to his wife to sling an arm around her shoulder. Pulling Siena in close, John dropped a kiss to her head before turning his attention on his sister.

  “What was this I heard about some bird telling you things?”

  “Shut up, you know that was you, John.”

  He laughed. “Yeah, well—”

  “If you all could not talk about my private life when even I’m not talking about it,” Cella interjected before anyone else could say anything more, “then that would be great.”

  “I didn’t mean any harm,” John said, “you know that, Cella.”

  Yeah, she did.

  Still ...

  “I didn’t even know what I was doing with a certain someone until just recently, so there wasn’t very much to tell.”

  Siena grinned. “But that sounds like now there might be something. Am I right?”

  “Well ...”

  “You finally made it, did you?” Jordyn poked her head out of the kitchen with a beaming smile. “I wondered if you would.”

  “Of course, I came, Ma. I said I would.”

  “You’re very busy lately.”

  “Is that Cella?”

  Her father’s call from within the kitchen had her shaking her head.

  “Yes, Lucian,” Jordyn replied, “stop yelling, my God.”

  “Tell her to come help with these cross buns,” another voice yelled.

  Her sister.

  Lucia.

  Which undoubtedly meant Lucia’s husband, Renzo, was there, too. The house really was full, which explained all the noise. Not that it bothered her. In fact, the effect was quite the opposite, and Cella smiled from the warmth spreading in her chest.

  The sight of her mother had Cella happy all over again. Just like the voices of her family. Even if she was sure this dinner would be full of questions just like the ones Siena had been asking her, it didn’t even matter. Her family was only curious because they wanted her to be happy. She understood that; it was the opening up part that she struggled with.

  Cella would work on that.

  She had to.

  “Okay, guys, you have to share,” Siena said when the kids started shouting in the other room. She pointed a finger at Cella, winking as she told her, “And you, we’re going to chat later about what I know, yes?”

  “We’ll see.”

  “What does she know?” Jordyn asked while Siena headed into the other room.

  “Marcus,” John said under his breath.

  Jordyn grinned. “Oh, yes. That. I’m very curious about that as well.”

  “Me, too!”

  That time, it was her father.

  “Could you guys not? Or at least, one at a time and not everyone all at once, okay?”

  Jordyn put her hands up. “Sorry, won’t say another word. But you should definitely invite your friend in Toronto, to dinner with us some weekend if he’d like to come. We would be happy to have him.”

  “Ma.”

  Her mother winked. “Just saying. And when you’re ready, we could use your help in the kitchen.”

  Her brother chuckled as Cella grabbed her cell phone from her bag after her mother disappeared into the kitchen. “You know she’s just happy, right? Like the rest of us. And a little nosy.”

  “Don’t worry, I know.”

  “And you’re happy, too, yeah? Because of ... him?”

  She hesitated as she came up beside her brother in the hallway. John looked to her expectantly, waiting for her to answer him.

  “If it is because of him,” Cella said, “would that be surprising?”

  “No.”

  “But?”

  John shook his head. “No buts, Cella, I just hope you understand who Marcus Guzzi is.”

  “He’s a lot like you, isn’t he? Or Daddy.”

  “There was a time when like us was something you didn’t want.”

  He wasn’t wrong.

  “He’s what I want now, John.”

  Her brother nodded. “All right.”

  “Don’t worry about me, okay? I know what I’m doing.”

  “I don’t doubt that,” he replied, “as long as you’re happy.”

  “I am.”

  She continued walking toward the kitchen ready to get a start on spending quality time with her family before she made the long drive home. Because once she was home, a long phone call with Marcus would be waiting while she enjoyed a glass of white wine in the bathtub. That was, by far, the next best thing to being there with him.

  Behind her, John added, “But if anything changes, we’re all going to be here for you then, too. No matter what, Cella.”

  Yeah.

  She knew that, too.

  • • •

  “Ma?”

  “Mmhmm.”

  Cella kept her focus on the freeway while she waited for her daughter to ask whatever question she had on her mind. Thankfully, traffic wasn’t too bad, but she attributed that to the fact it was summer, the weekend, and late in the evening. Another day, and they would have been bumper to bumper all the way back to Rochester after the dinner at her parents’.

  “Do you like Marcus?”

  Cella’s gaze darted from the windshield to the rearview mirror where she was able to stare at Tiffany who was currently sitting in her booster seat. With a book in her hands, the girl wasn’t even paying attention to her mother while she awaited her answer.

  “Well, yes,” Cella eventually said, “I do like him.”

  “Well, yeah.” Tiffany glanced up, but quickly went back to her book to flip to the next page. Cella put her attention on the road again. “But I mean, do you like him? You know, the way Grandpapa Lucian likes Grandmama. Or how Uncle John—”

  “Tiff—”

  “Why was everyone asking so many questions at dinner about him?”

  God.

  Yep.

  This was the conversation Cella had been waiting for with her daughter. She expected it to happen, but strangely, she never considered it would be like this. Perhaps a part of her thought her daughter would ask for other reasons, but instead it seemed like the curiosity of others had her child thinking about her own questions.

  “Not everyone asked questions,” Cella muttered under her breath.

  Not low enough, apparently.

  Kids heard everything.

  “Yep, everyone. Even Lucky asked who Marcus was. I told him he was your friend, remember?”

  Jesus Christ.

  Cella had hoped that the round of twenty rapid-fire questions she faced at her parents’ dinner table would be all t
hat she had to answer for a while. She couldn’t be so lucky.

  “He is my friend,” she settled on saying, “and you’re right, I do like him the same way your grandparents like each other, or your aunts and uncles.”

  “Oh.”

  The silence from the backseat stretched on for at least another two miles. Cella wasn’t sure if that was because Tiffany was too busy reading her book, or if she was thinking about the next questions she wanted to ask her mother. It really could go either way.

  Cella checked the rearview again.

  Tiffany looked up at the same time, brow furrowed. “Was that how you liked Daddy, too?”

  An ache hit Cella right in the fucking heart.

  Sharp and oh, so deep.

  Because something like that couldn’t be simplified down to a yes or no in her mind. It wasn’t that easy. Although, if she were being honest, everything about falling in love with Marcus while she still grieved a man who had given her one of her greatest gifts—her child—had seemed easy almost. He was not who she expected him to be. He came when she wasn’t looking for him.

  And yes, she made room in her heart just for him.

  But how did she explain those things to her child?

  How did she tell her daughter all of that?

  “Ma?” Tiffany asked.

  “Yes,” Cella said, “it’s very much the same way I liked your daddy, but no, it’s also entirely different because they’re not the same people. I liked your daddy because of who he was, and I like Marcus for who he is to you and to me.”

  “To me, too?”

  Cella smiled. “Of course—you’re everything I love the most.”

  So, he’d have to love her, too.

  “Okay.” Then, quieter, Tiffany added, “I like Marcus.”

  “I know you do, baby.”

  “Do you think that would make Daddy mad?”

  “Absolutely not. If anything, that would make him so happy because someone else makes you happy.”

  “Oh.”

  The silence came back, but this time, Cella didn’t feel like she had to wonder what her daughter was thinking about or if she had more questions that needed to be answered. She could tell just by glancing in the rearview mirror that Tiffany was lost in her thoughts and sometimes, that’s all a person needed to do.

  Absorb what they knew.

  Consider what it meant.

  Even if that person was a five-year-old girl.

  “Ma?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Could I call Marcus? I’d like to say goodnight.”

  Cella nodded and pulled her phone from the cupholder to pass it back. “There you go—you know where to find his name to call. I think he’d like that very much.”

  In fact, she was positive he would. Something else for her to love about him. Like the man hadn’t already given her more than enough.

  14.

  Tribute was, normally, one of Marcus’s favorite times of the month. It was something he looked forward to. He mostly blamed it on the fact he was a Guzzi, and all Guzzis loved money like it was a second God they worshipped on every other day but Sunday. What appeared to be modesty in his wealth what with his Toronto penthouse, the three-level home in the suburbs, and a couple of flashy cars he liked to keep on hand, was really just smoke and mirrors. His closets were lined with custom Armani and whatever designer name he felt like buying. He had enough leather loafers—his favorite—to provide a small army with shoes. Oh, and his investment portfolio toted over two hundred businesses spread across Ontario and Quebec which he constantly added to.

  Yeah, he fucking loved money. Because the more he owned, the less people might be able to take from him at the end of the day. With the control of things came power he could extend when or if he needed.

  Usually, that would be enough to get him to give a fuck at tribute, and put up with the theatrics of the mafia that could literally take all day, but today was one where his patience had run particularly thin. Or perhaps that was just his impatience making an appearance because frankly, he just wanted this day to be done with already. He had much better things waiting for him tomorrow.

  Like her arrival back in town.

  Cella, that was.

  With every week that passed without him seeing Cella, he became more and more anxious. A little fucking edgy. All things that weren’t particularly good for Marcus’s circumstance considering his life and position, but here he was doing it all anyway.

  A true testament to his feelings, really.

  Since tomorrow would accompany Cella’s arrival with Tiffany in tow, and today was tribute, well he was just ready for it to be done. Then, he could focus on his weekend with Cella since this was literally all he could have with her right now. Random weekends when she could make the trip, phone calls throughout the week, and text messages during the day.

  It wasn’t nearly enough.

  It’s all they had.

  Marcus would take that over nothing.

  “What’s your opinion on that, boss?”

  Marcus raised his attention from the cup of coffee he was currently dazing out on to find all eyes in the restaurant had turned on him. Not surprising, considering every person inside the business currently was a made man that answered to him, and they were all there to hand over a portion of their monthly earnings to the boss.

  That’s what tribute was all about.

  The boss.

  Another reason why he enjoyed this day was because of the memories it carried for him. From the time he was a young boy, he followed his father to every single tribute. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t been made at the time because he didn’t need to be when he was the son. The oldest Guzzi boy—the firstborn.

  A clear message, if there ever was one from his father.

  Gian intended for him to sit here.

  Marcus didn’t think his father meant for him to be this distracted however because he had not one fucking clue what the Capo across the room meant by his question. “My opinion on what, exactly?”

  Beside him at his own table, Chris cleared his throat as looks passed around the room. So, maybe his distraction wasn’t going unnoticed—that could certainly pose a problem, if he allowed it, and he wouldn’t—by everyone else.

  Marcus put his head back into the game. “I asked a question, did I not? I would appreciate an answer.”

  “The rackets on the road construction downtown,” the Capo was fast to say, clearly hearing the warning in Marcus’s tone and knowing better than to play games, “I was discussing whether or not it would continue to be a profitable venture after this year seeing as how someone else won the bids for the next few years. We’ll have to rework a new deal with those companies, that is if they even will take a—”

  “We have an entire year to figure the details out for that, oui?”

  The man nodded. “Yes, but—”

  “It would, undoubtedly, be easier to give up the rackets but the second we do that, someone else will certainly step in to take it over for their own business. And then that money we’re out will have to be made somewhere else by the Capos who should have had that cash coming in from the rackets. So, by all means, rid yourselves of the rackets if you want, but do let me know where you’re going to make up that cash elsewhere while you’re at it.”

  There.

  Let them make of that what they wanted.

  Because at the end of the day regardless of Marcus’s lack of attention at times, he was still the fucking man sitting in the boss’s seat. He knew how to behave like it, too. All the boss cared about was his bottom line because otherwise, what was the point of this thing of theirs?

  Money.

  Loyalty.

  It’s what kept Cosa Nostra going.

  “Continue with your payments,” Marcus said, lifting his coffee cup from the table to ready for a sip as he waved his other hand at the room. “One man at a time—as normal.”

  The tribute continued without the fanfare from before, and for that
blessing, Marcus was grateful. Of course, even as one Capo at a time sent his most trusted man up, if not himself, to pay his dues to the boss, Marcus could feel his brother beside him shifting in his seat with the occasional clearing of his throat.

  “What is it, Chris?” Marcus asked, picking up the stack of cash an enforcer for one of his Quebec Capos. “Just spit it out; stop overthinking whatever you want to say, brother.”

  Chris sighed, his gaze drifting to the enforcer who was currently waiting as the boss slipped the stack of bills into a money counter. At the same time, he kept his gaze averted from Christopher and Marcus sitting at the table, as though he didn’t hear their conversation at all. Which was entirely impossible considering he was right there in front of them.

  “Maybe now is not the best time,” Chris replied.

  “No better time, honestly.”

  If they couldn’t trust their people to speak in front of them, then who could they trust?

  It was also a good way to weed out the problems.

  Loose lips, and all that.

  “Fine,” Chris said, “you wanted it, so don’t blame me.”

  The machine in front of Marcus beeped with a number on the screen that made him quite pleased. He picked the cash out of the slot and put it back in to count a second time—at its core, this business was still all about the nickels and dimes, so double counting was a must.

  “Just talk,” Marcus muttered.

  “Your distraction wouldn’t have anything to do with Cella coming this weekend, would it?”

  Yep.

  Chris had to go there.

  “And?” Marcus asked.

  His brother shrugged. “I get it—I’m more concerned about your plans for the weekend.”

  “Why is that?”

  The machine beeped again. Same number as before.

  “Do you really think it’s smart to be out in the middle of nowhere, with very little protection, at the eastern Ontario farm when you know the bikers are rallying? At least two other chapters have come into town, and—”

  “They have no idea where I’ll be,” Marcus said, plucking the cash out of the machine. He nodded at the enforcer, saying, “You may return to your Capo.”