by Bethany-Kris
She was honored that Tiffany felt better having Cara there than anyone else.
“You won’t have to miss anything?” Tiffany asked.
“It doesn’t matter if I do,” Cara replied. “Lots of stuff can be worked around. This, for you, is one thing that can’t be. No problem at all.”
Tiffany’s hesitance left her eyes. “Thank you, Cara.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
They fully suspected that Tiffany’s father likely wouldn’t even show up to court, but either way, they still had to go.
“I’m going to go find Mikey,” Tiffany said.
Cara said goodbye, and once the girl was gone, turned to Jenny. “That’s all? Did you want me to stick around and help with dinner or anything?”
“Extra hands for dinner would be great, but there is one more thing.”
“Oh?”
Jenny shrugged. “Tiffany did mention something important. Your classes are starting up next week.”
“So?”
“Your co-op term actually ended last week, Cara. You’ve already gotten your grade for this, sweetheart.”
Cara just stared at the woman. “I’m here because I want to be, because this place is amazing and so are the women and the people who run it, not because of a grade.”
Jenny nodded. “I know.”
“Why mention it?”
“I wanted to ask if you would like to stay on, even after your classes start. We can work out days or evenings, weekends. It doesn’t have to be a five-day-a-week thing, or whatever. The women love you, and the staff—”
“Yes.” Cara didn’t need to think it over. “You don’t even have to ask.”
The first day back to class was always a shit show for Cara. It meant rushing between halls and buildings to be early for professors that were almost always late, but had zero issue with calling out a student for coming in after they finally showed up. It also meant orientation for smaller classes, plus going over what could be expected for the coming semester.
Cara had another year left, and she was done. Not only did she already have her Masters of Social Work, but once the year was up, she would also add her master’s degrees of science and in public health. If she decided to take her education further, she could choose a residency program for psychiatry and continue on that path. But for now, her three master’s would allow her the ability to work in several fields, including with children and mental health.
It was every goal she had wanted to achieve, and it was almost a reality.
She wasn’t used to the early morning routine after the summer, though. Cara had even managed to forget to feed herself, which sent her running to the café she liked just a couple of blocks away from the university, when she had thirty minutes to spare.
Cara groaned at the sight of a long line when she stepped into the café. Unfortunately, another swarm of people came in right behind her. She quickly filed into line in order to not wait any longer.
By the time she did get to the front of the line to place her order, Cara was damn near terrified to check her watch and see how late she already was for her second to last class. She quickly asked for a coffee, bagel, and cookie to-go. Though she was hungry for more, her stomach would have to wait until she got home.
“Your order will come up down there,” the barista said, pointing at the end of the counter.
“Great, thanks.”
Cara fiddled with her bag as she waited for her order. She kept glancing down at her watch to check the time, but her solitude didn’t last long.
“Are you waiting for someone?”
Looking over her shoulder, a pair of striking blue eyes met her gaze. The man was handsome enough, with a disarming smile and a sports coat slung over his arm. He leaned against the counter right behind Cara.
“Are you talking to me?” Cara asked.
The man nodded. “Sure am. It’s a friendly thing to do, when the only other option is standing around waiting and talking to yourself.”
Cara managed a laugh. “That’s true. And no, I’m not waiting for someone.”
“You kept looking at your watch. I just assumed.”
“I’m late,” Cara explained, “and getting later by the second.”
“I’m Nathan,” the guy said.
Cara spun around to take the hand he offered, noting his short-trimmed nails and smooth skin. He looked to be in his early thirties, if that. “Cara.”
“Well, Cara, I’m glad you’re not waiting for someone. At least no one is standing up a beautiful woman.”
She arched a brow. “Are you working toward something?”
Nathan shrugged. “Would it get me anywhere if I was?”
“I’m not on the market for dating, sorry.”
He glanced down at her hand, still firmly held in his. “No ring.”
“None on yours, either.”
“To be fair, a lot of surgeons take their rings off when they’re on a shift. I just got off mine, though. But no, there isn’t a ring.”
Cara smiled. “A doctor.”
“You don’t sound surprised.”
“Your hands give it away.”
Nathan chuckled. “I’m going to take that as a compliment.”
“Miss, your order is ready.”
Cara dropped Nathan’s hand with a shrug and turned to grab her waiting goods. “Thank you for the conversation, but I really am late.”
“No problem.” He flashed her a smile. “Have a good day, Cara.”
“You, too.”
Cara had only taken a couple of steps toward the door, when a familiar figure passed by the café’s windows outside the business. She recognized the man for two reasons—one, he shared similar features to his brother, and for two, she had seen his face on the news over and over again several months earlier.
Domenic Guzzi.
Gian’s younger brother.
For a second, Cara simply stood there, watching Domenic pass by the café without as much as a look inside. She didn’t even know if the guy would recognize her, but it didn’t much matter. He didn’t matter, really. It was just the fact that Cara almost expected to see Gian, too.
How long could they be in the same city without running into one another? And she really hated how a part of her wanted that run in, too.
Move on, she told herself.
Before she could think better of it, Cara turned on her heel to approach Nathan again. It didn’t have to mean anything, but a date was a date, and it meant she wasn’t wallowing on a man who had severely fucked her over in the emotions department.
“Did you forget something?” Nathan asked when Cara approached him. He already had his order in hand, and looked like he was ready to head out, as well.
She held out her phone, the screen unlocked and ready to input a new contact. “Plug your number in—no guarantees, though.”
He glanced down at her phone before taking it from her. “No promises here, either.”
Cara could work with that.
There was nothing more irritating to Gian than seeing a pair of Royal Canadian Mounted Police detectives waiting for him at the front desk of his building. At least, the managers and ladies working the front desk knew better than to allow the RCMP detectives straight up to Gian’s penthouse.
Ever since Corrado died, the police attention on the Guzzi family was … rough. Damn near constant. It didn’t help that following Corrado’s murder, several more deaths followed in the organization, and most done in a public way.
For the most part, the Canadian crime family managed to keep their heads down and their noses clean where police were concerned. They lived under the rule that less attention was better. This, unfortunately, was blowing that all to hell.
“Gian,” the taller of the two detectives—Seeley, Gian thought his surname was—greeted.
The shorter of the two, the one with wide-framed glasses and a suit that always needed pressed, hung back from his partner. He was usually that way whenever the detectives showed up for
another round of make-Gian-talk-and-get-shot-down.
“Detective Seeley,” Gian replied dryly. Then, he nodded to the quiet detective. “Shaw.”
Seeley glanced upward at the tall ceilings of the building, and then quickly back to Gian. “Je voudrais—”
“English only, please,” Gian interrupted.
Seeley’s jaw clenched.
Gian made pissing these men off into a game.
“You speak French,” the man said firmly.
“Today I want to speak English,” Gian replied. “Serve me in my language of choice, as you’re supposed to do. I know how the police works in this country. We’re all on a nod and greet basis out there on the streets, aren’t we? Use English.”
“Fine, English it is.”
Gian stuffed his hands in his pockets, and rocked on his heels, pleased as fuck to have once again, annoyed the cops. Maybe if he did it enough, they would leave him the hell alone for a week. He doubted it, but he figured the risk was worth it.
All Royal Canadian Mounted Police were required to speak both official languages of the country. English and French. Gian found the detectives assigned to irritating him preferred French, and because he spoke French fluently, they expected him to converse in that language.
Gian was just as unpleasant in French when it came to cops as he was in his other languages. Cops all held the same distinct stench. Their job was to seem nice to him, to placate his distrust with them, and bring him in closer to their schemes. They put men like him away all the damn time, and Gian refused to be their next foolish sheep.
“I want to discuss some things that came up in your grandfather’s case, and see if you could confirm anything for me,” Seeley said.
Gian passed the man a look. “Corrado has been dead for months; you should leave him that way and let his soul rest in peace.”
“Don’t you want justice for your grandfather?”
How little they knew …
Justice had already been served.
“What information do you have?” Gian asked, determined to get these idiots out of his building so he could get back up to his penthouse. “And what do you want from me?”
Seeley took a folder from Shaw and opened it up. The very top item happened to be a photograph of a man with half of his face blown off, but the other side was perfectly recognizable. Gian focused on the recognizable part instead of the grisly bits with brain matter and fluids soaking into the green grass under the body.
“Nik Tradek,” the detective said. “Hired gun. We did a bit of digging and found some interesting emails and numbers between him and another dead man of the Guzzi Cosa Nostra—Constantino Rossi.”
“And?”
“It wasn’t exactly made quiet why Constantino was killed, I mean, not when it came to rumors on the streets.”
There was a reason for that; Gian wanted it made clear that anyone who came up against him or his family would meet the same fate. Their closeness to him mattered for nothing.
“Rumors are not admissible in court,” Gian reminded the detective.
“Be that as it may, word only travels when there’s a ring of truth.”
“Again,” Gian drawled, “and?”
“Nik showed up dead last month. As you can see, his face was blown off, or most of it.”
Yes, because it’d taken two months to find the bastard. He lived his life underground and off the grid.
Gian wanted him dead.
He got his wish.
Gian made a dismissive noise. “Well, I guess that’s one less killer in Canada, then, isn’t it?”
Seeley sighed, closing the folder and passing it back to his partner. “Gian, I know you’re not a stupid man.”
“You’re right, I’m not.”
“Then let’s talk.”
“I’d rather not, I’m not stupid, after all. You said it first.”
“Then let me talk,” the detective said.
“You did waste your time coming all the way here, so be my guest, Detective Seeley.”
The man gestured at the file his partner held. “You should be aware—if you aren’t already—that this really is no longer about Corrado’s murder, or the many deaths that followed after his. This is about the Guzzi organization as a whole, and putting an end to the reign your family has had in this city—”
“Country,” Gian corrected smoothly. “We’re the largest organization in this country, at the moment, and for the unforeseeable future, too. We have always been the reigning organization, and that isn’t going to change. Even when the cops couldn’t handle something like the biker gang wars, we did. And for the most part, the Guzzi organization keeps a tight leash on gangs and other violent entities that cause us issues, which in return, cause the people and you issues.”
Seeley tipped his chin up, defiant.
Gian smirked in response.
“I mean, you could be grateful,” Gian added.
“Right, that’s the word police are known to use for criminals.”
Gian waved that off. “Those are semantics. If you’re here to tell me that the focus of the police has changed from putting away murderers, to bringing my family down, then you’re too little too late. You see, I took care of the issues that needed taken care of, and you can take that however you want to. What it means, however, is that you’re left with the rest of us on your side of things, including me. So, here I am. I’ve even made it easy on you.”
“I beg your pardon?”
Gian held out his wrists, offering them to the detective. “You didn’t even have to ride an elevator to arrest me. Here you go, do your job.”
“I—”
“Can’t,” Gian interjected. “Yeah, I know. But hey, I’m really starting to look forward to these weekly meets and the games we play, so maybe in a few more, we’ll actually get to the point where we can sit down and have coffee. Or maybe not.”
“And how are those growing pains coming along in the organization?” the detective asked, moving an inch closer. “How difficult it must be for a boss of your age—even with your last name—to gain any traction with some of those men?”
Gian let his cool, calm expression take over as he answered, “So you’re watching, then? Good, see if you can keep up. Je suis désolé, mais je dois y aller, Detective. Have a good day.”
“We’re not done talking, Gian.”
Gian had already turned back and was heading for the elevator. His response was a flick of his hand over his shoulder, even when the detective called out for him again.
Oh, they were done.
Entirely so.
“Explain to me, boss, how a man who gets driven around ninety percent of his time, has managed to get two parking tickets and one for speeding, in three months?”
Gian glared at the back of Christopher Basso’s head from his spot in the rear seat. “You know they only pulled me over on the speeding ticket just to get a look inside my car.”
“Says you.”
“I wasn’t speeding,” Gian muttered.
“You are aware I know that you drive like a bat out of hell, right?”
“Shut up, Chris.”
“What about the two parking tickets?” the enforcer asked.
Gian scowled. “I couldn’t find a spot. I used a fire lane a couple of times—whatever.”
“You’ll be lucky if they don’t demote enough points from your license to take it from you today.”
“They’re not going to take my license, for fuck’s sake.”
“Well, if they do, I’ll still be here to drive your ass around.”
“You sound like you’re enjoying this,” Gian accused.
In the rearview mirror, Chris flashed a grin. “I enjoy keeping you on your toes, sure. You’re the only made man I know who doesn’t spend all his time in court for offences related to the organization, but instead, his shitty driving habits. I’m serious, they’re going to take your license one of these days.”
“You know what, fuck—�
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“Here we are,” Chris said, pulling the car over to the side of the road. “You’ve got a half an hour to get through security and see the judge. Tamper down the attitude, and pay your fines again.”
Gian flipped the enforcer off as he pushed out of the car. Leaning back in, he pointed at Chris and said, “This isn’t over.”
“Maybe they’ll send you for Driver’s Ed, boss!”
Gian slammed the car door closed as hard as he fucking could in response to that nonsense. Chris wasted no time pulling back onto the road, likely knowing he had pushed his luck with his boss enough for the day. Turning, Gian faced the courthouse and the busy steps filled with people coming and going. This wasn’t his first rodeo at the place, and likely wouldn’t be his last.
It took Gian twenty-five minutes, just to get through security because of the long line of waiting people. He slipped into the courtroom designated for traffic offenses and had just enough time to sit his ass down before his name was called. Like a robot, he went through the motions of the court as he had done many times before.
The only ticket Gian chose to dispute was the speeding ticket, because fuck, he had not been speeding that day. Since the officer in question didn’t show up, the judge tossed it out. Gian was still left with two demerits off his license, and a nearly thousand-dollar fine.
“Pay within thirty days, or on floor four,” the judge ordered, his gravel hitting down with a loud enough bang to make Gian’s headache pound.
Great.
Chris was going to have a field day with this nonsense.
Gian wanted to get the whole day over with, and while he could pay at home on the government website, he headed through the maze of people for the bank of elevators. One elevator opened, and a flood of people came out. Gian bolted for that one, not wanting to wait for the next. A few climbed in behind him, and the doors closed. From ground floor, the elevator went up one, stopped, and dropped half of the people off. Only one other person climbed in.
At the third floor, one used mainly in the courthouse for private consultations before appearances, the only other person got off the elevator. In their haste, they bumped into the one person coming on.
Cara Rossi.
