by Bethany-Kris
Blood rushed Cara’s ears. Her vision blurred. Her lips tingled with numbness, like the rest of her extremities. She swore she felt her heart slow.
She wasn’t sure how it was possible, but it was as though the world slowed down all around her in those moments. It made her far more painfully aware of the fact she was about to lose her life, and there was nothing she could do about it.
“Please don’t hurt the baby,” Cara managed to get out with what last bit of breath she had left. “Please—”
“Shut the fuck up! Shut up, shut up, shut up!”
Somewhere in the back of Cara’s hazy consciousness, she was sure that she heard a ding echo through the penthouse. Not that it mattered, because Cara didn’t even have the energy to keep her eyes open any longer, never mind pick up her fists to keep fighting.
Please don’t hurt my Marcus.
Please don’t hurt my baby.
I’m sorry for whatever I did, but don’t hurt him.
She wasn’t sure if she said those words out loud, but she thought them. Her mind screamed them until her throat felt raw and bloody, but that could have just been from the choking, too.
The happiest memory Cara could think of in that moment was waking up in the hospital the first night after Marcus was born, to find Gian singing a French lullaby to their son. She didn’t know he could sing at all, and he hadn’t noticed her awake. It was the sweetest sight—proof in an instant that no matter what, he was going to love his child.
And perhaps if one of them could make it out of this alive, she would want it to be Marcus.
He would always have his father.
Crack.
The loud sound accompanied a sudden intake of air into Cara’s lungs. Her eyes widened at the absolute agony it caused for her to breathe in, but all she saw above her was the falling form of Dom coming at her. She couldn’t even find the strength to move out of the damn way.
“Shit, Cara, just a second, baby. I got you.”
That voice … it was so beautifully, wonderfully familiar.
She barely moved at all as Dom’s dead weight was shoved off her. She clutched at her throat, taking in gulps of air. It didn’t really help.
“Look at me,” she heard the man demand. “Let me see your eyes. Don’t take in such big breaths.”
She couldn’t focus on the blurry image above her, her pupils struggling to form the shapes it needed. Careful hands touched her face, and that hurt, too.
“Christ, mon ange, look at your face. Try to calm down and focus.”
Cara did, but it didn’t help. “My baby … get my baby, please.”
“Shh. Marcus is fine, just angry.”
“Get my baby!”
“Okay, okay.”
In the time it took for Cara to smell the sweet scent of her child and have him in her weak arms, her vision had cleared enough for her to see again.
Gian.
He sat across from her, his gaze wary, and his hands outstretched to take her into his embrace when she was ready to move. She only shook her head, not wanting anything to touch her or her child in that moment. He checked her over from afar as she soothed Marcus in a daze.
“Don’t look at it,” Gian said when Cara glanced to the side at Dom’s body.
The back of his head was blown apart.
Blood was pooling across her bedroom floor.
“I don’t know what just happened,” Cara whispered.
“He was going to take you away from me.”
“But why?”
“Because he thought I took Elena,” Gian said.
Cara didn’t entirely understand.
She didn’t think it was all that important.
Once again, the familiar ding of the elevator rang through the penthouse. Cara’s frantic gaze darted to Gian, but he looked a hell of a lot calmer about an unknown someone coming into their place than she did.
“Calm down, it’s probably just—”
“Boss!”
“Stephan,” Gian finished with a sigh.
“Boss!”
“In the fucking bedroom, Stephan.” Gian held his arms out to Cara once more. “I know you’re scared and hurting, but I would really like to hold you right now, mon ange. Please.”
Her skittish nod sent him moving fast across the floor. She felt better the second she didn’t feel anything but him. His gentle fingers skimmed over her face, and through the tangles of her hair. He looked at the marks on her neck, muttered about a busted vessel in her eye, and mentioned a doctor that would come in and look her and the baby over once they had the mess cleaned up.
Cara didn’t care, as long as Marcus was still happy in her arms and Gian was there.
“Holy shit,” Stephan said from the doorway. “How did you make it here before me? I was closer by fifteen minutes, at least.”
Gian shrugged, but didn’t let go of Cara. “I drive fast.”
“Chris always said you drove like a bat out of hell, boss.”
“He understated it,” Gian said deadpan. “This needs to go away, Stephan. This mess—the body. It needs to be gone, it can’t be found.”
Cara chose not to ask about that, either.
“I can do that,” Stephan answered.
That was that.
Cara found Gian sitting on the middle of their bedroom floor, his suit jacket discarded, and his tie hanging loosely around his neck. He sat in the same spot Domenic had damn near killed her, and then subsequently lost his own life. Gian fiddled with his finger, and as Cara came closer, she realized he was spinning the wedding band around and around the digit. She rarely saw him wear the piece of jewelry—he said he didn’t like it, and only put it on when necessary.
She supposed today would have been one of those necessary days.
Elena’s funeral.
The last two weeks had been especially trying for Gian, she knew. Perhaps had it been any other man he’d killed, and not his brother, the heavy weight he carried around wouldn’t be so present and obvious. She had gone along with him when he chose to tell his mother and father that Domenic would not be coming home ever again. Gian hadn’t needed to do that, because as far as Cara knew, by Gian’s request, Stephan had taken care of the body so that it wouldn’t be found. As sad as it would have been for Gian’s parents to realize something had happened and not have answers, Gian was not required to give one.
Yet, he had.
And the sound.
Oh, God.
The sound of Celeste Guzzi’s heartache still resounded in Cara’s mind. It was as though the woman’s whole world had just fallen apart entirely. It had been a tug of war in the mother’s eyes as she listened to Gian explain and apologize. Cara did not think she was as good of a woman as Celeste seemed to be in the moments that followed. A woman who faced the reasons why, and forgave all the same. A woman who loved a murdered child, and the child who had done the killing.
Gian’s father, on the other hand, had not been so understanding. Coward. Fool. Your fault. You did this. And for what, Gian, for a whore?
Cara would never forget those words.
She suspected that neither would Gian.
“Gian?” Cara asked quietly.
He didn’t look up at her, but his fidgeting stopped. “Hey, mon ange.”
“I didn’t see where you went when you came in the penthouse.”
“I needed a second.”
“For what?”
Gian let out a heavy breath. “To think. Alone, for a while.”
“I can let you—”
“No, don’t go.” He caught her wrist in a snug grip, and tugged her down. She sat opposite to him on the floor as his ring spinning started up again. “Last time to take it off.”
Gian said that with a soft smile and a shrug.
“Then why haven’t you?”
“A part of me thinks it’s not real. As much as I hate this ring, I don’t hate what it means, Cara. I just hated who it tied me to and how it chained me. It felt like it was choki
ng me every time I had to put it on. I’m worried, that’s all.”
“About what, Gian?”
“That maybe the way this one has always felt will taint the way the next one feels.”
Oh.
“We don’t need to be worrying about that right now,” Cara whispered, reaching out to stroke Gian’s tense lines away on his face. “You know that, right?”
“I’m a boss. A boss needs—”
“To be happy. To take some time. To manage a family and his organization. To be a dad. To be my lover. To be a son. Have you ever taken the time just to be, Gian?”
“I don’t have that kind of time, Cara, not in my position.”
“And who the fuck is going to tell you what you should and shouldn’t do for you at the moment, Gian? Who is going to tell you anything? You got one thing right—you’re the boss, not anyone else.”
It took Gian nearly an entire silent minute before he said, “But I do want to marry you. I have wanted to marry you since the moment I knew I loved you, mon ange.”
“And someday, you can ask. Today doesn’t have to be that day and neither does tomorrow.”
He laughed. “That’s quite a way to leave me hanging.”
“You have to ask someday, Gian, that’s all.”
Gian’s gaze dropped. “I found out some things today—coroner’s report came in, and I went down after the funeral to go over it.”
“All right.”
“Elena was pregnant, maybe with Dom’s kid, I’m not sure. I suspect it was. They had some tissue to test against my DNA, if I wanted—they suspect me of being the father. Not possible, but I didn’t correct them. They don’t need it on record that I wasn’t the father of the child because it’ll just give them something to look into, so I didn’t ask for testing to be done. As it was, I deleted the messages, calls, and Dom’s contact off her phone before I left the mansion that day. I took the pill bottles with his name on it. I knew I was going to kill him, and I was still trying to protect him. I did it again today. I realized I wasn’t even mad at Dom for what he did with her, or for falling into her trap. I was him once, too. I’m pissed because of what came of it, because of what he did, but not for her. I miss my brother, but not the thing she turned him into.”
“Anything else in the report?”
Gian shrugged. “Toxicology said there was a significant amount of prescription opiate use going back at least two years. It explained why they found bottles of painkillers with her name on it, and the ones I found and took with Dom’s name on them. Doctor shopping, likely. She hid that well.”
“Addicts sometimes do. High-functioning ones, anyway.”
“She was at least four months along in the pregnancy, Cara, so she had to know.”
Cara sighed. “I would think so.”
“That day I found her, I thought she was selfish,” he admitted, “because of what she did to Dom, something that was only meant to hurt me. She couldn’t help herself, clearly, she had to manipulate and play her games even at the end.”
“So?”
“So, then I learn she’s pregnant, too, and it just verified those thoughts. I don’t feel so awful for thinking them, now. I don’t feel as bad for what she did, because I don’t think it was ever about me. It was always about her, that’s just who she was.”
“It’s done now, Gian,” Cara said.
He nodded. “I was wrong when I told you freedom was always weightless. Do you remember that?”
“Of course. I remember everything you’ve ever told me.”
“Sometimes freedom feels heavy, too. Like when you don’t know what to do with it.”
Cara pushed up from her backside to rest on her knees. She leaned forward and kissed Gian softly on his mouth, feeling his lips grow into a sensual smile the longer she held him there. “You’ve got all the time in the world to figure this out, Gian.”
“With you.”
“With me,” she echoed.
“Because I don’t care much about the rest,” he said, holding her gaze, “as long as you’re going to be there with me, Cara.”
“I’m always going to be here.”
Where could she possibly go?
Life and love had entangled her heart and soul with Gian Guzzi.
He was hers.
She wasn’t going anywhere.
“He was wrong. All those years, what he kept repeating to me; he was wrong.”
“Who?” Cara asked.
“My grandfather. Duty. Legacy. And only then, love. Always in that order. That’s what he told me but he was wrong. At least for me. He used to say that if a man failed at his duty, his legacy would be nameless, and his love, hopeless. But that only works if a man loves his duty more than anything else in his life and I never did. I love you far more—I love my son far more. I would have no legacy without love, and then what would be the point of my duty at the end of it all? There would be no point, I suppose. I would have nothing worthy to pass on, nothing to watch grow. Or worse, I would have no one to pass it on to, no one to give all of my legacy. Yet, I do, and it was only because I refused to put duty first. I’m not sure if that counts as failing, or not.”
“Oh, Gian.”
“Yeah, I know.” Gian slipped the wedding band off his finger one last time, and handed it up as though it was an offering for her to take. “A gift I didn’t think I was going to be able to give you.”
Cara pinched the tiny piece of jewelry between her fingers, staring at it for a long while before she said, “One woman to one man, Gian.”
“For the rest of my fucking life, Cara. I promise.”
“Marcus!” Gian whispered loudly down the hall.
Nothing answered him back.
“Marcus, you better not be waking up your brothers, you little monster.”
Or his mother …
Marcus could be a handful for a nearly two-year-old child. Gian turned his back on his oldest son for two seconds, and the kid was gone. Like fucking lightning.
The further down the hall Gian got, the quieter he whispered for his son to come out of his hiding spot. “Marcus, Daddy has one of your cookies.”
Muffled behind the twins’ nursery door, Gian heard the sounds of Marcus making car noises. He quickly opened the door to find his boy playing on the floor between the two bassinets, his favorite toy car in hand. Marcus didn’t even look up at his father, instead continuing to play as though he hadn’t done anything wrong. Thankfully, it seemed the plush carpet was mostly muting the noise of the toy car.
“Marcus,” Gian murmured, carefully sidestepping a particular spot on the floor that creaked loud enough to wake the devil. “You know not to come into your baby brothers’ room when they’re napping. Come to Daddy, please.”
The boy rolled over to his back, and smiled up at Gian.
“Hi, Daddy,” Marcus said, barely above a whisper.
Serene.
Innocent.
Sweet as could be.
Terrible.
Good God, the boy was terrible. He knew exactly how to wrap his mother or father right around his tiny little finger with nothing more than a smile and twinkling brown eyes. Gian fully expected that out of his three children—whether or not more kids came in the future was up to Cara—Marcus was going to be the one Gian had to watch out for.
“Let me check on your brothers, and then we’re going,” Gian told the still-smiling toddler.
Gian leaned over the wicker bassinets, his gaze drifting over the swaddled, sleeping twin two-month old boys. Even small, brand new, and beautiful, he could see his features reflected in the babies. The shape of their noses, their dark hair, and the curve of their lips. Marcus had been perfect, too, but Gian had forgotten how strange and wonderful it felt to simply stare at his children and feel.
When they slept, when they were quiet, and when they couldn’t possibly know he was watching them … it was amazing. They were amazing.
And they had come from him.
Corrado prefer
red his thumb to a soother.
Christopher could only be soothed on the breast.
Gian vividly recalled the moment Cara had slid a positive pregnancy test into his hand with one of her sly smiles. He had never guessed that one baby would actually be two. Identical twins—boys, again.
Suddenly, their little family had become very big in a short amount of time.
He barely blinked, and he had three children. Three boys to raise. Three pieces of him to love. Others might have been scared at the changes in their life, but Gian was not one of those people. He had wanted a family of his own for longer than he cared to remember, but he had settled on the idea that he might not see those wishes through.
Yet, there he was, a father.
And there his babies were, all his.
“Daddy.”
Little Marcus pushed up from the floor and tugged on his father’s pant legs. Quickly, to keep him quiet and prevent him from waking up his baby brothers and mother, Gian scooped Marcus into his arms. The toddler peered into the wicker bassinets, curiosity lighting up his gaze.
For the most part, Marcus had no interest in his brothers. They were still too new, Gian thought. They didn’t play like he did, they cried when Marcus wanted quiet time, and they took up a lot of his mother and father’s attention.
He was a good big brother, though.
Or he tried to be.
That was all Gian asked of his oldest boy.
“Mook,” Marcus said, clearly done with looking at his brothers. He patted his father on the cheek with a slightly wet hand. Likely drool. Gian ignored the ickiness of it. “Mook, Daddy.”
“Yeah, we’ll get you some milk, bambino.”
It was better Gian did leave the nursery, anyway, as the twins hadn’t been down for very long, and Cara had only fallen asleep in the next room shortly after. If he woke them up, but especially Christopher, then Cara would have to get up, too. She needed her rest; she deserved to sleep.
She had wanted a shower while she had the chance to take one, but shit, Gian didn’t even think she was able to do that before she hit the bed. Out like a light.
Motherhood was tiring.
Tandem breastfeeding twins was exhausting.
Cara barely breathed a complaint.
