by Bethany-Kris
Made men didn’t fight. It was against every rule Gian knew. He’d break that one for Stephan, if pushed the wrong way.
“Yeah, sure, babe,” Stephan said, grabbing the glass. “Pretty sure that’s what the fucking servers are for in this place, though.”
Stephan was pushing out of the booth and heading past Gian without a look back.
Gian couldn’t help himself.
“Grab me another drink, too, Stephan,” Gian said at the man’s back.
Stephan’s steps hesitated, and Gian could almost hear the man’s refusal trying to force its way out. The guy wasn’t entirely stupid, and kept walking. Underbosses trumped Capos, after all. Stephan didn’t have to like Gian when the rules came into play.
“You could try not to antagonize him as much,” Bambi said quietly.
Gian turned to face the woman again. “Like he does for me?”
“That’s just Stephan’s ways.”
“And those ways will eventually get him killed.”
Bambi frowned, but wisely chose not to respond. Then, she turned and said something to the woman at her side but a couple of seats away in the booth, drawing Gian’s attention there.
To the redhead.
A woman he thought he hadn’t known from Adam. She had been so quiet at the table, her attention on the few people at a booth across the way from theirs, and not making a spectacle of herself as Stephan had done for him and Bambi. It suddenly made sense then why Constantino had not been treating the girl as a disinterested date.
It was his cousin, or rather, one of them.
At first, Gian thought Lea Rossi. But his mind quickly corrected that, as Lea Rossi’s death—an event that had been widely publicized, due to the nature of the murder—had happened months ago. He only knew of the Rossi twins, as their uncle was an older Capo for the Guzzi famiglia.
Gian had met Lea Rossi on a scarce few occasions when their paths crossed for different events or whatever, but he had never sat down and had an actual conversation with the girl. He had been told by Constantino—the twins’ cousin—that the twins lived in Toronto.
He knew Lea had a twin. He did not realize her twin was identical.
That red hair of hers that had been so striking under the club lights from up above, was even more stunning close up. A shade that a woman couldn’t buy in a bottle, and couldn’t quite be duplicated in a salon.
A black double-wrapped velvet choker rested around her throat, showcasing tanned skin and the delicate line of her neck. A simple bow was tied at the middle, making Gian wonder what she would look like with the choker on, looking up from her knees.
He wasn’t quite sure where that idea came from, but it was a good one.
Cara, he thought her name was. Wasn’t that what Constantino had said before about his cousins—Lea and Cara.
Gian didn’t pay attention to names, unless it served him some purpose to.
Her ice-blue eyes looked him over, and Gian was taken aback by the lack of makeup on her pixie-like features. Most woman put too much makeup on instead of too little, determined to make a man focus on attributes instead of imperfections. But all she wore was just enough to shape her wide eyes, and a red tint on her full lips that matched the color of her hair.
From what he could see, her tight black dress fit to her curves perfectly, and guessing by the way she crossed her legs out to the side, she was not a short woman.
Beautiful.
Natural.
Sexy.
All of that and more came to mind.
“You stare a lot, don’t you?” the woman asked.
Gian came out of the daze with a bang. “Am I not allowed to stare?”
Bambi glanced away from the two, hiding her smile. “I think I’ll go find Stephan and see what’s taking him so long.”
Do that, Gian wanted to say.
He said nothing until Bambi was gone. The two men left at the booth, quickly followed her lead, leaving Gian alone with the beautiful redhead. He didn’t sit, though, simply stayed where he was.
“It’s Cara, right?”
She glanced up, her blue eyes widening further. “How do you know my name?”
Gian smirked. “Family friends.”
“Right.” Cara flashed him one of her own smiles. “It’s Gian, right? Gian Guzzi.”
He lifted a single brow. “My name is well-known around this place.”
“The owner—I know. Constantino told me.”
“Oh?”
“And Guzzi isn’t exactly a … little name, either.”
“Would you like a drink, Cara?”
She didn’t even think about it before saying, “No.”
“A dance?”
“No.”
“Then why are you here?” Gian lifted a hand, waving at the club behind him. “That’s sort of what you do in a club, bella donna.”
“I do speak some Italian.”
“Good, then you know what I think of you. A very beautiful woman.”
She did manage a smile that was slightly truer than her first. “You’re terribly arrogant. Flash a smile, say a few pretty words, and I bet most women eat out of the palm of your hand.”
“The men of my family like to say it’s a learned talent, actually.” He grinned, and didn’t miss how for a moment that Cara was silenced by the sight. “And as of right now, I’m not trying any of those things on you.”
“How do you hold all that cockiness and those damn grins in then?”
“I don’t.”
“And everyone melts.”
“I’m not looking at everyone. I’m looking at you.”
Cara laughed lightly, a sweet sound that helped to light up her pretty features. “Smooth, Gian.”
“That was nothing, only the truth. But seriously, if you don’t want a drink, you don’t want to dance, and you don’t have a date …” Gian left that one hanging for Cara to finish for him.
“No date, either.”
“Then what are you doing here?”
“I wanted to feel normal for a night. Not so suffocated, I guess, or out of control. Also, someone showed up at my place and wouldn’t take no for an answer.”
Had someone else said those words, Gian might have been confused. He thought, considering this woman had recently lost someone important in her life, that her statement made a hell of a lot of sense.
“Your sister—your twin.” Her lips turned into a frown, a question in her stare. He quickly added, “Her face was all over the news, and Constantino is a very old, and good friend of mine.”
“Huh.”
“That’s what you meant, though, isn’t it?”
Cara shrugged. “I’m supposed to be having fun, not being sad tonight.”
Gian knew better than to engage Cara in any more conversation than what he already had done. He certainly didn’t have the time to invest to be interested in the woman, never mind struck by her unassuming beauty. It would be different, if he wanted nothing more than a quick ride and little else from a woman, but in that moment, he wasn’t looking for that, either.
He was, of course, but not right then. Cara was still sitting, staring at him, and waiting. He wouldn’t usually bother to talk at all.
“Are you going to sit?” Cara asked.
He knew better.
Gian took a seat in the booth when Cara moved in farther.
Knowing better meant nothing to Gian.
Cara wasn’t entirely sure how she had gotten tucked into a booth at a club with a man that she had no business talking to.
It wasn’t that Gian Guzzi was off-putting. In fact, he was the exact opposite. Cara was sure the man knew exactly how he came across to those around him, and had no qualms about using it to his advantage.
Charming.
Gorgeous.
Sharp lines, dark eyes, a chiseled jaw, carefully styled hair, and that was only the surface. That was what he greeted a person with at first glance. It was the second glance, and then the third, that Cara was su
re won a woman over. He brought out the Italian pet names, and then murmured a quick line in French with such perfect precision that it was simply shocking. Tan skinned, a three-piece, fitted suit that showcased his athletic form, a smile that surely made most women weep, and an attitude that begged for attention.
Cocky, even, with his smirks and fast replies that took Cara off guard.
Confident.
As his brown gaze had turned on her, the rest of the club had ceased to exist to Gian. He talked to her. He looked at her. He interested her.
Cara wasn’t quite sure what to make of that.
She had been so stuck in her own head for four months, that for the first time when she decided to pop back out of it and say hello to the world, it happened to be Gian Guzzi waiting there to greet her.
Gian with his fucking suit.
Gian with his goddamn grins.
Gian looking at only her in a club full of beautiful women.
Cara wouldn’t deny that it was something she liked.
There was something she liked about Gian. She didn’t know what to make of it all.
Cara was not stupid. She recognized the surname Gian sported—Guzzi—and knew exactly what it meant, even if she didn’t know him personally.
She knew enough, like the fact that having that last name meant Gian was no doubt involved in things she avoided. In her efforts to stay away from the mafia, she could blame her success for the reason why she didn’t know anything about Gian.
She didn’t know what to blame for her attraction.
“You’re staring,” Gian said.
Cara’s gaze moved up from the slight scruff on Gian’s throat to the pleased curve of his lips, and then to his eyes. “So are you, apparently.”
His grin only widened. “I’m not trying to hide mine, though.”
“Fair enough.”
“Still can’t interest you in a drink, can I?”
“I try not to drink socially, and only on very special occasions. I do like a good beer or glass of wine, occasionally, but I don’t indulge often.”
Gian lifted a brow high. “Why’s that?”
“Alcoholic parents.”
She usually wouldn’t offer too much information about her history or childhood under the feet of her drunken, neglectful parents, but she found it easy to say to Gian.
Gian took the information in stride, saying, “That’s a good reason, then.”
“I thought so.”
“I could order something … virgin,” Gian suggested.
“Kind of a waste, isn’t it?”
Gian laughed, leaning into the booth and tossing an arm over the back, behind Cara. Normally, she would have moved, seeing the gesture for what it was—a move to get closer to her, nothing more—and that would have shut down any further advances.
Cara didn’t do that.
She rather liked how relaxed and confident Gian looked at her side, his arm resting behind her, and his gaze never leaving her.
“I’m not the only woman in this club, Gian,” Cara said.
“I’m aware.”
“You keep looking at me like I am.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
No. “Unsettling, maybe.”
“Unsettling, or gratifying?” he asked. “Because I’ve come to learn that things we find unsettling can often end up being quite gratifying, too.”
Cara wet her lips, and didn’t miss how Gian’s gaze dropped to watch her do that, either. “How thick are you rolling out the charm right now?”
“Not even a little bit, but I doubt you would believe me on that end.”
“I do find it hard to believe.”
He learned forward, close enough for Cara to get another whiff of whatever spicy cologne he wore, and his grin disappeared. Seriousness clouded his features, and suddenly, the interest she had thought he hadn’t been hiding, bloomed in his eyes. It told her that as much as she thought Gian was showing all his cards, he was keeping a few hidden.
“My charm gets me immediate results, and I use it when that’s what I’m looking for.” Gian’s fingers lightly grazed the bare skin of Cara’s shoulder, and she damn near jumped at the touch, shocked at the jolt of heat that flooded her. “I didn’t have any intentions of leaving with someone when I came into the club tonight, and I still don’t. That doesn’t mean I don’t want to, especially with you, it just wasn’t in my intentions.”
Cara sucked in a quiet breath at his candor. “So, I don’t get the charm, then?”
“Oh, no, you’ve got the charm. And then some. I may have lied a bit there. But I’m still sitting here, and so are you, because at the moment, this seems far more interesting than sending you off with a smile. Although, you are smiling, and I wonder how long it has been since you did that … considering?”
She glanced away, the dull ache of her lingering grief settling deep into her heart again. Whatever smile she had been wearing quickly fled, and Cara felt the weight of her pain come down to sit on her shoulders again.
Gian’s fingers slipped under her chin, and Cara found herself looking back in his eyes. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you sad.”
Cara laughed weakly. “I’m always sad, now.”
“Actually, earlier, you said out of control, if I remember correctly.”
“That, too.”
“I’m sure it feels like that, but trust me when I say, feeling out of control should not leave you sad.”
“No?”
“That’s not what being out of control is, bella. Losing control is … a freedom, something you can’t get with any other experience because it’s one of a kind, Cara. Grief is a weight that you can’t get rid of, not right away. Freedom is weightless.”
She liked the way he said her name. His interesting inflection to his words—likely caused by his ability to speak Italian and French—made her name sound far more interesting than it actually was.
Like him, she thought, one of a kind.
“One of a kind” fit Gian, given what he seemed like, in those moments with her. A man who was more interested in talking and being near her, than getting her to the closest flat surface simply because he liked the way she looked. She assumed that, if given the chance, he would probably take an offer to fuck, but she didn’t think for even a second that it was first on his mind.
Then, he glanced to the side, his gaze narrowing at the sight of a couple returning to the VIP section and heading toward their table.
“That,” Gian murmured, “is my goodbye for now, unfortunately.”
Cara tried to hide her frown, but failed.
Bambi and Stephan were returning, it seemed.
She didn’t know where in the hell Constantino had gone to.
“Here, your drink.” Stephan set the whiskey glass down forcefully, spilling a good tablespoon of the spirit on the table. Gian offered Cara another brilliant smile. “I’ve decided I’m not in the mood for it, now.”
“You asked for—”
“Cara,” Gian said, “I know that it’s a no on the drink, but my other offer is still open, if you’re interested. My interest here, however, is fading fast.”
It took Cara a minute, long enough for Gian to stand and leave the booth, before she realized what offer he meant. She watched him disappear into the crowd, trying to decide if she wanted to take him up on it.
“What offer was that?” Bambi asked.
Stephan grunted something under his breath as he sat down at the booth again.
Cara ignored them both, and decided to go for it.
What would it hurt?
Maybe Gian had a point.
Maybe being out of control—or even refusing to be swallowed whole by her grief for a short while—was actually meant to be a good thing.
“Cara?” Bambi asked. “Are you leaving, or …?”
“A dance,” Cara replied, grabbing her coat. Gian had been far more interesting than what she was leaving behind. “I think I’d like to dance.”
That h
ad been Gian’s offer, after all. A drink or a dance. Whatever came of those things—or after—had not been talked about really. She only needed to find him.
Cara figured the rest might be worth it.
The club was far bigger than Cara first realized when she’d come in with Bambi, and she was starting to think, after ten minutes of walking around, that she wouldn’t be able to find Gian.
“You look lost, mon ange.”
Cara had gotten lost in the swell of people in her effort to find Gian. It seemed she hadn’t needed to look hard, because he had found her.
“What does that mean?” Cara asked, spinning around to face a grinning Gian. “My French is non-existent, and my Italian can be a bit rusty.”
“It sounded good, didn’t it?”
Cara cocked a brow. “That isn’t what I asked.”
“No, but it is what matters. Do you want that dance, Cara?”
“I came to find you, didn’t I?”
“You did.”
And just like that, Cara found herself pulled closer into Gian’s body and at the same time the loud, fast music changed to something slower. Not quite slow enough that it required a waltz of any sort, but rather, a grinding, deep bass that vibrated the floors under her heels.
Gian led them into the dance, his hands slipping under Cara’s jaw to tilt her head up while her body moved instinctively closer to his. She wasn’t much of a dancer, but she knew how to move her body, and it wasn’t all that hard to match the rhythm of his dancing. With her face in his hands, she was forced to stare at him, taking in all of those lines and gorgeous features, under flashing lights as he kept watching her.
Cara hadn’t drunk a drop, but she still felt light on her feet.
Dazed, even.
It was strange and wonderful at the same time.
She had never been quite so attracted—never so fast or easily—as she found herself to be with Gian, for whatever reason. He made it easy. She forgot about the people.
Cara only saw Gian.
He didn’t look away from her, either.
“I want you to leave,” Gian said, “and spend the night with me.”
He didn’t even ask.
Cara liked that he was of the type to simply state his desires, not dance around them until the truth spilled out. He clearly didn’t play games. Maybe he was the kind of man who always won, no matter what.