by Bethany-Kris
Gian’s face remained passive and calm throughout her tirade. “I’m sorry, mon ange.”
“You don’t have to apologize. If anything, you’re one of the things that woke me the hell up again. I was missing something for a long time after my twin died, and now I don’t feel so lost or empty. But you know what does makes me feel that way?”
“What?”
“My mother. Even thinking about her makes me revert back into that shell of a child that played a little quieter than normal, as to not enrage the drunks sleeping upstairs, or waited for her brother to get home so she could eat. That lost, lonely child. So fuck her and fuck Tommas for asking me to care, too.”
Gian cleared his throat. “All right. You going to be okay today or—”
Cara opened her apartment door with force. “I’ll be fine.”
“Really? Because you used more fucks in this conversation than the entire time we’ve been messing around, Cara.”
She locked her apartment up once Gian was out in the hallway with her.
“I’ll be fine,” she repeated. “I always am.”
“Or do you have to be?” he asked as she started down the hallway.
Cara tensed, but kept walking. “Does it matter?”
Gian caught up with her quickly enough, his arm curving her waist as he pulled her in tight and kissed the top of her head. It was that simple action—his unspoken concern and care—that slowed Cara’s rage.
“It matters to me,” he murmured against the top of her head.
Cara sighed. “I’m good.”
Gian made a discontented sound under his breath.
“I am,” she promised. “Sometimes it spills out, though.”
“That’s a lot of anger to bottle up, Cara.”
They strolled out of the apartment building into cool March air, and Cara breathed it in deep.
“A lot of deserved anger,” she pointed out.
Gian nodded as he directed her toward the apartment’s parking lot, where he had left his car the evening before. “Sure, except you don’t direct it at the person most deserving of it.”
“My mother is the type that feeds off attention, negative or otherwise. She uses any time and attention you give her to manipulate you for her emotional games. It’s not worth it.”
“I’m suddenly feeling like I need to give my mother a visit soon.”
Cara frowned. “I didn’t mean—”
Gian shrugged as he unlocked his car and then held the passenger door open for Cara to slide inside. Once she was seated, he offered her one of his charming smiles. “You reminded me that despite the fact I am a twenty-nine year old man, I have a mother who still loves me as though I’m her baby. She’s always concerned for my happiness, even though she doesn’t have to be. I can’t even remember her yelling when I was a boy. I have a wonderful mother, and sometimes I don’t appreciate her enough. That’s all.”
Oh.
“I’m sure she would like to hear that, too, Gian.”
He laughed. “No worries there. I’ll be sure to tell her. I think she would like you, Cara.”
“Do you?”
“Of course, because I do, amore. Maybe you’ll be able to meet her soon.”
“When?”
Gian winked. “Soon.”
Then, he closed the door.
In a blink, he had rounded the car and was inside the vehicle, too. He hummed a sexy sound as the car lit up under his handling, the gears shifting into place as the engine turned over.
“I love this car,” he said, “but I do miss the Lexus.”
“I can’t justify buying a car in a city like Toronto. Everything is a walk away. It would be pointless.”
Gian glanced over at her, and then pulled out of the parking spot, heading toward the road. “I travel too much from one side of this city to the other to not have a car.”
“Point taken.” Cara stared down the road while Gian maneuvered the Mercedes into traffic. Something caught her eye down the way, something familiar. “Is that …?” She trailed off, leaving the sentence hanging as she stared over her shoulder.
Gian followed her gaze, although he was careful not to ram the front of his Mercedes into the back of the car in front of them. “What?”
“There, parked behind that white Toyota.”
His teeth clenched.
Cara didn’t miss it. “That is my uncle’s car.”
“Looks like it.”
“Why would he be outside my apartment?”
Gian turned back in the seat, his show of irritation all but gone. “Hard to say. Let’s get you to classes, Cara.”
“But—”
“Hey,” he interrupted smoothly, “your birthday is coming up, right? Constantino might have mentioned it, since his is not far off from yours.”
Cara’s brow furrowed while she tried to decide whether to push him on her uncle’s presence outside her place, or call him on his distraction. She settled for answering his question, for now. “Two weeks from Saturday.”
“Would a private flight to Quebec be a proper present? We would leave Saturday morning, and be back Sunday evening.”
“What’s in Quebec, Gian?”
“French. A whole lot of French, mon ange. And old buildings, brick roads, shitty drivers, some of the best restaurants, tickets to a ballet, and a fantastic suite booked for a birthday girl.”
Cara couldn’t help but smile. “A trip to Quebec it is.”
Cara nearly tripped over the waiting bags at her apartment door as she rushed to answer the persistent knocking. With only a towel wrapped around her waist, and her wet hair hanging freely around her shoulders, she figured whoever it was could deal with being made to wait, considering it was them who got her out of the shower.
She pulled open the door with a huff, flipping wet curls out of her eyes at the same time. “What?”
A man she recognized—Chris was his name—stood on the other side, waiting with a smile and a large white box with two smaller white boxes on top of them. Pretty, shimmering pink bows had been tied to each box.
Cara’s irritation instantly melted away.
“Gian?” she asked.
Chris nodded. “You know it.”
This was the second time Gian had sent Chris to her door with a gift—although this looked to be gifts. The first had been the black choker she loved so much. The barrel-chested man had politely explained to Cara that should she continue to refuse the gift, he didn’t mind escorting Cara to Gian to accept the gift directly, if she was so insistent on not allowing him to do his job. Given that first meeting, Cara knew better than to refuse Chris, when he was only there to do what he had been told.
And it was her birthday, after all.
“He could have waited for tonight,” Cara mused as she stepped back to let Chris in.
Her birthday had come much faster than she expected, the end of March skipping into her life before she had blinked.
There was no way she could take the boxes and maintain her modesty by holding up her towel. Chris kept his eyes above her chest as he maneuvered through her apartment to set the boxes down on the kitchen table.
“Early gifts, he said,” Chris told her. “Something he thought you might like to have for the trip, and the ballet tonight.”
“Oh?”
“That’s what was told to me. I’ll be waiting outside to drive you to the private air strip when you’re ready, miss. Do you want me to take the bags at the door down for you?”
Cara gave the guy a smile. “You can call me Cara.”
Chris shrugged. “I could, but I won’t. At least, not yet. The bags?”
“They’re only small. I can do—”
“I’ll take them, no worries. Finish getting ready.”
Chris gave a two-finger wave as his goodbye, and exited the apartment with Cara’s small, overnight bags slung over his shoulder. Once the front door was shut, she turned back to the waiting boxes with their pink bows on the table.
“What did you do now, Gian?” Cara wondered out loud.
She thought it was time to find out. She set each of the three boxes side by side, and started with the middle one first, carefully untying the box and pulling off the top. Patent leather, pristine, white pumps rested inside white tissue paper. Pointed toes and six-inch stiletto heels. Vibrant red soles painted the bottom of each shoe.
Cara knew that signature red sole without even having to look inside the heels to check.
Every girl did.
Louboutin.
A small note rested alongside the shoes, and Cara picked it up to read.
Because beautiful legs deserve to be shown off, birthday girl. –Gian
She reached for the largest box, then, wondering what on earth he had stuffed inside that thing, too. It was a good two feet in length and width. She wasted no time getting the bow and top off, only to find more tissue paper this time covering the item inside.
Her hands shook as she removed the tissue paper to pull the white and silver dress out from within the box. White silk, and silver lace and fringe, covered the form-fitting, sleeveless, knee-high dress. There was no flair to the skirt; it was pencil thin, with the same silver lace fringe along the bottom that decorated the sides and bodice. Sparkling beadwork and crystals had been carefully sewn in to the fringe.
A matching clutch also sat inside the box, waiting to be appreciated.
There was no note in this box, but Cara wondered if that was because Gian intended to let the tag on the dress speak for him.
Dolce & Gabbana.
Already, there was a small fortune sitting on her table in a single pair of shoes and a dress. She was reaching for the third, final, and smallest box of the bunch before she even realized it.
Inside, she found a thin, white lace choker. Maybe an inch wide, the delicate lace was soft against her fingertips, and clasped at the back with a small chain with a single, dangling white pearl.
A note rested underneath the choker.
All white, as angels should wear, mon ange. You’re only missing the wings, now. Happy birthday, Cara. –Gian
Gian had forewarned her during the lead up to her birthday that she would need something appropriate to wear for the ballet in Quebec, but that she wasn’t to worry about it. Cara had packed something in her overnight bags, which was why she needed two instead of only one, just in case.
Apparently, she wouldn’t be needing it after all.
She looked over the items spread across her table, overwhelmed and happy, all at the same time. Gian was smart, though. He had sent the gifts over late, when he likely knew she would be rushing to finish getting ready, and couldn’t overthink the gifts or call him on them. It wasn’t that she didn’t like them—oh, she loved them—but she knew what these items cost, too.
She couldn’t help but wonder why a man like Gian had no problem with spending this kind of money on a woman like her.
And for her birthday, no less.
These were the kinds of gifts that were meant for the queens of men—women they loved and adored, whom they cherished enough to treat as the royalty in their lives that they truly were.
Was Cara becoming that to Gian?
Maybe that scared her a little.
And Cara didn’t have time to think on it.
Which she was sure Gian had known, sending the items over at this time.
Cara backed away from the gifts and headed for the bathroom. She spent the next half hour getting her hair dried into manageable, free curls and putting on a quick bit of makeup to color her eyes and lips. She had managed to clasp the choker on after slipping into the dress and pumps, when a knock beat on her door, and Chris’s voice filtered in.
“We do have to leave soon, miss.”
“Coming,” Cara shouted back.
She grabbed the white tweed coat she had pulled from Lea’s closet when she couldn’t find something suitable in her own to wear over the white and silver dress. Her sister had owned far too many clothes, and while Cara had slowly started to go through Lea’s things to get rid of what she didn’t want to keep, she had barely touched the clothes.
Cara pulled the door open to find Chris waiting on the other side.
His gaze fell down over the dress to the shoes and then back up just as fast. He hadn’t lingered, and his expression remained neutral. “Gian will be pleased. You look wonderful, miss.”
Cara smiled. “Thank you.”
“Let’s head out.”
She followed behind the man, letting him lead her through the apartment hall, down one flight of stairs, and outside to where a black town car sat running in front of the building. It was only a short stroll away. Chris held the back door open for Cara to walk the remainder of the way and get inside, but something caught her eye as she made it to the vehicle.
Another car—bright yellow, which was what caught her attention first—came speeding far too fast down the city road. Black tinted windows made it impossible to see inside.
By the time the car reached them, the driver’s window rolled down a few inches.
Cara didn’t understand the item that was shoved out the window, not until the color burst from the barrel, and the sound sliced through the air.
Rapid gunfire.
Bullets.
Pain bloomed in Cara’s shoulder as she was dragged to the ground. She was frozen, stuck in a strange nightmarish state of reality and memories. She hadn’t heard gunfire like that since the day Lea was murdered. It was as though she had been shoved right back into that day all over again in a split second.
She couldn’t bring herself out of it, no matter how hard she tried.
Automatic doors opened in front of Gian, but they weren’t spreading fast enough for his brisk pace or patience. His hands slammed against the doors, pushing against the pressure of the mechanical arm to force them open faster.
His heart was in his fucking throat.
His stomach had fallen to his feet.
Time had become unimportant for the moment.
Gian couldn’t remember the last time he felt this way—so fucked up in the head, an anxious mess, but still damn cold and calm on the outside.
Corrado used to tell him that this was when Gian was most dangerous. That Gian’s emotions often ruled him in his choices and behaviors, but it was only when he didn’t allow others the gift of seeing his emotions to gauge their transgressions, that it became dangerous. Because he became unstable, and unpredictable.
His grandfather had never said it was bad thing, though.
Another set of doors didn’t open fast enough for Gian’s satisfaction, and he shoved that set apart, too. A nurse on the other side barely moved out of the way, and she dropped her bags with a squeak. On any other day, Gian would have stopped and helped the woman, but his mind was somewhere else entirely.
A half of a dozen men stood gathered in a semi-circle outside of the hospital room across from the busy nurse station. Gian recognized their faces—friends of his man, younger Capos that had likely heard something happened and come down for support. He appreciated the effort and their concern, but he was neither in the mood to talk, nor interested in playing to the mafia politics.
His car being bombed was one thing.
He always had a fucking target on him.
Cara, though?
Cara was a whole other matter.
“Gian.”
“Shit, nice suit, man. Where were you heading, tonight?”
Gian ignored the greetings and questions that were thrown at him as he passed through the group of men. He strolled into the opened hospital room to find Chris cussing a blue streak under his breath as a nurse stitched a three-inch, clean slice on the enforcer’s neck.
“Well, if you hadn’t moved so much,” the nurse muttered under her breath.
“I rolled over in the bed, cazzo. Maybe they should have got it closed up better the first damn time.”
Gian cleared his throat to gain the attention of both people. When t
he nurse looked to him, he jerked his head toward the door. “Get out.”
The nurse’s eyes narrowed. “But—”
“Two minutes, that’s all I need. Get out, now.”
Thankfully, the woman went without much argument. She did finish the last couple of stitches before she left, though. Once Gian was alone with Chris, he turned and closed the door to keep his next words from being overheard.
“Well, talk,” Gian demanded.
Chris resituated himself on the bed to properly face his underboss. “Nothing too bad, a few scrapes from the pavement. A bullet nicked me on the throat. It’s fine.”
“Sì, I can see how fine you are. That’s the only reason I came to this room first, instead of Cara’s, because I hoped to calm down a bit more before I see her. What the fuck happened?”
“She’s fine, too, boss.”
Gian grinded his teeth. “That’s a matter of opinion at the moment.”
“She is. I got her down in time.”
“You have one job when she is in your care.”
Chris nodded. “And I did that job, Gian. That’s why she’s getting released tonight and I still have to be monitored until morning before I get my walking papers.”
That was true enough.
For the most part, Gian liked Chris because the man was straightforward and took no bullshit, yet he also understood the weight of respect in their world. So, while he would give Gian the truth in a blunt manner that someone else may not, he did it with the respect of a man who knew he was talking to his superior.
Gian’s posture softened, but barely. He was still walking on a very thin line of control. He had never been quite so worried, or so pissed off, as he was right then. “What did you see before the shooting started?”
“Very little. I was turned for Cara, I had the door opened for her. I wasn’t watching the street—I didn’t have any reason to think I should. The bullets started flying, and I was focused on getting her out of the way, that was it. By the time I got back up, my throat was bleeding all over the damn place and the car was gone. She couldn’t tell me anything when I asked, it was like she wasn’t even on the same planet, all of the sudden. Shock, maybe.”