by Bethany-Kris
She couldn’t help but notice how tired he sounded. Not sleep-tired, but a fuck-this-world kind of tired. It was so unlike her brother. He was laidback, cool, calm, and collected. Always.
Cara had never known Tommas to be anything else.
“Are you sure nothing is wrong?” Tommas asked, when Cara stayed silent.
“Nothing serious.”
“All right. Ask me your question again, but make more sense this time.”
“How do you care and attach yourself to people who feel like their existence in your life is not guaranteed, but more temporary than you’re willing to admit. Like tomorrow, someone gets pissed off or offended and suddenly, you’re burying your sister … or someone else you love.”
Tommas sighed. “That’s a heavy question for someone who didn’t even thank me for wishing her a happy birthday a month ago.”
“Thank you for the birthday wishes, Tommy.”
He grunted under his breath. “I don’t think about it—that’s how I deal. And I protect those people as best I can, I do whatever I need to do so that my choices and my actions don’t inadvertently hurt them or take them away from me.”
“Huh.”
“Sometimes I fail, too,” Tommas added, a sadness creeping into his tone. “And that kills me, but it’s unavoidable.”
“Yeah, but …”
“What, Cara?”
“What about people like me?”
“I do that for you, too. Why do you think you’re still in Toronto, huh? Not here, in Chicago, advancing my stupid ass in this fucking family or something?”
“I meant, what about women like me—how do I deal with it? I can’t manage it the same way you do, I’m not like you, Tommy.”
“That’s not an easy answer, Cara.”
“Try me. Give me something.”
“Why are you even asking this shit?”
“I need to know how to deal,” she said sharply, offering little else.
“I only know what I see around me,” Tommas replied quietly. “Or rather, the women around me. My cousin’s wife, or the women in my family. My friends’ wives, or famiglia daughters that bury their parents with dry faces and shaking hands. They’re strength, Cara. They are the picture and embodiment of strength all around me. They handle their shit far better than any of us men ever could. They cook dinner, wipe children’s faces, do what they have to do, and they smile when faced with their fears. I don’t know how they do it, because I am too busy trying to keep allowing them the chance to cook their dinners, love their messy-faced children, and have no fears, all the while. Do you understand?”
“But you’re part of the reason they’re in that sort of life, Tommas.”
“And all we made men do is make the best of what we know, Cara. Nothing more, nothing less.”
She took the time to absorb her brother’s words.
Tommas always gave it to her straight, after all.
He didn’t pretty shit up.
“Oh, there’s something else you need to know,” Tommas said tiredly.
“What’s that?”
“Serena’s body was found this morning by the maid. Suicide, apparently.”
Cara wished she was surprised to learn the news of her mother’s death.
She wasn’t.
Something else that was … inevitable.
“I’m sorry,” Cara said softly.
“Are you?”
“For you, Tommy. I’m sorry for you. You’ve dealt with her your whole life, longer than I ever put up with her. You would only do that—and keep doing it—because somewhere inside, you hold affection for her.”
“Not anymore,” Tommas murmured. “I can let you know when the funeral is going to be.”
“I would rather you didn’t.”
“That’s what I figured.”
“Please bury her beside Dad, not on the other side of Lea.”
Tommas mumbled his agreement quickly.
“Cara?”
“Yes?” she asked.
“I don’t know what’s going on, or what made you pick up the phone to ask me all of this tonight, but there’s really only one thing that matters in this life of ours, anyway.”
“And what’s that, Tommas?”
“Do what makes you happy. Be where, or with whom, or do whatever you need to do to be happy. Take that risk—it’s worth it. Because this life is fleeting, and tomorrow might be the last time you smile, so it’s better to spend today happy.”
“Sit, sit!” Gian clapped his hands twice, helping to quiet the men milling around the long dinner table. He waved at the waiting seats, and the men began to fill them. “Dinner is served.”
As he said those words, two women, and one man, strolled into the dining room, each holding platters carrying all sorts of foods. Once the food was set down on the table, the help left and then returned with pitchers of drinks.
After they were gone for good, Gian waited to see if any man at the table would reach for food or a drink before he approved it. None did.
Instead, they looked to him, waiting.
As all good made men did for their boss.
It had taken Gian a couple of weeks to really get used to the fact that a great portion of the Guzzi made men saw him as exactly that—their boss.
He thought it appropriate to hold their first unofficial dinner where the last man they respected and followed as a boss had his, too. At Corrado’s home, at his dining room table.
Maybe he had done this for a bit of nostalgia, too.
Gian took his own seat, said a quick prayer as had become a custom when sitting down to eat dinner with family, and then he waved again. “Tutti mangiare.”
His order for everyone to eat was no faster out of his mouth before the men began to reach for the hot dishes. He wasn’t particularly hungry—a shitty by-product of his stress, likely—so he sat back in a chair that had once belonged to his grandfather, and enjoyed the sight of the Capos and enforcers filling their plates.
Conversations filtered around the table between men, some discussing the events and attacks that had escalated rather violently over the past couple of weeks. Gian allowed them those discussions, and only joined in if he was directly asked a question. He found that he learned a lot more, and the men talked a lot more, when they had a boss who cared to hear what they had to say.
All but one man at the table was made.
Gian turned to his left, where his brother Dom was stuffing his face with pasta. “Hungry, fratellino?”
Dom bristled. “Only little compared to you in age, Gian.”
He laughed. “Relax. You’re lucky to even be here.”
“Yeah, I know.”
Being unmade, Dom shouldn’t be allowed to share the same experiences with made men until he had earned his seat at the table and his spot within the family. But … Gian remembered times when his grandfather had allowed him to sit at the table, and to have a voice. He figured that had been Corrado’s way of making his intention clear about giving his grandson his in to the family.
Gian was only doing the same for Dom.
In a way …
“So, do you think—”
Dom’s question was interrupted by a ringing phone. Gian recognized the familiar sound instantly, but because he wasn’t sure why his grandfather’s house line would be ringing, he looked over the table of men to see if it was one of their phones. None reached for their phones. Corrado’s mansion had been kept running ever since his death, as the Guzzi family had often used it, and no one was quite ready to put it up on the market officially. Even the cook, maid, and the man who ran errands and greeted guests stayed in the house, with pay.
But they never mentioned the home getting calls.
Eventually, the ringing stopped.
The maid stepped into the dining room, pressing her palm over a cordless phone to keep her voice from being heard on the line. “Mr. Guzzi, there’s a call for you.”
All eyes turned on Gian. He stood from the table,
leaving the men behind with a demand for them to keep eating, and that all was fine. Although to be perfectly honest, he wasn’t sure what in the hell was going on.
Just outside the dining room, he took the phone from the maid and put it to his ear. His usual Italian and French greeting slipped out before he could think better of it. “Ciao, bonjour.”
“Gian, how are you this evening?”
Gian stiffened in place. “Edmond. Why in the fuck are you calling me at Corrado’s home? And better yet, how did you know I was here?”
“I know a lot of things.”
“Oh? Try me with one.”
“Fifteen men sitting around your grandfather’s table. Would you like their names? Sixteen, actually, if you include your unmade brother.”
“Spying, now?”
“Hardly.” Edmond scoffed. “You simply never think to look at any of those young gentleman like you should. They’re not all trustworthy, Gian. Each of them has an ultimate goal in mind where this organization is concerned. Sure, it’s true enough that some of them tie those goals to you being their boss, but some … some, probably do not.”
“You’re wasting my time.”
As Gian spoke, he had moved through the left wing of the mansion, heading toward the front of the estate. He checked out the windows, to make sure none of the men stationed outside had taken a hit, and that there was no funny business going on. He didn’t trust Edmond as far as he could throw the fat bastard.
“It’s been a rough couple of weeks, hasn’t it?” Edmond asked out of the blue.
Gian let the curtains close, and headed back the way he came toward the dining room. “Depends on who you think it’s been rough for. On my end, I think it’s been mostly okay. You were the one who started this nonsense, remember. I only recently joined in with a few attacks of my own. I can’t help it if my attacks are more direct and successful than yours are.”
“You assume everything, Gian. Don’t you know what they say about assuming?”
“I know you’re trying to play some kind of game with me, and my food is getting cold. I’m not in the mood.”
“Too bad, it’s time to listen. My attacks were pointed, and only done to either calm a situation, or make a point. They didn’t have to be direct to be successful. That’s what you fail to realize, Gian.”
“Are you done?” he asked Edmond.
“Not even close. I know exactly why you’re doing this.”
“Do tell.”
“You think I killed your grandfather,” Edmond said simply.
Gian’s jaw clenched. “Partly, but it’s not the only reason.”
“Yes, yes. The younger men, they want a boss they picked, they want to act like spoiled children who have their hands held when they’re scared to do what they’re told. We’ve been over this.”
“Your bias is showing again, Edmond.”
“So be it, they’re a dime a dozen. They can be replaced.”
“You’re wrong again,” Gian shot back. “Made men are not commodities to be replaced. Not in this Cosa Nostra.”
Edmond laughed. “You have a lot to learn.”
“It takes time, or so I was told.”
“Be careful not to run out of it before you even get the chance to properly get started.” Then, Edmond said quieter, “But you do think I killed Corrado.”
“It no longer matters.”
“It does, or this would not be happening.”
“Wrong again,” Gian murmured. “Corrado is only a small part of this. Cosa Nostra is not about the one man on top, but all the men who wait on his direction. It’s not me who has forgotten that, Edmond. Good luck, but we both already know how this will end. I could ask you to make it easy on me, but we both know you won’t.”
Gian hung up the phone without a goodbye, handed it to the waiting maid, and joined his men at the dinner table once again.
None of them asked him what was wrong.
Nothing was wrong.
He had this shit under control.
Gian popped the top off his beer, took a long swig, and glared at the game playing on his flat screen television. “I don’t know why you bother to watch this, man. The Leafs haven’t done well in decades, and this isn’t going to be their year.”
Constantino bristled. “Be a proper Canadian, would you? Don’t diss the Leafs like that.”
“He’s more of a Montreal fan,” Dom remarked from the Lazy Boy chair. “Depends on who is winning at the time.”
“That’s a fucking shame,” Stephan put in. “Pick a team and stick with it.”
Gian had news for them. “Since you three are watching the game on my huge ass television, sitting on my comfy furniture, drinking my beer, and you’re not at your own places, you can shut the fuck up now or get the hell out.”
“Jesus, you’re an asshole tonight,” Constantino said absently, his attention snagged by the Leafs’ player cutting down the middle of the ice. “Why are you so miserable lately?”
Gian took another swig of his beer, refusing to even entertain that goddamn question. His mood had been less than pleasant and for quite a while, it had only been getting worse. He had managed to hide it, for the most part, when he needed to. Lately, especially the last few days, his bad attitude had been showing itself more often, bleeding onto others that happened to be around him.
Like easy fucking targets.
Gian knew better; he was smarter than allowing his emotions to rule him or control how he went about his days and business.
Lately, he couldn’t help it.
“It’s nothing,” Gian muttered, setting his beer down to the coffee table.
He took a seat beside Constantino, and decided to watch the game and get the night over with. It had been a while since he’d actually done something with friends—even if Stephan had showed up with Constantino earlier—so he might as well make the most of it.
Gian had forgiven Constantino for his slip at the hospital, and what he’d said about Cara, but it was a one-time only thing. His forgiveness had come easy once his friend apologized, but that was only because Constantino had been his friend for so damn long that he found it hard to stay pissed at the guy.
“But don’t be surprised when the Leafs lose again, like they always do,” Gian said. “They are the most boring hockey team to watch—nothing changes, from season to season.”
Stephan shot Gian a look. “You should get laid. Maybe that would pull out whatever stick got shoved up your ass.”
Constantino chuckled under his breath. “Hey, there’s an idea.”
Dom wisely chose to stay quiet, but that could have been because he had shoved a half of a slice of pizza in his mouth.
Lucky for him.
“Fuck off, both of you,” Gian warned, never taking his gaze off the television.
“So that is it?” Constantino asked.
“What?”
“You need to get laid, Gian.”
For fuck’s sake …
“I need you to mind your business,” Gian said, his irritation rising.
Take the fucking hint.
“Yeah, that’s what it is,” Stephan said with a nod. “Cara—the Rossi chick he was running around with—hasn’t been seen in a while.”
“My cousin,” Constantino said, “I don’t need a reminder, Stephan. I know who the fuck she is.”
Gian’s teeth was starting to grind so hard that his molars were aching.
“What I’m saying is, Gian here, wasn’t running around with anybody else, so if she’s keeping a low profile without him, then he isn’t getting pussy from anywhere.” Stephan laughed under his breath at the glare Gian passed his way. “Yeah, that’s exactly what it is. No pussy makes for an irritated mess of a man, doesn’t it, Gian?”
“I’m two seconds away from throwing all of you assholes out of my penthouse,” Gian replied.
“Hey, I’m just eating pizza,” Dom mumbled around a bite in his mouth.
Gian ignored his younger brother.
“Stay the hell out of my business,” he told them all. “And that is the last fucking time I am going to say it.”
Because mostly, he hated how right the guys were.
He hated how easily they had picked up on his mood and the reason why.
He missed Cara like crazy.
Space, he reminded himself. You’re giving her space.
And also driving himself insane at the same time.
Gian had hoped Cara would get her shit figured out and all would be fine between them. He hadn’t expected … this. Weeks and weeks of waiting, of wondering, and of being entirely fucking alone.
He almost hated how much control that woman had over him.
Except he couldn’t hate that at all.
“If you’re lonely or something,” Constantino said, “then why don’t you go home, Gian?”
Gian raised his brow. “I am home. And Cara wanted space. Although, that’s not your fucking business, either.”
Constantino shook his head. “I didn’t mean here, man.”
All right.
Fuck this whole night.
Gian didn’t even bother to kick the guys out.
He left.
Gian whipped his car into the parking lot belonging to Cara’s apartment building. He checked his phone again, and then triple-checked it just to be sure.
Would you pick me up? My place.
That was all Cara’s text message had said. Gian had barely gotten his confirmative reply typed out before he had pulled an illegal U-turn on a downtown street and headed his lover’s way. He’d only meant to clear his head when he’d left his place earlier, but this was perfectly fine, too.
Gian checked his phone once more, ready to send a message to Cara that he was there, but he didn’t need to. Cara appeared outside the passenger side window, Gian unlocked the door, and she slid inside without a word.
He pulled out of the parking lot while Cara was still buckling up her seatbelt.
“Where to?” Gian asked.
Cara stared out the side window, never looking at him. “I don’t know. Somewhere … quiet?”
“We can do quiet, bella mia.” Thankful for the lack of traffic, Gian headed toward the bay. It was a bit of a drive, but it would be quiet and private. “Do you want to grab some food or something?”