by Bethany-Kris
“Jeans, shirt, no shoes, and a dish towel. Are you playing homemaker today, or what, man?”
Gian laughed, and headed back toward the kitchen while Constantino followed behind. “Taking a break today, that’s all.”
Constantino sniffed the air. “And cooking, apparently.”
“Someone needs to feed me.”
“So hire someone.”
“It clears my head.” Gian gestured at the many chairs around the table. “Take a seat and we’ll chat.”
Constantino took a seat that faced the kitchen, allowing Gian the chance to watch the man as he finished his stir-fry. He would never turn his back on this man again.
The sad thing was, he hadn’t even needed to turn his back the first time. Constantino had simply stabbed Gian in the chest when he wasn’t looking. And when Gian did finally notice and asked what happened? Constantino pointed the finger at someone else.
Like any good coward would do.
“Where’s the girl?” Constantino asked.
“She has a name. You know it.” Gian opened the pan and stirred the contents up. “Cara—use her name.”
“Are you still pissed about what I said at the restaurant? I apologized for that, and I only spoke the truth. Like you should be doing, man.”
He had apologized when Gian called. Although, it had taken some careful prompting on Gian’s part to make it seem as though he felt he overreacted that night.
“It’s the point of the matter, Constantino.”
“Fine. Cara. Where is Cara? The other night when you called, you didn’t want me coming over because she was here.”
Gian checked the clock. “She’s probably watching that show she likes. It would be on at this time in Chicago.”
Constantino perked. “Chicago?”
“Flew in yesterday.”
“She did that herself?”
Gian chose not to answer. He certainly wasn’t about to say that he had sent Cara away, and raise Constantino’s suspicions. He wanted the man thinking that nothing was wrong, like water under the bridge.
Much like the idiot had fooled him.
“That’s where she is, anyway,” Gian said, pulling the pan from the stove. “I don’t know when she’ll be back.”
That wasn’t entirely a lie, either.
Gian didn’t know when he would send for Cara. After he had finished business, the smoke had cleared, and it was safe. A week, maybe two. He couldn’t let his need to have Cara close cloud his judgement about what was best.
“Better she go,” Constantino said.
Gian pulled plates from the cupboard. “Pardon?”
“Cara. It’s better she left. She fucks with the way you do things—how you see shit—but you don’t seem to notice.”
Gian refused to let Constantino push on that nerve. “Maybe she does.”
“You know she does.”
“Hungry?”
“I could eat,” Constantino said.
Gian prepped two plates of food, keeping an eye on the other man at the same time. Constantino seemed entirely unbothered and calm, sitting there, as though he didn’t have a thing to worry about.
“I suppose you don’t, huh?” Gian asked as he delivered the plate of food.
Gian then took a seat directly across from his old friend.
“Don’t what, man?”
“Worry,” Gian clarified.
Constantino shrugged, shoving a bite of food into his mouth. “It’s a waste of time to worry.”
“That, or you feel … privileged. Safe in your spot because of me.”
Constantino’s brow furrowed. “Is something wrong?”
Gian shook his head. “Should there be?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Then, no.”
“All right.” Constantino went back to his food as though nothing was wrong. Just as Gian expected he would.
“Have you ever heard of blind affection?”
“When a person lets their personal feelings get in the way of what should be obvious?” Constantino asked.
“Exactly that.”
“I could see why some people might struggle with it.”
“Me, too,” Gian agreed.
“So, you said when you called that you’re finally ready to finish this out with the boss, then?”
“And more.” Gian smirked. “Never call Edmond the boss in my presence again.”
Constantino offered an apologetic smile. “My bad.”
The man didn’t seem to notice that Gian had yet to touch his own plate of food.
“But, that was what you said,” Constantino pressed.
“And more,” Gian echoed. “Do you want a beer?”
“Sure.”
Gian left the table, and grabbed two beers from the fridge. He sat one down at his spot before moving around the table to hand Constantino’s bottle over, but he didn’t move to return to his seat again.
“I’m not the only one between us that suffers from blind affection,” Gian said quietly. “Because if you didn’t suffer from it, too, you would have known better than to ever trust me after you betrayed me. All lies come out eventually.”
Constantino’s head snapped up, his wide—understanding—eyes flying to Gian. It was already too late. Gian hadn’t removed the dishtowel from his shoulder until then, and he’d quickly twisted it into a rope of sorts. He had the rope wrapped around his friend’s throat before Constantino could even attempt to fight back.
Gian pulled the makeshift rope tight, his emotions bleeding away as a blissful numbness took its place. Constantino fought back against the hold, clawing at Gian’s arms and hands, trying to topple over his chair, and even kicking at the table. The plates and bottles jumped with every hit and kick. Gian still held strong.
“I’m not sure if you killed my grandfather for yourself, or because you knew what would happen after his death. I don’t know if you meant to put yourself in a higher position because of me, but you clearly intended to use me for something.”
Constantino’s struggle continued, but Gian paid it no mind. His fighting would end forever soon enough.
“I put it together after Edmond sent me a box with info about the bomb set on my car and who put it there—you. You were stupid enough to try to play his side, too, just in case you needed to. I saw the pictures of you heading to Edmond’s place, going in and out on all days of the week, when you were trying to get me to act against him. That was your mistake. He’s a snake, too, like you. And if he thought I might get rid of a problem with you, then he was willing to take the risk of telling me.”
Gian sighed. “And I thought, why. Why would you do that to me, and what else would you do? What else had you done? You knew—despite how fucking ignorant you’ve been lately—that I would never look to you, Constantino, because you were my friend. And I trusted you. You took advantage of an already-volatile situation, and pushed us all over the edge, because you knew that no matter what, I would keep my friend on top.”
He pulled the rope tighter still, feeling the man’s fight finally begin to leave. “You taught me a lesson that Corrado never did. A lesson he couldn’t teach me. You have to be ready to kill absolutely anyone that stands at your side, because no one can be trusted.”
Gian still didn’t feel anything when Constantino’s body finally fell limp. He undid the rope, let the corpse fall forward, and then he covered the man’s head with the unraveled dish towel.
“Fuck you for being the one to teach me that lesson.”
He returned to his seat, popped open his beer, and ate his food.
Life went on.
It always did.
“Last chance to back out,” Chris said as Gian handed his gun over.
Outside the restaurant, the street was quiet. As though it—and the shops lining the streets—knew what was about to happen, and that it was better to be out of sight, safely hidden away.
“Why would I back out?” Gian asked.
The enforcer made
a show of taking Gian’s jacket off, showing to whoever was watching inside the restaurant that he had no hidden weapons to bring to the meeting.
Chris handed Gian’s jacket back. “I didn’t think you would, I simply said the option is there.”
“Would you?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Legacy,” Chris said frankly. “The respect of it all.”
“Some might think that this is the ultimate disrespect,” Gian pointed out.
“Those people will never and could never make the choice you are making today.”
And that, at the end of it all, was exactly why Gian was doing what he was doing.
“Some men are made for this,” Chris added, “and some aren’t. Which one are you?”
“I’m tired of my ability being questioned.”
“Then good luck, boss. I will be waiting out here when it’s over.”
Gian gave the man a nod. “Don’t miss, Chris.”
“I never do.”
Gian waited as the enforcer crossed the street, and jumped into his vehicle. Then, he turned and entered the restaurant. This was the most dangerous part, he knew. Simply entering the place with no backup, no protection. It was a hostile environment, and he could easily become a target.
Inside, Gian was surprised to find the place mostly devoid of people. No patrons sat at tables, and no employees served the few men sitting at tables.
“Gian.” Edmond stood from his seat at a center table, facing the windows. Lucky. “I’m pleased to see you show up today.”
Gian crossed the space, ignoring the looks of the men waiting to see what he would do. Only a couple were men that Edmond had asked to come along, others were ones Gian told to be there because of the boss’s request. Apparently, Edmond thought having a few men witness their meeting would be better than a larger group.
Let word travel, Edmond had said.
Standing toe to toe with the man, Gian finally spoke. “I took care of the problem on my end, the one you let me know about.”
Edmond nodded, seeming pleased. “And come to your senses at the same time about the rest of this fighting and nonsense, I assume?”
No, not really.
He had decided enough was enough, though.
“Grudges tend to kill a lot of people in this business,” Gian said with a shrug of his shoulders. “I need to learn to let bygones be bygones.”
“Good, good.”
Then, Edmond held out his hand, the one with a ring that was all too familiar to Gian. It had belonged to his grandfather for years, and while Corrado should have been buried with it, someone had removed it from his home before it could be collected for the funeral home. Constantino might have been the one to pull the trigger where Corrado’s death was concerned, but Edmond had not been an honorable man in his intentions after the fact.
Gian could never, and would never, forget that.
He would not forget a shooting intended to keep him in line that nearly killed Cara, either.
Things like those were unforgiveable.
The bygones.
“Well?” Edmond asked, still holding his hand out for Gian to take. “Are we going to settle this like proper made men and move on as your grandfather would have wanted us to do, Gian?”
The man intended for Gian to bend down, and kiss his ring. Had it been his grandfather, Gian would have done it without question. Because it was Edmond, the significance made him hesitate.
Still, he bent down, grabbing Edmond’s hand and bringing it close to his mouth. Gian didn’t kiss the ring, though, he simply held it there for a moment.
“You have no idea what Corrado would have wanted,” Gian murmured low enough for only Edmond to hear. “But I certainly do.”
Gian dropped Edmond’s hand, without having kissed the ring, as glass shattered. He straightened to his full height, getting the brief chance to stare Edmond in the eyes for only a second before the man’s body began to sway.
A perfect sniper shot had hit Edmond square between his eyes. Blood trickled down from the wound. Death already stared back from his eyes.
This was appropriate, considering …
Gian let the body fall as one of the men inside the restaurant shouted, a panicked realization starting to take over about what had just happened. He paid the men no mind as he bent down and removed his grandfather’s ring from Edmond’s slack, lifeless hand, only to slide it down his own finger.
Standing once more, Gian turned to face the men with a smile. Shocked faces stared back at him, unmoving and frozen in time.
Chris was one hell of a shot.
Word would certainly be traveling now.
“I’ll answer to Don or Boss, only, and anything else will cost you a body part of your choice,” Gian said quietly. “Now, I need someone to move this body.”
Cara missed her bed—or better yet, Gian’s—the moment she opened her eyes and looked around. The unfamiliar bedroom staring back at her wasn’t necessarily off-putting. The big bed, earthy tones, and soft bedding were comforting enough, as far as that went. But it wasn’t home.
Her body knew it instantly.
She’d already been back in Chicago for a week, and no matter how many times she woke up in the guest bedroom of the Trentini mansion, it was still startling. It only reinforced her desire to go back to Toronto; the need to be home in familiar spaces thrummed deep.
It was only Gian’s demand that she stay away until he called her back—when it would be safe again—that kept her from booking a ticket.
Well, that, and her brother.
Tommas was not letting her go, either. Each time Cara brought up her desire to return home sooner than she was allowed to, her brother was quick to shut that idea down. Things were happening, he would say. She was better, and safer, right where she was for now.
Cara knew better than to argue with difficult, stubborn men. Or rather, she knew which battles to pick.
This was not one.
Cara rolled over in the king-sized bed, ignoring how empty it felt to sleep in such a large space with no one else to help fill it up or keep her company. She had been alone for so long, happy to find occasional fun with a man, but perfectly fine to send him packing before morning even arrived. She couldn’t quite say the same, now.
It was only a week. The loneliness growing in her heart should not have been taking up so much fucking space, like a weed getting out of control.
Love made things difficult.
Complicated, even.
Cara thought it was kind of lovely, too.
She missed Gian.
Terribly.
Cara found her charging phone on the nightstand, and brought it closer, squinting through tired eyes to see if she had missed any calls or messages throughout the night. There was nothing, and that only hurt a little more. She had talked to Gian a few times over the week, but it was never long enough. Their conversations never had enough substance. She couldn’t see his face to tell if he was simply hiding something to make her less worried, or if there really was nothing she should be concerned about.
She knew the truth.
Gian wouldn’t have sent her away if he didn’t absolutely have to. Of course, something was wrong. Of course, he kept their conversations short and the depth of them at a shallow level, in order to ward off Cara’s anxiety.
She didn’t quite know how to tell him that it really wasn’t working. She was still lonely and worried. She still wanted to go home, regardless of what was waiting there—good or bad.
Still, she stayed put.
Cara rubbed a hand over her face, wavering on whether or not to call Gian’s phone. It was early to be calling—seven her time, which meant it was eight in Toronto. Gian ran on his own time, though, which happened to be like a well-oiled machine. Up before six, breakfast and a workout, and then out the door before nine, if he could help it. He ran on the same schedule like it was his default. It didn’t matter if Cara was with him or not, his inter
nal alarms rarely changed.
She scrolled through her contacts, found Gian’s, and hit the green phone button beside his name. The call rang and rang, four times, then five and six. On the seventh, his answering recording picked up, and she ended the call before it even beeped.
Something wasn’t right.
He should have picked up.
Cara tried to push the worries aside, knowing it could be a million other things, too. Like a late night which had him sleeping in, though that had never been a thing before. Or an early meeting with whomever, which caused him to silence his phone. The second option was more likely, so that was what Cara chose to accept.
For now.
Even knowing that Gian would see the missed call and realize Cara had called him, it wasn’t quite enough for her. Maybe the man did have her a little fucked up in the head and heart. A bit too crazy about him, and them, even after she had told herself not to go that far with someone like Gian Guzzi. He was everything she wasn’t supposed to like—not his business, his arrogant, overly confident attitude, or his life. None of it was supposed to attract Cara like the dumb moth to the pretty flame, and yet, he had.
He was the first damn thing on her mind in the morning.
The last thing to cross it at night.
She kind of wanted him to know that.
He does like his pictures …
Cara grinned at her inner voice, got the camera set up on the phone, and held it out far enough to get a shot of her in the sheets, with the morning light coming in through the window behind her. The stark, white light contrasted against her body, but not quite enough to hide the fact that she had been sleeping in very little, just black boy shorts. Her hair was a curly mess, framing her face wildly, with no makeup to be seen.
It actually wasn’t too bad.
It was usually Gian taking the pictures, teasing her while he did so, but constantly going back through the images whenever he got the chance. She had gotten more than one text from him with an image or short video clip of her that were nothing short of porn. She knew when he was doing it during their encounters, as he always told her, and she never minded enough to tell him not to.
A shot of her on her knees, with his cock in her mouth. A three second video clip of his cock filling her pussy full. Each one—new or old—was like a snapshot of memories for Cara that suddenly came back in a rushing wave. She was positive that was exactly Gian’s point in randomly sending the pictures or videos for her to see.