Cara & Gian: The Complete Guzzi Duet

by Bethany-Kris

  She was lucky.

  So fucking lucky.

  At first, Gian had thought a concussion was likely, given the gash on Cara’s hairline, and the bump behind her right ear. The doctor had agreed, and every thirty minutes, Cara had been woken up, checked over as best as was possible, and then allowed to rest again. Not that she had understood much of what was going on.

  Cara’s frightened gaze finally met Gian’s and for the first time, she relaxed without the help of added medication. She slumped into the bed, but not before her arm—tacked and taped with an IV and tubes—snaked around his neck, and dragged him closer.

  “The baby is perfectly fine,” Gian told her again before she could ask. He could already see her questions forming. “He’s great, his heartbeat is strong and they brought in the portable ultrasound machine to look everything over.”

  Cara’s hold on him loosened, but barely. “Okay.”

  “Do you want a drink, or something?”

  “Water.”

  “Sure, bella. You have to let me go first.”

  She did but it took a while. He quickly got the glass of water ready, with a bendy straw, and then helped her to drink until she was satisfied. Her voice wasn’t as dry when she spoke again.

  “My head hurts and my side, too.”

  Gian nodded. “You hit your head pretty hard inside the truck, and—”

  “He pushed me.”

  “Hmm?”

  “Gilles,” Cara said, her brow furrowing and her gaze dimming with memories. “He pushed me into the truck, out of the way, when the lights came out of nowhere.”

  Ah.

  Well, yet another reason for Gian to thank the enforcer and make sure he was given a proper send off to the heavens. For now, though, Gilles’ body was still chilling on a slab in the morgue.

  “You probably hurt your bottom rib at the same time,” Gian explained. “Not broken, but it took a hard hit, like your head.”

  Cara’s fingers danced along her hairline, and she winced at the feeling of the stitched slice that was a good two inches long. “Ow.”

  “Don’t touch,” he said, moving her hand away and tucking it into his own. “It’s going to be sore for a while, but it’ll heal nicely, given the way they stitched it.”

  Her wince deepened into a scowl, and her body tensed.

  “Ow.”

  Gian looked over at the monitor, recognizing how Cara’s body tensed with that specific pain. He watched the little paper coming out of the machine spike but quickly drop. It had been nearly forty-five minutes since the last time it did that, and this time, the duration had been significantly shorter.

  According to the nurses, that was a good sign to see.

  “What in the hell was that?” Cara asked when the spike dropped and tapered off completely.

  “A contraction,” Gian said gently. “You were having them pretty steadily for a while, and they gave you some meds to slow it down, if possible. It worked, anyway. Soon, the contractions will taper off to nothing at all, and it’ll be fine. That’s what these are monitoring.”

  He moved the sheets covering Cara aside, so then she was able to see the bands and circular monitors wrapped around her middle.

  “A what?”

  “A contraction,” he repeated, “though they’re pretty short and not spiking high when they do hit now.”

  “I shouldn’t be having those yet, Gian. It’s too soon.”

  He shushed her again, kissing her softly on the mouth to quiet her fears. “The accident set them off, but he’s fine. They’re stopping. They checked and there was no dilation. He’s got a bit more time to be safe in you, no worries there.”

  How Gian managed to stay calm, and speak carefully as to not panic Cara more than she already was, he didn’t know. Inside, he felt like a raging fucking hurricane. A very small part of him knew that right then, Cara needed his calm, controlled demeanor.

  He could do that.

  For a little while.

  Cara blinked, her panic subsiding slowly. “Where is Gilles?”

  Gian sighed, his gaze darting away. “He didn’t survive the impact.”

  “What about the other car—the driver? Are they okay?”

  His rage flooded back into his veins, hot and heavy, demanding attention and wanting soothed in some violent way.

  Gian would get to it.

  Eventually.

  “Hit and run,” he said as calmly as he could manage.

  In other words: entirely fucking intentional.

  Gian wouldn’t tell Cara that, though. At least, not while she was recovering in a hospital bed. These were the kinds of conversations that shouldn’t be had in a hospital, simply because the walls had ears that were always listening.

  And the cops would be back soon enough …

  Gian, on the other hand, would be looking for the fucker behind the wheel that killed his enforcer, and damn near took the love of his life and his unborn child away from him. Soon. He already had a suspicion of who might be involved, though he had no particular reason to suspect her, except he wouldn’t put it past his wife.

  That, and he didn’t trust Elena as far as he could throw her. He certainly didn’t have a reason why Elena would have set something like this up, but sometimes, she didn’t need a reason. She just needed to be able to do something and she would. Especially if it meant hurting someone who had hurt her.

  “All those things,” Cara said quietly.

  “What things?”

  “The baby things. The gifts from the shower. They were beautiful and tiny. They’re all ruined now.”

  “You don’t have to worry about those things, Cara. They can be replaced. They’re just things, they’re not you or the baby. Some of it is probably okay, whatever was in the back under the truck bed cover. But it doesn’t matter right now, don’t focus on it or worry.”

  “I know, I just …”

  “Your mind’s way of processing,” he supplied.

  Cara nodded faintly. “I’m tired, Gian.”

  He could see that in her, too. In her dropping lids, slack lips, and weakened grip on his hand. Another nurse would be in to check on her soon, but he figured she could get a bit more sleep before that happened.

  “Rest, amore.”

  “You won’t leave, right?”

  “Not tonight,” he promised.

  “Did you see the baby on the ultrasound when they checked him?”

  Gian smiled, cupping Cara’s face in his hands, and stroking her cheeks with his thumbs. “I did. He looked like he might have waved, but I think he was just swiping at the thing pushing on him. He didn’t like that very much.”

  “He does that every time. And he’s okay, you’re sure?”

  “He’s beautiful and perfect, Cara.”

  Just like her.

  So beautiful.

  So, so perfect.

  And fuck anybody who tried to ruin that or take them from him.

  Gian stepped out of his Mercedes, and surveyed the cars parked around the Guzzi mansion’s circular driveway. Too many cars for a Saturday. And none he particularly recognized right off the bat.

  A flash of irritation settled in his gut, as he had come to the mansion for a fucking reason, and he wanted to deal with it right then. Not at some later point, when his wife was alone.

  Despite it being the weekend, and knowing he should stay put as he had been doing for several months without fail, Gian didn’t bother to even grab his keys out of the ignition. He was all too aware that he still needed to keep up appearances with his wife, but he also wasn’t interested in playing to the mafia’s politics at the moment. Once he was done with his business here, he was heading right back to Cara, to get her settled in at home and comfortable again.

  Or as comfortable as she could be, given the circumstances.

  Inside the mansion, Gian found his wife, and several of her very loud friends in the common sitting area. Drunk, apparently. On a Saturday afternoon.

  Elena rarely
had parties and it wasn’t often she brought over guests. Gian might have even taken a second look when his wife said she had friends, because she never spoke fondly of anyone except herself and her dead mother.

  Her friends, however, were not what Gian would consider suitable pals for Elena. All women who had made their names and money from marrying men with deep pockets. Men who happened to be beyond a certain age. A few of the ladies had too much plastic and silicone pumped into their bodies.

  Sure, the women were Toronto Elite. They regularly graced the society pages. They were also constant, unrelenting, non-stop drama. Those stupid fucking Housewives reality shows had nothing on these women.

  Gian certainly didn’t approve of whom Elena called her friends, but the very sad fact was, she fit right in. Perfectly. Then again, Elena could fit in everywhere. She only needed to want to, and make an effort.

  And hell, if her time and efforts were distracted by these awful femmes, then he didn’t give a shit. As long as it wasn’t on him.

  Gian stood in the entryway of the sitting room, shaking his head as the maid attempted to clean up what appeared to be a wine spill. Her effort was fruitless, because one of the women leaned toward Elena, and clearly drunk, simply spilled more right over the same spot.

  “Mariana,” Gian said loudly, calling their maid out by name. He also gained the attention of the rest of the drunken women acting foolish, including his wife. “Mariana, if the ladies can’t manage to keep the wine in their glasses, please stop refilling them. Why don’t you take a break for a little while? You look like you need it.”

  Mariana stood quickly, her aging face flustered. “Yes, sir.”

  “Just about time to break up the party, ladies,” Gian said, turning back to the room. “Sorry about that.”

  But not really.

  “Gian,” Elena whined, “you can’t just come in here and ruin my lunch with the girls.”

  Gian arched a single brow at his wife, silencing her from saying anything further. Mariana scooted by him in the entryway, her head tucked down. “Actually, Mariana, take the rest of the day off. You won’t see funds deducted on your pay. It seems Elena has forgotten that your job is not to cater to her every whim and fancy, but rather, to keep her house clean because she refuses to do it herself.”

  Mariana hesitated, looking back at him with wary eyes. “If you’re sure?”

  “Positive. Say hello to your husband for me. I haven’t seen him in a while.”

  “I will. Thank you, sir.”

  Gian faced the sloppy drunks in his sitting room once more. “Elena, have your friends leave, or join me in the kitchen. Now.”

  “Gian!”

  Elena’s mortified shriek grinded on every single nerve that Gian had left. He managed to ignore it, but it was goddamn hard. Not bothering to wait on his wife’s decision, Gian headed for the kitchen, listening to the voices he was leaving behind.

  “My, he’s certainly in a mood, isn’t he?” one of the women asked.

  “Oh, he’s always in a damn mood,” Elena muttered. “Don’t mind him. He’ll probably head upstairs for the rest of the day. We won’t even know he’s here.”

  “We never see him out with you, Elena.”

  “It’s better that you don’t, trust me.”

  Gian rolled his eyes upward, feeling the tension headache beginning to build in his temples. Fuck no, he would not be staying. Even if that meant coming back to find the entire mansion trashed from Elena’s nonsense.

  “What in the hell do you want?” Elena hissed at his back.

  Gian had heard her enter the kitchen behind him, but he focused on his task of getting a glass of water. That way, he could resist the urge to put his hands around her throat and choke the fucking life out of her.

  “No calls came in from you last night,” Gian noted. “You weren’t concerned when I didn’t make it home?”

  He looked back at her, noting her glazed eyes and messier than normal appearance. Drinking before supper could do that to a person.

  Elena shrugged. “You come and go, Gian. This isn’t the first weekend, recently, where you’ve stayed away until we have to be seen at church. What does it matter? You told me to fuck off, so I have. Isn’t that what you want, for me to leave you alone?”

  Yes, but he needed to believe she was actually doing that, too.

  “And where were you, anyway?” Elena asked.

  Gian stiffened a bit, but chose to answer partly honestly. “With Cara.”

  He decided not to mention the accident, or the hospital. His best defense against Elena’s games—or any that she might be playing—were to let her set a trap, and then subsequently fall into it with her usual lies and manipulations.

  Elena sighed. “You don’t have to just … throw that in my face, you know.”

  “I didn’t mean for it to sound that way.”

  “Well, it does. And that’s kind of awful of you. I’m aware you have a mistress, and that she’s pregnant with your child, you don’t need to add onto it by giving me a play-by-play of your activities with her. It’s embarrassing enough.”

  “You asked where I was, and I told you.”

  “Yes, for no reason.”

  “Actually, there was one. Cara was involved in a hit and run last night. It seemed, from onlookers, that it was very intentional. A man of mine was killed, too.”

  “So?” Elena asked.

  She didn’t ask about the baby, or Cara, or anything else. She didn’t make one of her haughty proclamations about his whore, as she so affectionately called Cara whenever she got the chance and wanted to hurt Gian. Nothing. Simply a so, as though it had no affect or bearing on her life, because it didn’t. And Elena cared for nothing that didn’t involve her in some way.

  That was the only reason why Gian chose to believe—at least, for now—that his wife was probably not behind organizing the hit and run. However, he put Elena on a very short leash where giving her any sort of trust was concerned.

  “I’m going to head out again,” Gian said, “I may or may not make it to church on Sunday, it depends.”

  “If you don’t come here before church, then can I not go, too?”

  “I don’t give a shit. Make an appropriate excuse, when asked.”

  Elena nodded. “I can do that.”

  “And I’ll try to keep my … activities, a bit more quiet,” Gian said. “I certainly don’t mean to toss them, or this, in your face, as you said.”

  “Well, you do. Often. More than you realize.”

  “I’ll be more aware of that, or try.”

  It was the least he could do.

  “Oh, and Elena?”

  “What, Gian?”

  “You have no reason to be jealous or to compete with any of those women out there, so I’m not sure why you continue to play these games with them like you do.”

  Elena shot him a look over her shoulder. “Don’t I?”

  “What do they possibly have, that you don’t?”

  “Freedom, Gian.”

  “Well, we both know why that is, don’t we?” he asked.

  Elena only smiled fleetingly and coolly in response.

  He would much rather see another woman smiling at him.

  “Here, love,” Gian said, offering Cara his hand to help her from the car. She took it, her fingers warming his as she carefully maneuvered her way out of the backseat. “There you are.”

  Cara eyed the walkway from the side of the road to her apartment building’s entrance, and frowned. “That’s a long walk.”

  For a heavily pregnant woman with a bruised rib and lingering headaches from trauma? Yes, it certainly was a long walk. He could fix it for her, and he didn’t mind doing just that.

  Gian chuckled, and before Cara could refuse him, he swept her up in a cradle-like hold. Her arms flew around his neck, her eyes wide. She was still as light as a feather to him, but he was careful not to jostle her too much in case it caused her unnecessary pain.

  “There, that�
��s easy enough.”

  “Gian, put me down.”

  Chris strolled behind them, carrying what few bags had been in the back of the car. The enforcer said nothing, only grinned as Gian ignored Cara’s demands.

  “You’re fine where you are, mon ange,” Gian said. “Enjoy the view.”

  “I’m too heavy—”

  “No, you’re not.”

  “The scale says I am twenty-five pounds heavier.”

  “The man that loves you says you’re perfetto, bella, mia tesoro.”

  She pursed her lips, half-heartedly glaring at him. “Why do you always do that?”

  “Hmm, do what?”

  “Say the right things all the time.”

  Gian smirked down at her. “It’s a gift.”

  “It’s certainly something.”

  Chris stepped up to unlock the building door and hold it open, but stayed behind them as Gian carried Cara to the apartment.

  “Just set the bags inside the door,” Gian told Chris as Cara unlocked the apartment.

  “Got it, boss.”

  It didn’t take them long to get inside, for Cara to turn the lights on, and for Chris to head back out. Gian urged Cara toward the couch, despite her protests to want to clean, or cook. He wasn’t having that shit—she was resting.

  “You do realize that no amount of talking is going to change what I want you to do, right?” Gian asked.

  Cara sighed heavily, resting into the couch. “I need to sweep, and pick things up.”

  “I will handle it. You will relax.”

  “This isn’t your—”

  “I will handle it, Cara.”

  She scowled. “You’re so stubborn.”

  “You’re one to talk.” Gian smirked at the sight of her frustrations. “Now, what do you want me to get you to wear from your dresser? Something comfy?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Cara.”

  “Oh, my God, Gian. Don’t hover.”

  He was down on his knees in a flash, resting his hands on her thighs. That wasn’t nearly good enough for him, though, so he pushed the over-sized shirt she wore up high enough to get his palms against the swell of her stomach. Quickly, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to her skin, just above her naval.