by Bethany-Kris
A nagging pain started to ache in Cara’s side, but she pressed the heel of her palm against it to soothe it as best she could. Her phone rang once more, and Gian’s number lit up the screen.
Even though every single part of her screamed to pick up the call and hear his voice, because it would calm her like nothing else, Cara didn’t do it. She didn’t want to scare him, or worry him. The situation was … well, bad.
Really fucking bad.
Cara decided to call the emergency line back, just to let them know an update on the situation, and why the call had been ended in the first place.
“Nine-one-one, what’s your—”
“Active shooter at Carolina’s House on the Fifth,” Cara interrupted, keeping an eye on the locked-in door. “I was just on the phone with a dispatcher, and accidentally ended it. We have the housing and dining wings locked in, but the main entrance, bottom floor, and offices are not secure.”
“Units are on route to the scene, and one has already arrived, ma’am.”
“Thank you.”
She still didn’t relax.
Not for a minute.
And especially not when the dispatcher said, “We have a confusing report coming in from the first unit, could you clarify the situation? One shooter or two?”
Cara’s brow furrowed. “Just one, why?”
“There are running vehicles outside of the shelter’s main entrance and a witness told police that two men entered the shelter five minutes ago. With weapons visible.”
“This began at least fifteen minutes ago,” Cara whispered.
“Yes, I can see when your first call came in, ma’am.”
Cara wasn’t sure why she felt the need to ask, but the question spilled out anyway. “What are the models of the vehicles outside the shelter that the witness saw the men come in?”
“Um … a Lexus and a Mercedes.”
Gian.
Gian couldn’t get rid of the image of the brain matter splattered across the welcome sign behind the shelter’s receptionist desk. He’d thought something was wrong when his phone call with Cara ended abruptly. He knew something was wrong for sure when—after driving like a bat out of hell—he found the front of the shelter dark, without the usual warm lights brightening the entrance.
Inside, two dead women sent him running for the offices wing. Dom stayed in the entrance to help the frightened, shocked women that had been spared.
“Cara!”
Gian checked office after office, but found nothing. A few of the staff had locked their doors, too, but he didn’t think Cara would be in an office with someone else. She had called from her office phone, and that was why he went looking there first. He’d put together what she had said about the risk level for an altercation due to a new woman at the shelter, and figured … the altercation happened.
Halfway down the hallway, he heard a snarling voice coming from behind the exit doors. He wasn’t sure where that led to, but he knew the shelter was sectioned off to make it feel more home-like, and less like a complex.
“Get those fucking doors open,” a man barked. “Right now, or I’ll blow your fucking head apart.”
“Please, listen. The doors can’t be opened. Please don’t—”
“Open the fucking doors!”
“I can’t open them!”
The woman’s resounding cry that followed her statement had Gian picking up his pace. Already, he had his favorite Berretta at the ready. He shouldn’t be walking around with a gun, anyway, not with the cops being so hot on his ass, and the time he had just served for illegal weapons possession.
Gian figured having a gun now was a damn good thing.
“Bitch, I’m gonna kill you.”
Gian’s foot hit the latch on the wing exit door at the same time he aimed his gun and turned toward the voices. The guy with the semi-auto rifle pointed at the cowering woman on the floor didn’t see Gian either.
Not until it was too late.
The trigger pulled back smooth and easy under Gian’s finger. The bullet plugged into the forehead of the guy, sent his eyes flying wide, and then he stumbled back several steps. His head cracked morbidly against the wall on his way to the floor.
Gian considered putting another bullet in the fucker, just for good measure, but the horrified shriek of the woman stopped him. He passed her a look and recognized her instantly. Cara’s boss.
Jenny, he thought her name was.
“You okay?” Gian asked.
Jenny just stared at him, blinking.
“Did someone call the cops?”
She still didn’t talk.
“Where’s Cara?” Gian demanded.
Jenny swallowed hard, her gaze darting to the corpse bleeding out between his eyes on the floor, and Gian standing just a few feet away. “Probably inside the kitchen and dining area, if she’s not locked in her office.”
“She’s not locked in her office.”
“You killed him.”
“He was going to kill you,” Gian offered with a shrug. “Which was the better option? I think we both like this one more. I can have the carpets replaced before the weekend is up. It’ll be like he never even happened, no worries.”
The man might have hurt Cara.
Or Gian’s child.
Rage filtered in through Gian’s numbed senses, but he pushed it down. It was done with, and handled. A problem came up, and he fixed it. It was just what Gian did.
“RCMP, show your hands!”
Gian tossed his Berretta aside the second he heard the police shout their warnings from behind the doors where he had just come. He shot Jenny a smile as he put his hands behind his head, and moved down to his knees on the floor.
This way, he was not a threat.
This way, it would be faster.
He really needed to see Cara.
“Gian!”
Gian turned at the familiar sound of Cara’s shout. Just in time, too. She barreled into him, her arms snaking tight enough to choke him, and then she pulled him closer still. Her kiss landed fast and hard against his mouth, taking his breath away.
Finally, he could feel.
He wanted to hug Cara, to bring her in closer, but all he managed to do was press his cuffed hands along the swell of her stomach. It was enough and the baby’s kick had his heart beating a little faster.
“Hey, it’s all right, mon ange,” Gian soothed in Cara’s ear. “All’s well, now.”
“What is this?” Cara demanded, pulling away to grab the cuffs. “They arrested you?”
The cop keeping watch on Gian near the back of the police cruiser gave a little shrug when Cara glared at him.
“Details,” Gian said, “nothing more. I had a gun on me and no papers for it, not to mention a license for a concealed weapon. It’s just details.”
“Gian, those details put you in jail for five fucking months last time!”
“Yeah, not so loud, Cara. And it was a little more than one gun last time, but it doesn’t make this look very fucking good on me at the moment.”
She frowned. “But you were the one who … who …”
“Came in and saved the day?”
“I mean, yeah!”
Gian sighed. “Just relax. You don’t need to be worrying so much that you worry my son right out. All right? Also, there’s a couple of EMTs here, so have you been checked over yet?”
“I’m fine,” Cara said, huffing.
She might have thought so.
Gian needed to be sure.
“Officer, could you have this woman checked—”
“Gian, stop it!”
He ignored Cara, and nodded toward her when the officer grinned. “I mean, if you wouldn’t mind. I’m not going anywhere, really.”
“I’ll escort her over, Mr. Guzzi.”
“You ass,” Cara muttered under her breath to Gian.
“Just get checked, love. And the baby—his heartbeat and whatnot. I’ll still be here, where the hell am I going to go?”
<
br /> Cara’s narrowed gaze didn’t relent, but the officer was quick to urge her toward a waiting ambulance, fifty feet down the street. Gian took the second he had alone to breathe, and get whatever story he needed to tell straight in his brain. Not that it was going to help him on the legal side of things.
All too soon, the officer was back, without Cara.
“Well, Mr. Guzzi, it’s time to head down to the station.”
Gian looked in the direction Cara had gone. “Could I at least wait for an update on her?”
“She seems fine, and the EMT got an earful when he was a little rough-handed checking the baby.”
“Oh, is that so?”
He couldn’t even try to hide his rage, or the way his tone edged dangerously.
The cop eyed Gian, amused. “You killed one man tonight. Isn’t that enough?”
“Not when it comes to her.”
“Let’s go, Guzzi.”
Gian rested his head against the cinderblock wall of the jail cell, thankful he was alone for the moment. He’d been shoved into the cell with a half of a dozen other detainees, but throughout the evening and into the morning, the others had been moved elsewhere, or released once they’d slept their drunken stupors away.
He reached for his pocket to pull out his phone, and cursed under his breath, realizing he didn’t have it on him. Everything—from his phone to his keys, and the bit of change alongside his wallet—had been taken from him.
This was not where Gian wanted to be.
Not again.
“You’re looking mighty comfortable.”
Gian didn’t bother to even turn his head at the new—yet familiar—voice. The RCMP detective that had become a second shadow of sorts for him loomed just beyond the bars.
Seeley looked at a file in his other hand. “Quite the mess you’ve found yourself in again, Gian.”
“Oui.”
“Why on earth would you think it was a good idea to go in guns blazing, when you damn well know you’re not to have any weapons, legal or otherwise?”
Gian shrugged. “I wasn’t thinking.”
That much was the truth. He had gotten that call from Cara, decided to head over, and shit had gone south from there.
“The cops said you refused to give a statement,” the detective noted.
“I want my lawyer there when I do.”
“It’s the weekend. You know these jails don’t bring in lawyers and have all that nonsense done on the weekends.”
“Then my statement can wait.”
“Make it easy on them, give them the statement,” Seeley said. “What’s it going to hurt? We already know what happened, just repeat it for them.”
“When my lawyer shows up,” Gian replied.
Seeley grunted under his breath. “You’ve got these damn Mounties split down the middle, Guzzi. Half of them think they should release you for what you did, and the other half thinks you’re nothing more than a—”
“Criminal, I know. That half is right.”
“At least you’re aware.”
“Is Domenic being held in another cell because we’re brothers?” Gian asked, getting tired of the same old conversation that would go nowhere. He’d also been wondering about his younger brother, and how Dom had faired through the weekend. “I mean, I get why you wouldn’t want us together. It would be a shame if we concocted some kind of story to get me out of here, right?”
Seeley’s face turned to stone. “Domenic wasn’t arrested.”
“Oh?”
Gian didn’t hide his surprise.
“No need to, as his weapon was registered and legal. He also didn’t shoot anybody, and he was helping in the main entrance with victims. He was brought in for a secondary, more thorough statement this morning, though.”
Something in the lilt of the detective’s tone caught Gian’s attention.
“Was he now?” Gian sat a little straighter on the bench. “Do tell.”
“Where did you get your gun from?”
Gian said nothing.
“How long have you had it?” Seeley questioned.
Gian stayed quiet.
There had to be a reason for these questions, after all.
Frustrated, the detective pushed away from the bars with a scowl. “You’ve got everybody fooled, Guzzi, but not me.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You owe your brother—big time.”
Gian hid his inner confusion well. “We do look out for one another when we can.”
“Seems this is no different. Domenic took the rap on your gun. Said the illegal weapon was his, in his vehicle, and that you had grabbed it when you two arrived. There’s no way to prove otherwise, especially considering he too had a gun on him, though his was legal and registered. Your charges have been dropped, except for the discharging a weapon, but—”
Gian released a dark laugh. “It’ll be thrown out in court, given the circumstances.”
Seeley’s face reddened. “Likely.”
“When am I getting out?”
That was all Gian cared about.
He had a pregnant Cara to get back to.
Life was waiting.
He didn’t have time for this shit.
Seeley perked a bit at the question, happier than before. “We’re a bit short staffed this weekend, and nobody seems to be around to properly discharge you. Shame. Monday, likely.”
Gian resisted the urge to flip the man his middle finger. Instead, he rested back on the bench, much more comfortable than before. “Merci, Seeley. See you next time, we both know there’s going to be one. Oh, and do see if someone will bring me something decent to eat. I have restaurants that will deliver.”
“Good to see you’re smiling,” Stephan said as Gian approached his waiting underboss.
Gian stuffed his hands in his slacks pockets, enjoying the sunshine. “Why wouldn’t I be? It’s Monday, it’s a beautiful day, and I am not in a jail cell.”
“Lucky, boss.”
“Very. Where’s my brother?”
Stephan shrugged. “Dom said he had some shit to catch up on. I didn’t mind coming down to pick you up and take you home.”
Gian kept his features blank, but disappointment filled him. He hadn’t been able to have a conversation with his brother while in the jail, and knowing that Dom was taking a charge on possession of an illegal weapon for him, he owed him thanks. He’d hoped to do that first thing, and then get on with his day.
“Your vehicle is still in impound,” Stephan said.
“I’ll worry about it tomorrow.”
“Maybe not even then.”
Gian cocked a brow. “And why not?”
“You have bigger problems to worry about at the moment, boss.”
He wasn’t so sure of that.
“Bigger than Cara being two weeks away from delivering my first-born son? Bigger than convincing her she needs to move into the penthouse, so I can take care of her? Bigger than barely escaping more jail time? Tell me what’s bigger than those things at this very moment, Stephan.”
The underboss shot a look down the street, as though he was expecting someone to be watching them. No one was, or so it seemed. Gian wouldn’t put it past their shadows, though.
“You made another show, boss.”
Gian tipped his head to the side. “Excusez-moi?”
“We’re all walking a fine line out here on the streets, trying to keep our noses clean, stay quiet and out of sight of the cops, not to mention away from that fucking prick Gabriel. And then there you go, making a show of yourself and all of us again. All because of your mistress, boss. I’m not saying this to be disrespectful,” Stephan added quickly, likely seeing the rage growing on Gian’s features. “I’m saying it because someone’s got to be the one to warn you and nobody else is stepping up right now. As it is, we’ve been battling the cops and Gabriel’s men, not to mention tip-toeing around one another, thinking there’s somebody among us that’s feeding info to the police.”
“I hear you.”
“Do you?” Stephan asked. “Are you listening now, Gian?”
Gian bristled. “Try that again.”
“Boss, are you listening now?”
“I didn’t intend to make a scene,” Gian said quietly. “Not with this or with Cara. I reacted. Like any man would have done.”
“Any man that wasn’t in your position, maybe,” Stephan agreed.
Gian hated how Stephan made damn good points.
“It’ll smooth itself over, surely. Over time.”
“Except it won’t, not really. Let’s not even consider the cops for the moment, just Gabriel. Already, he’s threatened us, he’s taken from us, and he’s pointed the finger at you each and every time as a reason why. Maybe before, the men in the family would overlook it. But the next time, when another Guzzi man shows up dead because of that fucker, they’re not going to be so compliant and forgiving. They’re going to remember your face on the television, and your pregnant mistress as the reason why.”
Gian no longer felt as carefree as he had just a few minutes ago. “I’ll figure it out.”
Something.
He would figure something out.
“But today,” Gian said, “I have a woman to apologize to, so that’s where I need to go.”
Stephan nodded. “The penthouse it is, boss.”
“She didn’t ask to be taken to her place? Cara doesn’t live at the penthouse, and never lets me forget it.”
Yet.
“Well, that’s where she’s been. Chris says she hasn’t left, either. He’s been keeping an eye on her, apparently.”
Well, then … maybe something was finally working to Gian’s favor for once. He would take what he could get.
“Oh, my God. You smell like a jail cell.”
Cara’s words were grumbled against Gian’s lips, but he still heard them perfectly fine. His chuckles did nothing to quell the way Cara’s nose scrunched up as she pulled away from him in the penthouse hallway. He wanted to bring her closer again—fuck the jail cell smell—but she had a point. He needed a shower, a toothbrush, and a clean suit.
“Sorry, mon ange. I’ll get on it.”