Cara & Gian: The Complete Guzzi Duet

by Bethany-Kris

  “Reginella,” Gabriel replied, the wet sound of a kiss meeting a cheek echoing down the hall to Gian’s hidden spot. There was more affection in that one word than Gian had ever heard his father-in-law use before, especially toward Elena. It made him wonder—consider—just how much was an act those two put on for the world. How much of their vileness toward one another was simply what they wanted people to believe, not what was actually the truth. “You look tired, Elena.”

  “Long day,” she replied. “Come in, sit down.”

  “I take it, your husband is not around.”

  “When is he ever around, Daddy?”

  “Mmm,” Gabriel hummed, “shame, really.”

  “He’s just happier elsewhere at the moment.”

  “Not for long, dolcezza. I assure you.”

  “Oh?” Elena asked.

  Gabriel’s laughter rang down the hall, following along with two sets of footsteps. “That’s not for you to worry your pretty little head over. I always take care of my bambina, don’t I? Of course, I do. Now, where is that spiced rum I like so much?”

  “In the main room. Are you supposed to be drinking with the medicine for your heart?”

  “Never mind, donna. Don’t lecture me on my health.”

  “I just—”

  “Don’t.”

  “Fine,” Elena said with a quiet sigh.

  Gian stepped out of the shadows of the closet enclave in the entryway after Elena and her father passed him by. He followed behind them a few steps, listening to their conversation as he screwed in the silencer to his gun.

  What a mess this would be.

  What a war it would start.

  He wished he cared.

  Gian stayed in the entryway of the main room while Elena directed her father toward the wet bar. It was only when Gabriel lifted a glass of spiced rum to his lips and turned slightly that he saw Gian waiting there, gun cocked and ready.

  His finger was already on the trigger.

  Gabriel took his drink, and swallowed it down without so much as a flinch before he said, “I trusted you, Elena.”

  The man didn’t even look at his daughter when he spoke to her.

  “You should have known better than to trust a snake you raised,” Gian told his father-in-law. “She learned from the very best, didn’t she, Gabriel?”

  “Elena.”

  Elena didn’t respond, but she did do as Gian had previously told her. She moved toward him, readying to leave the room so that she wouldn’t see what happened, or what came next.

  “You could at least apologize to me, Elena!” Gabriel shouted at his daughter’s back. “After everything I did for you!”

  “Why should I apologize, Daddy? You never apologized for making me this way.”

  Gian waited until he heard the footsteps of his wife retreat to the second level of the wing, and then he pulled the trigger. He fired off three more shots, one with each step he took before he was standing over the dead body of Gabriel.

  Just to make sure.

  “Cazzo, Gian!”

  Gian turned fast on his heel at the sound of his brother’s voice. Dom stood in the entryway, his gaze darting between his brother and the body on the floor. “What in the hell are you doing here?”

  He hadn’t called for Dom. He hadn’t even seen his brother before he left the hospital.

  “I … I thought—” Dom’s words cut off as his gaze cut to the side, looking at something down the hall before going right back to Gian. “Stephan said you had to handle something at the mansion, because of what happened to Cara and the baby. He didn’t explain more.”

  “And what, you decided to follow behind me?”

  “I thought you might need help.”

  Gian softened his stance a bit. Things had not been good with his brother for a long while. Longer than he was willing to admit. From the day in the jail all those months ago when Gian had needed to put Dom in his place, there had been a heathy distance between the two. It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. His brother became a better made man for it, a decent consigliere to his boss. Yet, the bond of what had been—between them as brothers—was seriously strained.

  “If you want to help,” Gian said, tipping his head toward the body on the floor, “then an extra pair of hands tonight would be great.”

  “Gabriel attacked Cara?”

  “He did it. The bitch upstairs helped him along into it, but not much can be done for her.”

  That was all Gian was going to say about it.

  Dom could fill in the blanks.

  “I’ll help,” Dom said quickly. “Just tell me where to start.”

  “Find the bleach.”

  “There was something else, too.”

  “What’s that?” Gian asked, tucking away his gun.

  “Chris didn’t make it through surgery. They put him on life support when his brain function failed.”

  Well, fuck.

  It was the pain Cara felt that woke her. It wasn’t deep, or even sharp. Instead, it was a pulse skimming her nerves, being chased away by something cold in her veins.

  The beep of a monitor had Cara turning her head to find the unusual sound. An IV pole with a morphine drip, and another for what looked like antibiotics, it seemed. She lifted her hand to find the tubes attached there.

  Her other hand?

  Wrapped in medical gauze and ow.

  But almost as soon as she remembered the events that had gotten her in a hospital bed—being run off the road, the shooting that followed—the morphine chased the memory away again with its cold sweetness.

  Still, Cara breathed deeply.

  That hurt, too.

  Worse than the hand.

  It was only Gian coming in through the automatic doors of her room that distracted Cara. His attention was focused on Marcus, and a bottle of milk. He didn’t notice Cara was awake as he tried to feed the baby.

  “Come on, Marcus,” Gian murmured, teasing the baby’s lips with the nipple. “You have to eat, principe. I know it doesn’t taste good, but it’s good for you. It’s not like Ma, I know. You have to eat, little man. What am I supposed to tell Ma, that you won’t eat for Daddy? No, don’t spit it—”

  Gian sighed, his shoulders dropping as he used a burping cloth slung over his shoulder to wipe around Marcus’s face. Then, the wailing started. Marcus’s high cries resounded with his frustration and hunger.

  “Okay,” Gian soothed, “no crying. Ma’s sleeping. Another walk around the hospital, more formula to spit on the floor while we go. Maybe you’ll drink enough on the way to fill your stomach.”

  Gian turned around to leave the room, and Cara’s panic flared. She forced herself to sit up in the bed, despite the pain in doing so.

  “No, don’t go, Gian.”

  How Gian heard her, she wasn’t sure. Her voice was all but gone—too soft to make any impact. Somehow, he had.

  Gian was already heading for Cara’s bedside with one of his smooth, charming smiles firmly in place. Something was wrong. She could see it. His smile was forced.

  Cara chose not to ask for the moment, instead, wanting her son. She held her arms out, ready to take the baby. “Let me see him.”

  Once Marcus was tucked into Cara’s embrace, his gold-flecked brown eyes locked onto hers, she was finally okay. She could breathe, because all was right in her world. Her baby was okay.

  Cara held Marcus a little bit tighter.

  “I’m sorry,” Gian said, keeping a hand on the baby’s back to steady him. Cara hadn’t realized it, but thin lines of tears streaked down her cheeks. With careful touches, Gian swiped the wetness away. “I tried, but he won’t eat. I don’t know if it’s me or the shit they keep trying to shove down his throat.”

  “Probably both,” Cara whispered through her tears.

  “He doesn’t want to sleep, either.” Gian laughed hoarsely. “I just think he knew someone important was out of reach for a while.”

  “I thought he was a daddy’s boy.”

/>   “Not when his mother isn’t within crying distance, apparently. Kept his whole wing up last night.”

  Cara tucked the side of her face into Gian’s palm, feeling his thumb rub soothingly across her cheekbone in rhythmic strokes. He kept her drowsiness at bay, and calmed her.

  “I’m sorry for this, mon ange,” Gian added quieter. “It never should have happened.”

  “I know.”

  And she did know.

  She knew without him needing to tell her. Why would he want or wish for someone to hurt her and their child? He loved them; he protected them as best he could.

  Cara knew all of those things because she saw him do it every single day. Sure, this was her greatest fear. It was all the reasons she didn’t want to be in this life, attached to a man whose tomorrows were not guaranteed.

  She also couldn’t be without Gian. It wouldn’t be living. It had just taken Cara a long damn time to settle those things with her head and heart.

  Marcus turned into Cara’s chest as he rooted for what he wanted to fill his stomach.

  “Here,” Gian said, handing the small bottle of formula over. “They said the narcotics will transfer through, so formula and bottles it is.”

  Cara frowned. “He’s still new. I don’t want to bottle-feed him. I’m better for him, Gian.”

  Her body ached to feed her child.

  “Not my call,” Gian said, leaning down to press a quick kiss to her forehead. “Besides, what’s important is that he eats.”

  Cara nodded, but only because she knew Gian was right.

  Marcus had to eat.

  It was that simple.

  Surprisingly, Marcus took the bottle with Cara feeding it to him. He drank it slower, and with a scrunch to his nose, but he certainly didn’t give his mother the same kind of trouble he had given his father.

  Gian took the baby to burp him—Cara didn’t have the strength—and then placed a sleepy Marcus into his mother’s arms. Cara took the time to look at her lover. A tired, strained smile stared back at her, but there was love, too.

  Always love.

  Gian dragged a chair closer to Cara’s bedside, and took a seat. His arm curled around her lower half, while his other swept through her curls to keep them out of her face. His forehead pressed to hers, and his lips dotted sweet kisses along the seam of her mouth.

  “This will never happen again,” he promised.

  “You can’t know that.”

  “I can. At least, not by the person who did it, and not for the reasons it was done. It will never happen again, mia cara bella. Ever.”

  Just the way his tone dipped, and his dark gaze lit with fire, Cara chose not to ask more questions. They were things she didn’t need to know, because she knew Gian.

  She knew his love. She knew his providing, careful, strong hands. She knew his entire life and soul were the two things he was currently holding. It would always be enough for her.

  “Let me help,” Gian said, offering Cara his hand to help her from the limo.

  She took it, muttering, “I’m fine, Gian.”

  “Maybe so, but you don’t need—”

  “Gian, you need to relax. It’s been two weeks. The infection is gone. The doctor said I’ve healed well, internally and externally. I can get out of a car.”

  He stared at her. “So?”

  “Gian!”

  “Let me help you, mon ange.”

  Cara wasn’t going to be given much of a choice, it seemed. She let Gian help her out of the limo. She was better, two weeks after being released from the hospital. It was only Gian that hovered over her like a goddamn hawk, now, constantly on edge and ready to kill someone for even breathing in her direction.

  She wished she was joking.

  Cara smoothed down her black dress as Gian leaned in the car to grab her clutch and wide-brimmed hat. Funerals were not Cara’s favorite thing, not in the least, but this was one she refused to miss.

  Even when Gian said she didn’t need to go, or there were some people who may be uncomfortable with his mistress’s presence. Even when he warned there would be media outside the church, although the private graveyard would be protected from unwanted attention.

  Cara didn’t care.

  She had to go.

  For Chris?

  Of course, she did.

  Cara fixed her hat, tipping the wide brim down enough to hide half of her face. She let Gian lead them into the church, her mind on her son at the penthouse with his grandmother. Her presence at the funeral would be enough; no need to go adding their child’s intrusion, too.

  Inside the church, Cara was acutely aware of the eyes that watched her. She didn’t talk unless greeted, and only to offer her condolences to Chris’s parents and younger brother, standing at his closed casket.

  She had already met his mother and father once. It had taken a lot of begging on her part, but Gian took her down to Chris’s ICU room where he was kept alive on machines until his parents chose to pull the plug on their adult son. She wanted to thank him—for everything.

  It was in that hospital room where Cara finally learned why Chris had always used miss when he spoke to her, and not her name. His father used it for each nurse, to the female doctors, to Gian’s mother, who kept watch on Marcus while they went inside, and to Cara.

  Because respect is important.

  Cara wanted to pay her respects and say goodbye because it was the very least she could do, after everything. Fuck anyone who thought she didn’t belong there like they did, simply because she was who she was.

  “Are you okay?” Gian asked as they took a seat in a middle pew.

  Cara let him tuck her in closer to his side. “I am, Gian.”

  “But sad.”

  Yes, sad.

  The funeral wasn’t a big affair. Chris’s father spoke, as did his younger brother. A friend got up to read something, as well. The priest finished it all off. Then, the mourners headed to the private graveyard to bury Chris in the cool October ground, while colorful leaves fell all around.

  Gian and Cara were some of the last to leave the graveyard. Cara noticed a few men—some she recognized, like her uncle—stayed close to Gian after the graveyard cleared out.

  The limo pulled up, and Gian opened the back door for Cara to climb inside.

  “I have a dinner,” he told her, “one I can’t miss today.”

  Cara’s brow furrowed. “You didn’t say anything about that earlier.”

  “Came up last minute. I can’t refuse, not if it’ll mean peaceful streets for a while.”

  “Peaceful streets?”

  “Chris wasn’t the only man buried today,” Gian said vaguely. “So, if this dinner will smooth over any possible problems with the new man in charge, I shouldn’t miss it.”

  Cara quickly realized Gian was giving her a lot of information to take in, without actually saying a lot. She appreciated it.

  “Okay, then I’ll see you back—”

  “She isn’t going to show at the meet with the new Camorra boss, is she?” a voice called out from behind them. Gian tensed, scowling. Cara tried to look over his shoulder at the man making a scene over nothing. She recognized him as one of Gian’s men, but she didn’t know his name or how important he might be. “Wasn’t bringing your goomah here enough, boss? We don’t need to be rubbing her in their faces, too, considering.”

  Gian leaned in, gave Cara a quick kiss on her lips, and then closed the limo door. Or, he tried. Cara kept it open, unsure of what was about to happen.

  “Don’t drive off,” she told the driver, not taking her eyes off Gian as he stalked toward his man.

  The guy didn’t even see Gian reaching inside his jacket. Or if he did, he didn’t have time to react. Gian pulled his gun from within his jacket, and then beat the man with it. He beat him until blood spilled, and the man was unconscious on the ground. He didn’t say one word while he did it. No one stepped in, either.

  Then, as fast as that rage and violence had showed itsel
f, Gian straightened to his full height, and it was gone. As though it had never been to begin with.

  Cara, on the other hand, wasn’t quite sure what to do.

  “Would anyone—anyone at all—like to revisit this conversation?” Gian’s bloodstained hands skillfully tucked the gun away. Not one man spoke up. “Good, then let’s move on.”

  Yes, move.

  That sounded like a great idea.

  She closed the car door.

  “Please take me home,” Cara told the driver.

  “When is enough going to be enough for you?”

  Cara bristled at her brother’s tone, and avoided looking at the laptop screen. Skype was a wonderful thing, for the most part, but not today. “Tommas, you don’t—”

  “I don’t what, Cara? Know, understand, relate? Which one is it?”

  “All of them!”

  “I know you’ve lost your job. A job you worked incredibly hard for, and loved with every fiber of your being.”

  Cara tried not to show how much that comment stung. “I did lose a job I loved but I don’t blame that on Gian. He wasn’t the person who purposely distributed naked pictures of me, causing my boss to have to consider the ethical and moral ramifications of those images and my personal connections outside of the shelter. Gian didn’t want that to happen, Tommas. Why would he hurt me like that or send people those photos? They were his private photos.”

  She had—at first—felt as though Gian could have done more to protect the images. She hadn’t felt that he had done anything to help get those images out into the world to hurt her.

  “Fine, move on from the photos,” her brother said with a shake of his head, “because shit, Cara, they’re just one thing in pile of things.”

  “Tommas, I didn’t call you tonight to fight. I just thought you would like to see how I’m doing a couple of weeks after the accident.”

  “Accident?” He scoffed. “Say what it was. An attack. Something else that was—”

  “If you say someone shooting me was Gian’s fault, I am hanging up this fucking call.”

  “Did you do something to provoke someone into shooting you, or am I missing a whole bunch of shit?”

  “He didn’t pull the trigger, Tommas.”