by Bethany-Kris
After he hurt somebody.
Louis Portella.
Gian repeated the name as he tugged his driving gloves at the wrists, making sure they were snug against his skin. He watched the twenty-three-year-old solider, Edmond’s grandson, stroll out of a strip joint with a grin on his face and not a fucking care in the world.
He figured he ought to let the guy have his happy moment. Shortly, there would be absolutely nothing for the guy to be happy about.
Quickly, Gian stepped out of his car, keeping the engine running. He hit the button on the fob to unlatch the trunk as he pulled his tie free from around his neck at the same time. Crossing the small parking lot without missing a beat, Gian came up behind Louis before the guy even knew what was happening.
Gian had already checked the place out while Louis was inside, enjoying the entertainment. The only camera was located directly in front of the business. None were set off to the side, where the cars were parked. He chose to strike now, because the lot was empty, and he didn’t know where Louis was heading next.
Time was always of the essence.
Gian used his tie to wrap around Louis’s neck, pulled it tight, and forced the man to the ground. Effectively cutting off the man’s airways and his ability to shout for help, Gian pulled the fool back across the lot toward his waiting trunk.
A single, hard kick to Louis’s face stopped the man’s fighting. Dead weight was a bit harder to pull along, but Gian didn’t mind. It was easier to stuff an unconscious man into the trunk of a car, rather than a conscious, fighting one.
Blood trickled out of Louis’s nose and mouth, staining the gray interior of the trunk. Gian made a disgusted noise at the sight, knowing he’d have to send his car in to have the interior ripped out and changed, before he slammed the trunk closed.
A half hour later, Gian used the barrel of his gun to poke Louis in the forehead to wake the man up. It took a whole minute for the guy to gain enough bearings to realize he was sitting in a junk yard, inside a beat-up Toyota. Louis yelled for a good two minutes, and Gian let him, knowing no one was coming to help.
It benefitted Gian greatly to know people who knew people.
Like a man who owned a junk yard.
“Didn’t your grandfather ever tell you it was a stupid idea to buy a yellow Camaro?” Gian asked.
Louis blinked. “W-what?”
“Your car. The color. It’s fucking ostentatious. You can’t miss it driving by. It might as well be screaming at you to look at it.”
“My c-car.”
Gian poked the guy in the forehead with the barrel of the gun again, harder the second time. “That’s what I said, dipshit. Pay attention.”
Louis tried to move away from Gian, but he didn’t get more than a couple of inches in the shitty, worn-down driver’s seat. After all, Gian had tied the bastard’s hands to the steering wheel, and his legs to the gas and brake pedals.
“What the hell?” Louis asked, yanking on the restraints.
“It’s easier when you can’t run,” Gian explained. “Now, about your car.”
“Fuck you.”
“Stupid boy.”
Gian cocked back the hammer on his gun, aimed, and pulled the trigger. A single shot plugged into Louis’s knee, blood splattering over the car and out the door. Gian didn’t bother to move when the blood flew, simply stayed like he was and let it stain his suit. It would have to go after tonight, anyway.
Louis’s shouts of pain made Gian smile a bit.
“You can keep yelling, but the owner has stepped out for a while to grab some late night snacks,” Gian lied.
The truth was, the owner of the junk and crushing yard was waiting in his office for when Gian drove out of the lot. The man would then pick up his payment, left in the usual spot, and junk the Toyota by crushing it with a hundred other vehicles that night without so much as looking inside.
“Now answer me,” Gian continued. “Didn’t Edmond tell you that color was a bad choice for a car?”
Louis nodded.
“Of course, he did. I remember him bitching about it shortly before Corrado died.” Gian chuckled. “Pretty sure he threatened to junk it, when you weren’t home one weekend.”
Louis cleared his throat, water in his gaze.
For the most part, the man hid his pain well.
“When did Edmond order you to do the drive-by on Cara and my enforcer?”
“He didn’t—”
“Don’t try lying,” Gian interrupted swiftly. “It was pure fucking luck that nobody saw your yellow piece of shit that day, and nothing more. The problem is, somebody did see it. She only happened to remember it today. Lying makes this last longer, man. See how that works?”
“He told me to use another car,” Louis said hoarsely. “I couldn’t get my hands on one.”
“Stupid.”
The man nodded, his silent agreement.
“Why Cara?” Gian asked.
“She was a means to an end.”
“The end being what, exactly?”
“He wanted to get you to fall in line,” Louis said. “You weren’t following the fucking rules, okay? He said taking something away from you might put you back in your place.”
Edmond had a lot to learn about Gian, but he saved that lesson for another day.
“Tell me about the bomb, and Corrado,” Gian urged.
Louis’s brow furrowed. “What?”
“The bomb on my car. The murder of my grandfather. This isn’t fucking rocket science.”
“I didn’t do those things.”
“I didn’t say you did them. I want you to tell me what you know about them.”
“Nothing,” Louis said quickly. “I know nothing.”
“I fucking told you not to lie.” Gian sighed, already readying and aiming his gun for Louis’s other kneecap. “You had to make this hard—”
“I’m not lying! I swear, I swear I’m not fucking lying!”
Gian barely held back from plugging the asshole with another bullet. “Why in the hell should I believe you?”
“I’m going to die, anyway,” Louis mumbled, his gaze never leaving the gun in Gian’s hand. “What good does lying do for me now?”
He had a point.
“So you know nothing about those two events,” Gian said, wanting to clarify.
“Because my grandfather didn’t do them,” Louis replied.
“You don’t know that for sure.”
“I know Edmond said he would have had Corrado shot from behind, so at least the funeral could have been an open casket.”
Gian clenched his teeth so hard at that admission that his molars ached. “Did he now?”
“He didn’t need to kill Corrado. He was already dying.”
“How the fuck do you know that?”
“I didn’t know—my grandfather did. Edmond told me after. Why kill a man that’s already got one foot in the grave, huh?”
Gian didn’t have the answer for that one.
And he was done with this conversation, now.
Standing, Gian brushed off his pants. Louis looked up at him in enough time to see Gian’s gun pointed directly at his head.
Always look at a man when you take his life.
Corrado’s words echoed in Gian’s mind.
He deserves that respect.
Gian pulled the trigger, and didn’t look away.
Cara woke with a start, jerking upward on the couch at the sound of a door slamming shut somewhere in the penthouse. She scrubbed her eyes with the back of one hand as she went in search of the cause of the noise. Soon, she had narrowed it down to a bathroom, as the sound of water ran heavily behind the door. She assumed it was Gian, because he should have been back by now, and Chris had not followed her into the penthouse when he’d delivered her there earlier.
“Gian?” she called, rapping her knuckles to the white wood.
“Sorry, ma chérie. I didn’t mean to wake you. Head into bed, I’ll be there in a minute.”
“Yes, I’m aware.”
“Open the door.”
A heavy sigh followed the request, but she heard the latch on the door unlock. Cara opened the door herself, stepping in to find Gian stripped down to his boxer-briefs as he scrubbed a bar of soap up and down his arms with forceful strokes. Bloodstained clothes rested at his feet, forgotten beside a waiting trash bag.
Gian picked up a cigarette from the counter, and took a drag, exhaling thick, white smoke to the ceiling. That was a new thing.
“Since when do you smoke?” Cara asked.
“Not very fucking often, that’s when.”
Gian continued his work like Cara wasn’t even in the room, dragging the bar of soap against his fingernails until he seemed pleased that it had done its job. On the counter beside his burning cigarette, a Berretta sat dismantled, as though it too were waiting to be cleaned.
He was almost mindless in his task, barely paying her any attention. Scrub, wash, dry. Scrub, wash, dry. He scrubbed parts of his body that Cara was sure had nothing on them. Occasionally, he’d glance into the mirror for a moment, or lift up his burning cigarette for another drag, but then he was right back at his task once more.
Cara had a million and one questions to ask. The part of her that hated these sights, and knew good and well what they meant, wanted to demand answers so she could confirm what she already understood.
The bigger part of her that loved Gian, didn’t say a thing. It was a choice she had to make. So she made it. Cara found it surprising, how easy it was to make that choice.
“Do you need something?” Cara asked.
“Not at the moment, sweetheart.”
“Okay.”
Cara turned to leave the bathroom, deciding it was best for them both if she left him alone to do his business. She didn’t need to be there to see it, and she didn’t think he needed her there, watching him like a bug under a microscope. Plus, the longer she stayed there, the more curious she became and was liable to start asking questions she knew better than to ask.
Neither of them needed that.
“Wait,” Gian said quickly, “there is something.”
Cara spun around to face him slowly. Gian had rinsed all the soap off his arms again, and was now patting them dry with a towel that he dropped onto the pile of bloody clothes once he finished with it.
“What is it?” Cara asked.
“Remember when I promised you that we would do that trip to Quebec again sometime?”
“Yes.”
“I was thinking I could extend it a couple days, if you don’t mind taking a couple of days off school. You head out tomorrow, and come back Sunday evening.”
Cara’s gaze narrowed, as she was not a stupid woman, and she had not missed how he posed his words carefully. “Me.”
Gian stood firm, his gaze never wavering from hers. “Only you, Cara.”
“No.”
“Chris would be happy to accompany—”
“Gian, that was supposed to be a trip for us, not just me. And no, I am not taking someone else—especially not another man—on it with me!”
“Technically, it was a trip for your birthday. So oui, it was only for you. I was going to tag along.”
“You’re playing word games to distract me from what you’re not saying.”
Gian’s expression hardened as he replied, “Fine, then I’ll say what I mean. It would be best if you got out of the city for the remainder of the week and weekend. It will give me one less thing to worry about, as I do some digging into some people and business that I should have done a long time ago.”
“I’m not going anywhere, Gian.”
“Cara, now—”
“The answer is no.”
“Fuck, you are stubborn when you want to be,” Gian grunted under his breath. He turned back to the sink, going back to his task as though that would get him back on track, and Cara’s refusals didn’t matter. She had news for him. “Don’t force my hand here, bella.”
She stuck her hands to her hips, determined to make him hear her. “You can’t order me around from place to place.”
“Can’t, mon ange? Can’t?”
“That’s what I said.”
“That’s the wrong word, Cara. I can do whatever the hell I please, so long as you are safe and comfortable while I do it. Nobody said you had to be happy about it, though.”
“Then what’s the right word, your fucking highness?”
Gian’s brow dipped in his irritation, his dark gaze flashing over to her in warning. “Won’t, Cara. I won’t do something you ask me not to. See the difference?”
“I see you being an asshole.”
Before Cara had even blinked, Gian pushed away from the counter and came for her. His hand caught her around the back of her neck, he pulled her close, and his mouth came crashing down on hers in a fast kiss that seared her from the inside out. It took her fucking breath away, all the languid strokes of his tongue against hers, and the way his fingers tightened to hold her still. He didn’t let her move away, even when he stopped kissing her.
“Stop being difficult,” he murmured against her lips.
Cara let out a shaky exhale. “I’m not going anywhere that you’re not going, Gian.”
“I love you, Cara, but you’re killing me.”
“You don’t really want me to go anywhere, either.”
“I want you safe.”
“With you,” she said, kissing him quickly, “I’m sure I will be.”
“Chris,” Cara greeted as the man held open the restaurant door for her. “Thank you.”
“Very welcome. Have a good dinner, miss.”
He still wouldn’t call her by her name, no matter how many times she insisted. She figured she could break him of the habit, eventually.
Gian was waiting for Cara beyond the entrance of the restaurant, his sharp, black suit making her gaze travel over his fit form to appreciate the sight of him standing there like he was. With his hands clasped at his back, and his stare focused on something inside the restaurant, he seemed almost relaxed.
Cara knew that he couldn’t possibly be as calm as he appeared on the outside. Gian’s mind always ran a million miles a minute, and with the problems he had been having lately, she was sure that only made it worse.
Yet, there he stood. Like a fucking rock in a hurricane. Refusing to move or be moved. Unflinchingly calm in the eye of a storm. Always strong.
Cara wondered if this man knew his strength, or the power he wielded because of it. She was positive that if anything made Gian a formidable threat to the men in his business, it was this right here.
“Something caught your eye?” Cara dared to ask as she approached.
Gian’s head turned, his lips tugging into a sexy grin as his gaze landed on her sapphire-blue, body-con dress. He didn’t hide his wandering gaze, making Cara smile and her cheeks heat up. “Something certainly has now, my beautiful girl. How was your day?”
“Long, but I got through it.”
“Chris wasn’t too pushy when he showed up to bring you to dinner, was he?”
“Chris is always pushy,” Cara joked, “but I blame that on his very impatient boss.”
Gian winked, his arm curving around her side as his hand laid flat to her lower back, above the swell of her ass. “He’s paid very well to put up with me, trust in that.”
“I’m sure. Have you ordered?”
“We have, yes.”
Cara’s brow furrowed. “We?”
As far as she had been told, this was supposed to be a dinner for only her and Gian, no one else. She certainly hadn’t expected guests to be included, too.
Gian bent down to kiss her forehead, his fingers pressing lightly to her back to urge her to walk forward. “Seems I wasn’t the only one who made reservations here, tonight. They suggested we merge the tables, and I didn’t want to be rude.”
“Like you g
ive a shit about being rude.”
He chuckled. “For some people, I do.”
“Well, who is it?”
“Constantino and Stephan, actually.”
Cara didn’t bother to hide her discontent.
Gian only laughed harder. “We’ll be gone before you know it, and I know you were told to pack a bag to stay with me tonight at the penthouse, so stop moping.”
“I’m not moping.”
“What would you call that frown, then?”
Cara eyed him from the side as she said, “A displeased smile.”
“Nice try. Don’t mope, love. It’s not a good look on you.”
“I wanted you to myself all night. I’m not asking for a lot.”
Gian pulled her impossibly closer. “I’ll make up for it, but if you insist on that moping of yours, I’ll be forced to take whatever action necessary to put an end to it.”
“Including having dinner alone?”
“I told you, it would be rude.”
“Then, how—”
“I do own this place, and there’s a lovely private office in the back. Private in the way that no one can see inside, but they can certainly hear a lot.”
Cara’s body heated instantly. “Stop that.”
“I’ve given you fair warning. Stop the moping. Fix your face, beautiful.”
She shot him a playful glare before plastering on a smile that made Gian nod in approval. She had done it just in time, too, as they rounded a half-partition wall to come to a stop at what would be their table.
Constantino and Stephan—a man she hadn’t seen since that night months ago, at the club with Bambi—sat chatting together, seemingly unaware that Cara and Gian had arrived. They only took notice when Gian pulled out Cara’s chair, and then pushed her in closer to the table.
“Evening, cousin,” Constantino greeted.
“Constantino,” Cara replied.
Stephan only nodded at Cara before going back to his conversation with Constantino, like she wasn’t even at the table. Cara didn’t mind, really.
Gian’s fingers stoked Cara’s thigh under the table after he too had taken his seat, though his hand never wandered higher. No, he simply continued his light, teasing touches, reminding her of his earlier threat to make her smile, if needed.