Entangled (Guzzi Duet Book 2)

by Bethany-Kris

  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 i
t, 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.

  “I’m not trying to hover,” he whispered against her skin, “but I can’t help it. Let me do things, Cara, even if you’re capable and I’m driving you crazy. Let me help, because I love you, and I need you to be okay. I need to make sure you’re okay.”

  Her fingers drifted through his hair with soothing strokes. “I am fine.”

  “Now, Cara.”

  “And the baby is fine.”

  “Again, now.” Gian kissed her stomach again, though the baby was quite still. He figured that the boy didn’t have much room to move around in anymore. “You don’t allow me to do a lot for you as it is. And I understand why, though I want to do more.”

  “You do enough,” she replied.

  Gian shook his head. “No, I really don’t. I shouldn’t be living separate from you, or worried I might miss the call when he finally decides to make his way into the world. You shouldn’t have two nurseries in two different places. I shouldn’t have to keep a fucking wedding ring tucked away in my car or wear it on my hand, depending on what I’m doing or where I am that day. None of that is what I should be doing. None of it, Cara. And it kills me—it’s killing me. So if that’s how I feel, then I can only imagine what it’s like for you.”

  “Gian—”

  “Please just let me help, amore. Let me do something.”

  Cara ran her fingers through his hair again. “Something comfy, then. And a glass of water would be nice.”

  “All right.”

  “And you,” she added quieter. “You and a blanket would be perfect.”

  “Get one of those ugly Rom-Com things you like on, too.”

  Cara smiled beautifully. “You always call them ugly, but you laugh when you watch them. I think secretly, you like them.”

  He shrugged. “Don’t say that too loudly.”

  “Mmhmm. Blanket, water, comfy clothes, and you. Hurry, Gian.”

  Standing, he kissed her mouth, soft and sweet. He had to keep it short and pull away fast, because the longer he kissed Cara, the more he wanted to stay right there and keep doing exactly that. Between them, kissing always led into something more—fucking was not resting, Gian was forced to tell himself.

  Even if he could think of a dozen ways to have Cara be resting while he fucked her. This was more difficult than he thought it would be.

  Gian gathered all the things Cara wanted, including the large, fluffy comforter from her bed. He let her change out of her clothes and into the clean, comfy things he had brought her as he went for the water. By the time he got back to the couch with a glass in hand, Cara had draped herself in the blanket with only her head peeking out from a small hooded bit.

  “You look like a human burrito,” Gian said.

  “Don’t judge. Also, the movie is starting, so be quiet.”

  Chuckling, Gian settled into the couch. Cara crawled, in her blanket burrito, closer, and then snuggled into his chest. He was far more interested in her than the movie, but that was okay, too.

  “Why Marcus, again?” Cara asked randomly. “That’s the name you like for the baby, isn’t it?”

  “It is. A family name.”

  “But all the men I know about in your family don’t have that name.”

  “All the first-born men have it somewhere,” he replied. “Usually middle names, like me, and my grandfather. My great-grandfather, and my uncle who died, their first names were Marcus, too.”

  “Is that why you got the family name, then? Because he died, and you were a first-born boy.”

  “He died when I was a toddler, actually.”

  “Why did you get the name being born to a second son?” she asked.

  “My uncle didn’t have children, and he wasn’t married. The name had to pass on to someone, and my parents agreed to give it to me, on the stipulation they chose my given name. Gian Marcus it was.”

  Cara glanced up at him, her brow puckered in that way of hers. It told him she was overthinking something, which wasn’t unusual for her.

  “What?” he murmured.

  “It seems like it’s an important thing to your family—the name, I mean.”

  “It is. It’s very important to us. It’s as important as our last name. This is a legacy, Cara. All the men carry it on in one way or another, and it begins with a name.”

  “But …”

  “Just ask, love. Whatever it is, ask.”

  “He’s not going to be … legitimate, Gian.”

  He stiffened, hating how she said that word a little quieter than the rest. The last thing she should be, or that he wanted her to be, was ashamed. Not of innocent life or love.

  “He’s still mine,” Gian said firmly, “and he’s still a first-born Guzzi boy, which means it’s my legacy to pass on, like it was given to me once. It’s my choice to make for my son, not someone else’s. It may seem silly to others, something insignificant, but I know what this name means. I know what comes of it and what’s expected of the man who is given it. He’s my boy. He’s my boy, with a woman I chose and love, not one that was forced upon me. Whether he’
s legitimate or not is fucking nonsense; it means nothing to me. He was made because he was meant to be and because I love you. I want to give him my names because he deserves them.”

  Cara glanced away. “All of them, even the surname?”

  “Why wouldn’t I?”

  “Your wife, for one.”

  “It’s not a card I want to pull, Cara, but she is well aware that to keep her place and her respect in it, she can say nothing about what I do, so long as she is treated well and is held up as the wife I married. Nothing more, nothing less.”

  “But isn’t a baby with your mistress the utmost disrespect, Gian?”

  “For some. Not for others. It depends on the man, and at the moment, I am the most powerful man at the table. I am the only one with the voice that matters. I speak, they listen. Her included. This—the baby, his name, all of it—is no different.”

  “I don’t know what to think about that,” Cara admitted.

  “You don’t have to think anything.”

  “Marcus Gian, then? I like the sound.”

  “Marcus Gian Guzzi,” he said, kissing the top of her head.

  “Marcus Gian Guzzi.”

  The enforcer standing in front of the old barber’s shop nodded to Gian in greeting as his boss approached. Sure enough, through the window, Gian could see inside the business, and the man waiting that he had been called in for.

  Gabriel.

  It was a meeting that, for all purposes, had been meant for Gian and his Capos. Somehow, Gabriel must have gotten word and decided to crash it.

  “Has he been here long?” Gian asked.

  “Since we called, boss,” the enforcer replied.

  Gian scowled.

  That was long enough.

  “Merci. Keep an eye on the road.”

  The enforcer agreed. Gian stepped inside the barber shop, noting the tension had already settled thickly in the air. His men, those he had called for the meet, had shoved themselves to one side of the business, while Gabriel and his men had stayed on the other side.

  Resting back in the barber’s chair, Gabriel looked to be in his glory. His forehead and thick neck were covered with hot, wet towels, while his cheeks and jaw had been slathered with a foaming cream. The careful hands of the barber—one who had cut his hair and shaved Gian from the time he was fifteen—made clean lines with a blade over Gabriel’s face.