Gian (Trassato Crime Family #1)(22)

I jumped up and headed to the kitchen. I needed a drink.

“Did Carmela tell you what’s going on with my dad?” I asked without turning around.

“No.” She followed me down the hall, the soft shuffle of her bare feet unnaturally loud in the confined space. “She changes the subject every time I ask her about anyone in her family.” A regret-laden chuckle escaped her mouth. “If she said more, I might’ve recognized you that night at the bar, and this whole mess would’ve been avoided.”

“Maybe,” I answered noncommittally. I grabbed a beer out of the refrigerator and held it up. “Do you want one?”

“No. Alcohol was one of the things I gave up this week. I need to get back in shape if want to land a role anytime in the near future.”

“Right.” I cracked open the top, and a hissing sound filled the air. “How’s physical therapy and training?”

“It’s fine so far.” She folded her arms across her waist. “Tell me about your dad.”

I took a large pull of my beer. “He was diagnosed with cancer two years ago. The treatment was working until six months ago, when things took a turn for the worse. He doesn’t have much longer.”

She dipped her head, her coppery hair catching the light, making it look like flames dancing around her flawless face. God, she was f*cking beautiful. Even the tiny bump on the bridge of her nose somehow added rather than detracted from her looks. Maybe it gave her character or personality. I couldn’t put my finger on it.

“You don’t know that.”

I tapped the can of beer against my leg. “He refused to do any more treatment. The chemo and radiation were making him too sick to do anything other than lay in bed. He said he would rather have three or four quality months than a year of hell.”

She bowed her head and licked her lips, sadness etched into the planes her face. “I’m sorry to hear that, Gian. That sucks.” She paused, and for a second, I didn’t think she’d say anything else. “Carmela never breathed a word.”

“Yeah, she doesn’t confide in many people. She holds in her emotions and pretends everything is fine.”

She stared sightlessly at the wall over my head. “Huh. I guess that makes me a shitty friend. I complained to her nonstop about my pathetic excuse for a fiancé. She always listened without complaint when she had real problems.” She rolled her head like she was attempting to unscramble her thoughts. “I suck. No wonder she doesn’t want to talk to me anymore. I’m the worst kind of friend: a self-absorbed *.”

I set my beer on top of the counter. “Hey. That’s not true.”

“No. I really am.”

“Come here.” I threaded my fingers through hers and pulled her closer to me until our shoulders made contact. “She told me you helped her after her fiancé, Rocco, died. She said she would’ve never gotten through it without you. That’s what a real friend does. She won’t forget that simply because she’s pissed about us. She’ll get over it.”

“Maybe.” She tipped up her head, her brown eyes glossy. “She really said that?”

“Yes.” I tapped the tip of her scrunched up nose. “So she repaid the favor by helping you with Kevin.”

Her attention drifted to the side, and she squared her shoulders. “What does your dad have to do with this engagement party?”

“Nothing. Everything. I don’t know.” I despised talking about my dad dying. I spent the first thirteen years of my life both hating and fearing him. That all changed when he opened his world to me. Hate and fear shifted into love and respect. Rather than wanting to run away from him the minute I turned eighteen, I wanted to stay and prove my worth to him. Make him proud of me. That was probably what made him a great capo. Nobody wanted to let him down. I was still trying to earn everyone’s respect, but I’d get there.

“Is it because he’s dying?” she whispered so low I nearly missed her words.

“Yeah, I guess so. I want to make him happy. I want to make my mom happy, and if having a stupid engagement party makes them happy if only for a couple hours, I’ll do it.”

Her too-knowing gaze collided with mine, and then her eyebrows raised. “All right. I’ll do it. But if you get a wild hair up your ass and decide to get married for the same reason, I’m not doing it. I narrowly escaped one disastrous marriage, and I will not consider jumping into another to grant your dad’s dying wish to see you married. With my track record, I’d pick cement boots and a swim in the Hudson over a white dress and stroll down the aisle without batting an eye.”

An involuntary chuckle burst between my lips. “Wow. Okay. Good to know. Death is better than marrying me. If I didn’t have a healthy ego, I’d be crushed right now.”

She rolled her eyes. “If the gossip about you is any indication, you’ll recover.” She flipped her messy braid over her shoulder. “In fact, if what I’ve heard about you is close to truth, I think you’d pick death over marriage.”

My lips kicked up at the corners a notch, and I pressed a kiss to her temple. “Don’t believe everything you hear.” I snagged my beer from the counter. “Be ready at four-thirty tomorrow.”

She dragged her perfect white teeth over her lower lip. “What should I wear?”