Unraveled (Guzzi Duet Book 1)(17)

He had no real reason to believe that, and the friendship between Corrado and Edmond was a long one. Far longer than both men’s marriages, even.

It could be that Edmond was a fucking upstart, and this had been his chance to take control. Something that was entirely unrelated to Corrado’s murder, but rather, a happy by-product.

Gian didn’t particularly like either of those ideas.

But here he was.

Fucked.

“I know you’re unhappy about this,” Edmond started to say.

“That’s an understatement.”

“But it is for the best, Gian.” The older man rested back in his chair, steepling his fingers in front of his face before he spoke again. “And consider that once the men have proper stability again to fall back on, we can begin to work on other things.”

“Like what?”

“Corrado’s killer, for one.”

Gian’s jaw ached from clenching so hard. “I see.”

“It’s time to let the men nominate, and take their vote to fill the seat. Don’t you think so?”

No.

Absolutely not.

It would not help the unrest within the family ranks to allow a boss to be chosen without every man’s voice being involved.

He still didn’t have a choice.

“I guess it is,” Gian said quietly.





“Any other day would have been far better than today for this,” Gian muttered.

His attempt to complain quietly to his father without his mother overhearing had not been missed, unfortunately. Celeste glared over her shoulder, effectively quieting her son and whatever else he might say.

With his mother’s attention back on the speaking lawyer, Gian glanced up at the ceiling.

“A funeral would have been enough, I agree,” his father said softly. “But apparently, Corrado wanted his Last Will and Testament read before burial, and this was the only time the lawyer had available this week to do this. It’s extensive.”

Obviously.

They had already been stuck in the reading for two hours.

Once it finished, they had to be at the church for the ceremony and subsequent entombment of Corrado’s casket until the thaw came in the spring. The mid-February ground was still far too frozen to dig.

“To my eldest grandson, Gian …”

Gian’s head lifted at his name being called out by the lawyer. It was the only time that Gian had shown any interest in the reading of his grandfather’s Will, and not because he didn’t care. He simply wished that it could be done one thing at a time. He didn’t want to watch the things and legacy his grandfather worked so hard for be handed off and divided up on the same day they had to say goodbye.

The lawyer continued speaking, explaining the details of the things Corrado had left to Gian, including a trust, two antique roadsters that had been stored in the city, and other family heirlooms.

“And the building, including the two-level penthouse, in Ottawa,” the lawyer said, looking over the rim of his large glasses to stare at Gian. “You’re aware of that property, correct?”

Gian stiffened as the room quieted.

Of course, he knew the property. Everyone in their fucking family knew it. And what his grandfather had used it for, three decades ago.

At his side, Gian’s father cleared his throat uncomfortably, spurring him to talk.

“Yeah,” Gian answered quickly, “I know it.”

“Good,” the lawyer said, glancing back down at the papers. “All that’s left in regard to you, Gian, is a few words your grandfather wanted you to hear. Duty, legacy, and only then, love—always in that order. Always.”

Those words were not new to Gian. He had heard them spoken from his grandfather’s very mouth more times than he cared to count. He figured Corrado wanted the chance to say them one last time, to remind Gian.

It wasn’t like he could forget.

He certainly couldn’t forget what Corrado had left unwritten in his final note, either. For when a man fails at duty, Gian, his legacy becomes nameless, and his love, hopeless.





It seemed for a time, the usually bustling streets of Toronto where Corrado Guzzi had spent his life building an empire suddenly quieted. As if the shopkeepers knew what the gray skies meant, and the constantly moving people felt the need to step aside, away from the grief.

It was the only day, in a string of many days, where the men of the Guzzi Cosa Nostra quieted their grumblings, put aside their misgivings, and settled in to pay respects to a boss unlike any other.

Gian had expected sadness.

He’d prepared for it.

He found his grief was different for the funeral than it had been leading up to it. Not lessened, but rather, softened. He had done well to keep his emotions buried when he needed to, but as he traveled behind the hearse in a black town car, the grief was not as striking.

It still ached.

It still hurt.

It had simply softened for a moment.

Gian surveyed the familiar faces as the vehicles parked in a long line along the church, and then began to empty of people. He stood alongside his mother, father, brother, and sister as the hearse backed up to the entrance of the church, stopping at the steps.

Despite all the people, Gian still felt singular. Above, perhaps, looking down. Not entirely there, as the back of the hearse was opened to showcase the shined, black casket with gold-plated bars and leaf designs along the corners and sides. The casket matched the one his grandmother had been buried in two years before, after her heart had finally given out.