Unraveled (Guzzi Duet Book 1)(29)

Took you long enough, he texted back instantly. Then adding, But so worth the wait.

He got a wink in response, but that wasn’t enough for Gian.

I’m coming over, he messaged, don’t take any of that off.

Gian didn’t even wait for Cara’s response before he grabbed the key fob from his pocket, and pointed it at his car thirty feet away. He hit the unlock button, felt his phone buzz, and then the blast came.

Hot.

Loud.

Dead.

Gian was sure he was dead.

Except, dead people couldn’t feel pain, and he was in a hell of a lot of pain.





I’m coming over, don’t take any of that off.

Cara stared at Gian’s final text message, and then the one she had sent to him right after. I’m not home right now, at dinner with my aunt.

The reason it had taken her so long to send him the picture that he wanted—as he was quick to point out when she had finally sent it—was because she was in a rush. Her aunt had called last minute to invite her over for dinner, and as much as she wanted to say no, Cara wasn’t very good at doing it.

She’d taken the picture for Gian before she’d thrown on a suitable black dress to match the stockings and heels. Then, she forgot to actually send it until the taxi dropped her off at her aunt’s home.

Nonetheless, Gian hadn’t answered her reply back.

That wasn’t like him.

Cara didn’t actually spend a lot of time on the phone with him, as far as that went, but when she did, Gian never wasted time on replying. His texts were always an instant response to hers, never leaving her waiting.

It left her with an odd feeling.

Cara shot off another text when her aunt’s back was turned, asking Gian what in the hell was up. She stuffed the phone into her clutch before her aunt could see her with it when she turned back around.

Daniele gave Cara another once-over, her gaze lingering on the very short length of the black dress. It fell high on her thighs, enough so that the lace at the top of the thigh-high stockings were visible.

“Were you going out tonight?” her aunt asked.

Cara shrugged. “Nope.”

It wasn’t a total lie.

She hadn’t expected to be leaving a bed, after all.

“You wear outfits like that on regular nights at home?”

“I grabbed the first black dress I saw—it was a bit short. It still worked.”

“A bit short,” her aunt echoed.

Cara held back the urge to roll her eyes. At twenty-five, she was not about to go explaining her attire, or the reasons for it, to anyone. And certainly not her aunt. “Anyway, what’s for supper?”

Maybe if she got the hell out of there as soon as possible, she could salvage some of her night. With Gian, preferably. If she could get a hold of him.

“Food,” her aunt replied with a wink. “Food you will eat and enjoy.”

Well, that was that.

Thirty minutes later, a rigatoni dish soaked in thick, rich sauce was shoved in front of Cara’s face. Across the table, her uncle stuffed a cloth napkin into the collar of his shirt as he waited for Daniele to give him a plate, too.

“It’s good to see you around more,” Claud said.

Cara wasn’t quite sure how to respond to that. “It’s been a rough few months.”

“Yes, but it’s better not to wallow. When things can’t be changed, you move on. Capisce?”

“Yeah, I got it.”

She didn’t agree.

But that was an argument for another day.

It was only after Daniele had served her husband, and then herself, did she sit down at the other end of the long table. Her aunt said the usual dinner prayer, giving thanks and asking for a blessing from above, before they could even touch the food. It was one of the few things Cara had a hard time with—the blessing, not the actual act of praying. Even through her parents’ drunken stupors when she was younger, they never forgot to go to church, make Cara and Lea, and Tommas say their prayers at night, or ask for a blessing when her mother managed to remember to cook food.

Maybe that was it; maybe it was that God had been the thing her parents chose to hold onto, even through their years of addiction, and not the three people they had brought into the world.

Cara really didn’t like to think about it.

“All right, let’s eat,” her uncle demanded.

His booming voice brought Cara from her depressing thoughts. For once, she was grateful for Claud’s loud demeanor.

Cara was a quarter of the way through her aunt’s pasta dish when the home’s landline started ringing. Claud waved at his wife to go pick it up, clearly not wanting to be taken away from his food. Daniele shot him a dirty look as she tossed her napkin to the table and headed for the sound of the ringing phone.

Thirty seconds later, Daniele shouted. “Claud!”

Cara stood from the table at the same time her uncle did. Panic had laced her aunt’s yell. She quickly followed behind her uncle, watching as Daniele passed the phone over with wide eyes and worry setting her lips into a hard frown.

“What is it?” Cara asked her aunt.

Daniele acted as though she hadn’t heard the question.

Claud spoke fast—and in Italian—into the phone. As it were, Cara’s Italian was a bit too rough around the edges, and she had an even harder time keeping up when someone was speaking quickly.