Unraveled (Guzzi Duet Book 1)(4)

Gian chose to ignore that jab, if only because Celeste Guzzi meant no harm. She wished for better things for her two sons and one daughter—happier things. At the moment, Gian was the only one of her adult children that she felt was not happy, for a multitude of reasons. Especially at his twenty-nine years of life, she wanted to see more from him.

He could only give what he had.

“I have a club opening,” Gian explained. “New suit, one of several, since the season is going to change.”

“Armani, I think.”

His mother knew her brands well.

Gian smiled. “Oui, Armani.”

“Give me another kiss before you run off to find your father and grandfather,” Celeste ordered, pointing to her cheek, but never looking up from her magazine.

He indulged his mother, bending down to kiss her again before straightening to his full six-foot, four-inch height again. Something else he had taken from the male, Italian side of his family, and not the short, pale-skinned genetics of his mother’s Acadian Fran?ais side.

“And show off that new suit!” his mother shouted at his back.

Gian waved a hand over his shoulder, offering nothing else.

He loved his mother dearly. As a child, he had been enamored with her ability to never fail, never falter. She always wore a smile, and she had loved her husband, unwaveringly, through his many faults. If possible, he would prefer to have a woman like that. Silent strength and steadfast love.

Wishes, however, were not for made men whose lifestyle—one governed by the rules of Mafioso—was meant to benefit la famiglia, not the individual man. Especially not one like Gian.

As it were, he had been given too much privilege being born with his last name. According to some, anyway.

Gian navigated the halls of the mansion, heading up to the second level where he knew he would find his father and grandfather. Usually, he would meet his grandfather—the boss of their Cosa Nostra famiglia—at his home across the city, but tonight had been a change in scenery, for whatever reason.

From all the way down the hall, Gian could already hear the Italian murmurings between a father and son in the office. It never failed to amuse him—or confuse the fuck out of people he brought around as a younger man—that depending on which part of the house a person was in, the language could change. From French, to Italian, to English. Some, like he and his siblings, or his parents, could easily navigate between the three languages without issue in both reading, writing, and conversing.

His half Italian, half French, but fully Canadian family was certainly … colorful.

In more ways than one.

Well, considering the men were criminals and the women were wives of those same criminals, he supposed that led a little credence to the color.

Gian’s presence was instantly noticed when he stepped foot in the opened doorway of the office. His grandfather—Corrado—sat in one of the many chairs, while Gian’s father stood next to the windows, peering out over the darkness that had settled outside on the massive, private property.

“Il mio ragazzo!” his grandfather greeted.

“Ciao, boss.”

Corrado made a face. “No boss nonsense tonight.”

Gian nodded. “All right. I interrupted a conversion, didn’t I? The Raptors game, I think. Someone thinks they’re going to lose the next one.”

Corrado passed Frederic a look. “They’ve been on a streak. Every time that damn team goes on a streak, they choke.”

“Oh, they do not, Dad,” Frederic argued. “They’re the best basketball team in—”

“Merda! You only believe that nonsense because you’re attached to the team.”

Maybe Gian should have left the conversation lie with his arrival. “Argue about sports on a night when I don’t have somewhere to be, huh?”

His grandfather’s sharp, dark gaze skipped to him in the doorway, but the irritation was quickly replaced with the sort of mirth only an eighty-five-year-old man could have. Perhaps had it been another made man, and had Gian’s tone not been so playful when he spoke, his grandfather might have gotten up from his chair, ready to discipline his subordinate as only a Guzzi Don could.

But it was Gian.

And this was his Grandpapa.

He often got away with more than he should.

Gian tried not to abuse his grandfather’s affections. Corrado only looked old on the outside, as his mind was still as sharp, volatile, and prone to violence as it had ever been. He didn’t let Gian get away with very much when others were around.

Others not including Frederic, of course. Gian’s father was not a made man like he and his grandfather. Those rules of respect did not apply.

“You’re late tonight, Gian. You almost missed me, I was going to head home and go to bed. It’s been a long day.” Corrado pushed up from the large leather chair, wincing a bit as he stood. “My bones are getting too old to be up this late.”

“You will not, Dad.” Frederic jumped into the conversation from his spot at the windows. “It’s late, you don’t need to be driving all the way across the city tonight. You can sleep in the room you like upstairs. The one with the terrace overlooking the backyard.”

“I like that room in the spring, when the birds are back from wherever the hell they go for the winter.”

“You’ll stay here,” Frederic said firmly, shooting his father a look. Then, he gave his son a smile. “Did you say hello to your mother?”