Unraveled (Guzzi Duet Book 1)(53)

His order for everyone to eat was no faster out of his mouth before the men began to reach for the hot dishes. He wasn’t particularly hungry—a shitty by-product of his stress, likely—so he sat back in a chair that had once belonged to his grandfather, and enjoyed the sight of the Capos and enforcers filling their plates.

Conversations filtered around the table between men, some discussing the events and attacks that had escalated rather violently over the past couple of weeks. Gian allowed them those discussions, and only joined in if he was directly asked a question. He found that he learned a lot more, and the men talked a lot more, when they had a boss who cared to hear what they had to say.

All but one man at the table was made.

Gian turned to his left, where his brother Dom was stuffing his face with pasta. “Hungry, fratellino?”

Dom bristled. “Only little compared to you in age, Gian.”

He laughed. “Relax. You’re lucky to even be here.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Being unmade, Dom shouldn’t be allowed to share the same experiences with made men until he had earned his seat at the table and his spot within the family. But … Gian remembered times when his grandfather had allowed him to sit at the table, and to have a voice. He figured that had been Corrado’s way of making his intention clear about giving his grandson his in to the family.

Gian was only doing the same for Dom.

In a way …

“So, do you think—”

Dom’s question was interrupted by a ringing phone. Gian recognized the familiar sound instantly, but because he wasn’t sure why his grandfather’s house line would be ringing, he looked over the table of men to see if it was one of their phones. None reached for their phones. Corrado’s mansion had been kept running ever since his death, as the Guzzi family had often used it, and no one was quite ready to put it up on the market officially. Even the cook, maid, and the man who ran errands and greeted guests stayed in the house, with pay.

But they never mentioned the home getting calls.

Eventually, the ringing stopped.

The maid stepped into the dining room, pressing her palm over a cordless phone to keep her voice from being heard on the line. “Mr. Guzzi, there’s a call for you.”

All eyes turned on Gian. He stood from the table, leaving the men behind with a demand for them to keep eating, and that all was fine. Although to be perfectly honest, he wasn’t sure what in the hell was going on.

Just outside the dining room, he took the phone from the maid and put it to his ear. His usual Italian and French greeting slipped out before he could think better of it. “Ciao, bonjour.”

“Gian, how are you this evening?”

Gian stiffened in place. “Edmond. Why in the fuck are you calling me at Corrado’s home? And better yet, how did you know I was here?”

“I know a lot of things.”

“Oh? Try me with one.”

“Fifteen men sitting around your grandfather’s table. Would you like their names? Sixteen, actually, if you include your unmade brother.”

“Spying, now?”

“Hardly.” Edmond scoffed. “You simply never think to look at any of those young gentleman like you should. They’re not all trustworthy, Gian. Each of them has an ultimate goal in mind where this organization is concerned. Sure, it’s true enough that some of them tie those goals to you being their boss, but some … some, probably do not.”

“You’re wasting my time.”

As Gian spoke, he had moved through the left wing of the mansion, heading toward the front of the estate. He checked out the windows, to make sure none of the men stationed outside had taken a hit, and that there was no funny business going on. He didn’t trust Edmond as far as he could throw the fat bastard.

“It’s been a rough couple of weeks, hasn’t it?” Edmond asked out of the blue.

Gian let the curtains close, and headed back the way he came toward the dining room. “Depends on who you think it’s been rough for. On my end, I think it’s been mostly okay. You were the one who started this nonsense, remember. I only recently joined in with a few attacks of my own. I can’t help it if my attacks are more direct and successful than yours are.”

“You assume everything, Gian. Don’t you know what they say about assuming?”

“I know you’re trying to play some kind of game with me, and my food is getting cold. I’m not in the mood.”

“Too bad, it’s time to listen. My attacks were pointed, and only done to either calm a situation, or make a point. They didn’t have to be direct to be successful. That’s what you fail to realize, Gian.”

“Are you done?” he asked Edmond.

“Not even close. I know exactly why you’re doing this.”

“Do tell.”

“You think I killed your grandfather,” Edmond said simply.

Gian’s jaw clenched. “Partly, but it’s not the only reason.”

“Yes, yes. The younger men, they want a boss they picked, they want to act like spoiled children who have their hands held when they’re scared to do what they’re told. We’ve been over this.”

“Your bias is showing again, Edmond.”

“So be it, they’re a dime a dozen. They can be replaced.”