Unraveled (Guzzi Duet Book 1)(6)

“Does it matter if he gets treatment?” Gian asked quietly.

Frederic’s gaze dropped to the floor. “It’ll give him a bit more time.”

“Be specific.”

“A year or two, with treatment. Six months, maybe, without.”

Fuck.

Fuck.

Gian grimaced as pain shot its way through his whole body all at once.

“I’m sorry, Gian,” Frederic murmured.

He loved his family. It was what Italians did.

But his grandfather?

It was far more than love. It was respect, and an adoration that had followed Gian since he had been a young boy under his grandfather’s feet. His relationship with his grandfather had always been different. Sometimes difficult, always strong, and never wavering.

“I … don’t know what to do,” Gian said lamely. “Do I bring it up to him or no?”

“It’s up to him, either way. He’s eighty-five; he’s old and wise enough to make this choice. Don’t ask him, or tell him you know, if he doesn’t bring it up to you first.”

“Yeah, I got it.”

He didn’t like it, but he understood. Apparently, like his grandfather, Gian was supposed to simply pretend nothing was wrong. And in six months, when it all went to shit, where would that leave him?

Gian didn’t know.

“Try to forget about it for the night. You’re young, Gian, and he knows that, which is probably why he didn’t want to upset you tonight. I’m not like him, though, and the longer you were made to wait before being told, the angrier you would be. Enjoy your time, deal with the rest another day.”

His father’s words seemed simple enough. That didn’t mean they would be easy to follow.





Gian bypassed the line at the front door of the new club—Danza—and went in through a back entrance where he had a man standing guard. He nodded a greeting to the enforcer as the man stepped aside, and held the metal door open.

“Busy, Raul?”

“Packed full, boss.”

Always respectful.

Always appropriate.

It was the little things, like calling an underboss “boss” whenever the actual boss wasn’t around, instead of his name. Made men appreciated those things and remembered when it was time to give a man his in to the family. Although, Raul had been given his button years ago.

Gian clapped the guy on the shoulder. “Good. I won’t be long, and then you’re free to do what you want for the rest of the night.”

“Thanks, boss.”

Gian moved through the back hallways that were used for storage, and then up the spiral staircase that led to the offices. One for the manager, and one for his personal use. He didn’t run the club full-time, but it was nice to have a place to hide away if the need arose.

Waiting papers rested on his desk, and Gian quickly flipped through what the manager had left for him. He tossed the papers aside again before moving toward the one-way mirrored windows that covered a whole portion of one office wall. He surveyed the people down below, looking for faces he recognized in the crowd.

Only a couple stood out.

But it was a couple of faces he gave a shit about, too.

Stephan Zito and Constantino Rossi sat in the sectioned off VIP area of the club at a circular booth that allowed their backs to be at the wall, while their fronts faced the crowd. Both were Capos for the Guzzi Cosa Nostra, though Constantino was closer to Gian’s age, while Stephan was nearing his mid-thirties.

Gian put up with Stephan for the sake of respect, but otherwise, he didn’t have a lot of patience for the guy. Constantino, however, had been one of the few men Gian had grown up with—a friend from childhood. Those were hard to find and keep in their world.

It was too damn bad that Constantino enjoyed Stephan’s company a lot more than Gian did.

Gian brushed off the irritation at seeing Stephan in his club, his gaze passing over the other people sitting in the booth with the two men. An enforcer for both Capos sat opposite to them at the booth, and a familiar woman sat beside Stephan.

Bambi, Gian thought her name was. Stephan’s goomah.

The guy was not very quiet about the mistress he had, not that it was exactly required for him to be so. Made men were a lot of things, but faithful didn’t have to be one of them. Especially, if their wives didn’t make too much of an issue out of it.

Gian’s gaze skipped to the woman sitting on the other side of Constantino, her red hair—a fiery ruby shade that was almost shocking under the lights of the club—set in perfectly-managed curls fell halfway down her back. That was all he could see of the woman, but guessing by the way she kept her body angled away from Constantino, she was not his date.

Gian wondered who she was, or rather, how she had gotten into his VIP section with made men. He planned to find out.

Five minutes later, the bouncer at the roped-off section of the VIP area stepped back to allow Gian through. On the way, Gian had grabbed a glass of whiskey at the bar, the one drink he would allow himself for the evening. It didn’t look good for a man to be drunk and acting foolish, even in a place he owned that was meant for drunken foolishness.

“Gian!”

A smile split Gian’s lips at his oldest friend’s shout. Constantino was already pushing his way out of the booth, offering little more than a fast apology to the redhead sitting beside him.