Unraveled (Guzzi Duet Book 1)(76)

“Someone needs to feed me.”

“So hire someone.”

“It clears my head.” Gian gestured at the many chairs around the table. “Take a seat and we’ll chat.”

Constantino took a seat that faced the kitchen, allowing Gian the chance to watch the man as he finished his stir-fry. He would never turn his back on this man again.

The sad thing was, he hadn’t even needed to turn his back the first time. Constantino had simply stabbed Gian in the chest when he wasn’t looking. And when Gian did finally notice and asked what happened? Constantino pointed the finger at someone else.

Like any good coward would do.

“Where’s the girl?” Constantino asked.

“She has a name. You know it.” Gian opened the pan and stirred the contents up. “Cara—use her name.”

“Are you still pissed about what I said at the restaurant? I apologized for that, and I only spoke the truth. Like you should be doing, man.”

He had apologized when Gian called. Although, it had taken some careful prompting on Gian’s part to make it seem as though he felt he overreacted that night.

“It’s the point of the matter, Constantino.”

“Fine. Cara. Where is Cara? The other night when you called, you didn’t want me coming over because she was here.”

Gian checked the clock. “She’s probably watching that show she likes. It would be on at this time in Chicago.”

Constantino perked. “Chicago?”

“Flew in yesterday.”

“She did that herself?”

Gian chose not to answer. He certainly wasn’t about to say that he had sent Cara away, and raise Constantino’s suspicions. He wanted the man thinking that nothing was wrong, like water under the bridge.

Much like the idiot had fooled him.

“That’s where she is, anyway,” Gian said, pulling the pan from the stove. “I don’t know when she’ll be back.”

That wasn’t entirely a lie, either.

Gian didn’t know when he would send for Cara. After he had finished business, the smoke had cleared, and it was safe. A week, maybe two. He couldn’t let his need to have Cara close cloud his judgement about what was best.

“Better she go,” Constantino said.

Gian pulled plates from the cupboard. “Pardon?”

“Cara. It’s better she left. She fucks with the way you do things—how you see shit—but you don’t seem to notice.”

Gian refused to let Constantino push on that nerve. “Maybe she does.”

“You know she does.”

“Hungry?”

“I could eat,” Constantino said.

Gian prepped two plates of food, keeping an eye on the other man at the same time. Constantino seemed entirely unbothered and calm, sitting there, as though he didn’t have a thing to worry about.

“I suppose you don’t, huh?” Gian asked as he delivered the plate of food.

Gian then took a seat directly across from his old friend.

“Don’t what, man?”

“Worry,” Gian clarified.

Constantino shrugged, shoving a bite of food into his mouth. “It’s a waste of time to worry.”

“That, or you feel … privileged. Safe in your spot because of me.”

Constantino’s brow furrowed. “Is something wrong?”

Gian shook his head. “Should there be?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Then, no.”

“All right.” Constantino went back to his food as though nothing was wrong. Just as Gian expected he would.

“Have you ever heard of blind affection?”

“When a person lets their personal feelings get in the way of what should be obvious?” Constantino asked.

“Exactly that.”

“I could see why some people might struggle with it.”

“Me, too,” Gian agreed.

“So, you said when you called that you’re finally ready to finish this out with the boss, then?”

“And more.” Gian smirked. “Never call Edmond the boss in my presence again.”

Constantino offered an apologetic smile. “My bad.”

The man didn’t seem to notice that Gian had yet to touch his own plate of food.

“But, that was what you said,” Constantino pressed.

“And more,” Gian echoed. “Do you want a beer?”

“Sure.”

Gian left the table, and grabbed two beers from the fridge. He sat one down at his spot before moving around the table to hand Constantino’s bottle over, but he didn’t move to return to his seat again.

“I’m not the only one between us that suffers from blind affection,” Gian said quietly. “Because if you didn’t suffer from it, too, you would have known better than to ever trust me after you betrayed me. All lies come out eventually.”

Constantino’s head snapped up, his wide—understanding—eyes flying to Gian. It was already too late. Gian hadn’t removed the dishtowel from his shoulder until then, and he’d quickly twisted it into a rope of sorts. He had the rope wrapped around his friend’s throat before Constantino could even attempt to fight back.