Unraveled (Guzzi Duet Book 1)(85)

Actions always had intent.

It still didn’t change a thing.

“It’s Dom’s choice,” Gian told his father.

It would hurt him, Gian knew.

His father would be mad for a while.

It changed nothing.

“To refuse now, after everything,” Gian murmured, “would mean to kill him.”

It was the way of Cosa Nostra. Once a man had made his intentions clear with la famiglia to join their ranks and ways, there was no going back. There was no restart button, only a bullet and a grave, for those who could not follow through.

Frederic’s frown grew deeper. “And what if it kills him anyway?”

Gian had a better question. “Did you consider that for me, Dad, all those years ago, when you were made to make a choice between Dom and I?”

His father didn’t answer.

The silence was enough.

Gian had been the bargaining chip.

Frederic had made the sacrifice.

“And what about you, now?” his father asked gently.

Gian’s brow furrowed. “What about me? I’m the boss. I did what I needed to do. I’m fine.”

“You forget what that position means, son. Your image is now on display, and your weaknesses will become your biggest targets. This may have seemed easy standing on the outside looking in, but it becomes far harder to manage once you sit in the seat, and the only things keeping you worthy to be there for those men are your reputation, your image, and your actions. So far, you’ve not been doing well in that regard.”

Gian’s jaw ached from clenching so fiercely. “Say what you mean. Don’t dance around it with pretty words.”

“You know what I mean. Or rather, who I mean.”

Cara.





Gian nodded to the doorman as the older gentleman opened the door to the building. “Merci, Benjamin.”

“Have a good evening, Mr. Guzzi,” the doorman replied as Gian walked through.

He had just entered the private elevator that would take him up to his penthouse when the cell phone in his pocket began to buzz with an incoming call. Gian almost considered not answering it, and letting it go to voicemail. After the day he had, a hot shower, food, his bed, and a phone call to get Cara back home in Toronto—at his side—sounded perfetto.

She wanted to come back, and he wanted nothing more than to bring her back.

Unfortunately, being a boss meant when phone calls came in, issues usually followed.

That phone call to Cara would have to wait.

Gian picked up the call on the fourth ring, his usual Italian and French greeting at the ready. “Ciao, bonjour.”

“I have Cara booked for a flight in the morning—she’ll be in Toronto by noon.”

Tommas Rossi didn’t fuck around with pleasantries, it seemed.

“I didn’t call to ask her back, yet,” Gian said, “but I was ready to do that tonight.”

“You don’t want to do that, Gian. Call her, I mean. Not right now.”

Gian’s shoulders tensed as the elevator dinged, and the doors opened to allow him entrance into the penthouse. White walls and gray marble stared back at him, but he wasn’t quite ready to leave the elevator.

“She texted me this morning. She can’t be that pissed off at me that I haven’t called her today, can she?”

Cara was not that kind of woman. She wasn’t spectacularly jealous, and she didn’t demand every breathing, waking moment of Gian’s days. Though if she were one of those women, and she did want those things, he would give them to her.

All of them.

Love was so messed up in that way.

He’d never understood it before.

“Listen, I tried,” Tommas muttered. “She wasn’t willing to stay here another minute. Seriously, don’t call her tonight. Give her the evening and morning to work through some of her mood, and maybe it won’t be as bad tomorrow when you see her.”

“I don’t understand,” Gian admitted.

“She knows your secret, asshole.”

Gian’s hand tightened around the phone. “What?”

Shit.

No.

Gian knew he should have been the one to tell Cara about his estranged wife, a marriage that had taken place under a set of circumstances driven by his grandfather and his wife’s father. He had not loved her, and even now, had very little to do with Elena.

That had always been by her choice.

Gian no longer cared.

“You heard me.” Tommas sighed heavily into the phone. “She deserved to know—from you, though, not like this.”

“I was going to—”

“When?”

“Soon,” Gian admitted.

“Not soon enough.”

Tommas hung up the phone without a goodbye.

Gian didn’t blame the man a bit.





“Who is she? What’s the whore’s name, Gian?”

Ouch.

That one kind of stung.

Especially, to hear it as an insult to Cara, when this woman—his wife—had no business throwing that sort of word around at anyone, given their history.

Gian wasn’t able to hide the rage. “Watch your fucking mouth, Elena.”

His estranged wife stiffened across the room, her arms crossing over her chest as she frowned. “You could at least tell me something, Gian.”