Unraveled (Guzzi Duet Book 1)(92)

“This one is all you,” Domenic said, nodding at Gian, and then to the cake. “Go for it. Might as well add some diabetes into the alcoholism these fools already have.”

Gian smacked his brother in the back of the head for that one. “You’re one to talk. How many nights a week are you in a club drinking, never mind at home alone?”

Dom shrugged. “It’s how I meet people.”

“Right. Good excuse.”

“Just cut your fucking cake, Gian.”

“You know I didn’t ask for a cake,” Gian said to his brother, lowering his tone so only Dom would hear. “I only agreed to a few drinks.”

Dom nodded. “They want to celebrate you, man. Let them.”

Gian sighed.

Right.

Celebrate.

It was only him that wasn’t feeling the party.

“Just cut the cake,” Dom said. “After that, they won’t even notice when you go. They’ll be too drunk and working on a sugar-high.”

“You get to be the lucky—or unlucky—fuck that stays behind to make sure they don’t tear my club apart,” Gian warned.

“I can do that.”

Fine.

As long as Dom knew …

Truthfully, Gian was grateful for his brother. Dom had been one of the very few constants at Gian’s side since he took over the family. He had made his brother, as he promised to do, and gave Dom his proper in to the family business. Besides, it was a hell of a lot easier to make Dom his consigliere when he was already a made man.

Dom became Gian’s right-hand man practically overnight. But that was how it needed to be, and Gian didn’t give fucking nobody the chance to argue or question it. Dom was better suited for the consigliere position than a Capo or underboss, simply because the men knew him, Gian trusted him, and he was not there for everyone else, only his brother.

As he had always been.

His underboss, on the other hand, had been something he allowed the men of the family to pick. It was unusual, and certainly not the norm, but they had their voice and vote in something.

Stephan was who they chose.

Somedays, Gian wanted to kill the bastard.

Other days, he was worth his weight in arrogant, ignorant gold.

“Hurry up!” someone shouted from behind Gian.

Dom chuckled. “Let them eat cake, Gian.”

“Didn’t saying that get someone killed once?”

“She didn’t give them the cake, though.”

Gian didn’t think that was the point.

Still, he went ahead and sliced into the cake. While the outside had been a gold and black trimmed masterpiece, the inside was a vibrant crimson color. Red velvet, it seemed.

Like blood.

It was oddly appropriate, considering how much blood he had already spilled.

“All right, move over, let me handle this,” Dom said.

Gian willingly gave the knife to his brother, and let Dom get to work. If there was anything Dom liked, it was food, and good conversation. Gian was able to step aside, and barely anyone noticed as they were too busy drinking their liquor and shoving their face full of cake.

Gian knew, in that moment, he should take the time to appreciate what he was seeing. Calm and peace. Content men. Vanishing violence. A family ready to work.

He should have been happy.

He should have been … a lot of things.

Being a boss was not as easy as he had thought it would be. He had only been given a glimpse of what that position was like when his grandfather filled the spot. Now, sitting in the seat himself, Gian had his eyes wide open.

It was fucking lonely at the top.

Gian was constantly surrounded by people.

He had too much work to do.

He never stopped moving.

His time was thin.

His patience was thinner.

And yet, more than he cared to admit, he found himself entirely alone. No amount of work, Cosa Nostra, or distractions would help with his problem.

Only one person could—Cara.

She was out of his reach, now, to an extent. Physically, she wasn’t his to have, no matter how badly he wanted her. Emotionally, she had every fucking one of her claws buried into his heart, and she didn’t even know it.

His soul was entangled with a woman who no longer wanted him, even if he would still die for her.

Gian had no one to blame for that but himself.





Gian buttoned up his suit jacket as he stepped out of the back of the black town car. Chris held the door open until Gian stepped away from the vehicle, and then promptly closed it shut once he could. Standing in the middle of the large, circular driveway, Gian stared down the mansion that had become a private hell of sorts for him.

He did not want to enter that house.

He couldn’t even call it a home, now.

Once upon a time, it had been exactly that. A home. His grandfather and grandmother’s home, filled with memories of years long past and happier times. Now, whenever he entered the mansion, invisible weights fell on his shoulders while a pressure built in his head, ready to burst at any moment.

That could happen to a man when he was expected to share a space with his wife, especially when said wife was Elena Guzzi. Gian was expected—in his current position—to behave a certain way regarding his wife and marriage. It looked better on his image, and his family, when he treated his wife as his wife. Regardless of how he felt about it, he needed to be seen with his wife. Out and about, at the mansion, and more.