It was possible to be entirely alone in a room full of people.
Gian Guzzi had never had that experience before, but now it was all too common. He had wrongly assumed that taking the highest seat in his Cosa Nostra family would leave him with very little time to consider or wallow about his personal problems, but that couldn’t be further from the truth.
Already, it was August. A hot, humid summer month that Gian had planned to spend with someone else, ignoring the heat as best he could. Three months had passed since his last encounter with Cara Rossi, but not a single fucking day went by where he wasn’t reminded of her in some way.
Part of that was by his own hand, of course.
Being a boss, on the other hand, forced Gian to keep his personal issues quiet. He certainly couldn’t afford to let the men around him think that he was distracted by his emotions, never mind a woman that he could no longer have. He needed for them to think that at all times, he was on his very best game, no matter what.
Duty first.
Legacy second.
And only then, love.
Gian finally understood what his grandfather, Corrado, had been trying to tell him for years. He had assumed that it was a sacrifice all made men needed to make for the sake of la famiglia, but he was wrong.
Only the boss made that sacrifice.
Cosa Nostra had to be his one constant. He had to breathe the business. He had to bleed the life. He was the one who was expected to repeat the rules and enforce them. He was the only one who was looked to when something needed to be heard. His voice spoke for everyone.
That was what a good boss did. Then, if he did his job well, the boss’s men would never know that he was just like them, affected and ruined by silly things like love and a woman.
Duty. Legacy. Love.
Always in that order.
Always.
Oh, yes.
Gian understood those words perfectly well now.
It was better to listen to the people around him, let them talk, and then form his own opinions and give orders from what he learned. He learned that quickly enough as a boss. It also left him with too much time, when he was alone with his thoughts.
All he ever did was think.
“Happy birthday, boss!”
Gian tried to smile as a hand clapped his back with enough force to shake him from his inner hell. It brought his attention forefront to the VIP section of the club and the men, again. Men celebrating his thirtieth birthday.
He should be celebrating, too.
“Here, another drink,” Stephan said.
A whiskey was shoved into Gian’s hand.
He sipped at the strong liquor, as it gave him something to do. “Merci.”
Stephan said something else but Gian wasn’t listening. He was not a big partier to begin with. He had only agreed to this night with his men because they had asked for it. Given how quickly tensions could flare in the family, peace-keeping was a constant part of the business. Especially for Gian.
Earlier in the day, he had spent too many hours sitting around a dinner table with the older generation of Capos in the family and their important people. They, too, had wanted to celebrate their boss’s birthday in some way, but not like the younger men did. Which was understandable.
While the divide between the generational lines had closed enough for Gian to consider it comfortable, he still preferred to keep the two groups separate. He allowed everyone their voice, and their chance to express it. As much as was acceptable, anyway.
“Happy birthday to you! Happy …”
Gian was urged forward in the group of men as a server strolled forward with a cake in her hands. It was a two-tier cake, gold in color, with black trim. The Guzzi family colors. His name and the proper birthday greeting had been scrawled across the side. It certainly looked good, but even his appetite was seriously lacking lately.
Happy birthday, boss.
Dirty thirty, Gian.
The platitudes kept coming from everyone. Gian smiled and nodded, laughing when he needed to. He wasn’t shocked anymore that no one seemed to notice his cheer and good-nature was nothing more than a carefully-crafted lie.
He had perfected this shit in no time at all.
“Set it down,” someone told the server with the cake.
A table was pulled over, and the cake was set down. Another man passed Gian a knife, while paper plates, napkins, and plastic forks were set out on the table by another one of the girls who worked in Gian’s club.
“This one is all you,” Domenic said, nodding at Gian, and then to the cake. “Go for it. Might as well add some diabetes to 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’d taken over the family. He had made his brother, as he promised to do, and given 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 anyone the chance to argue or question it. Dom was better suited for the consigliere position rather than a Capo or underboss, simply because the men knew him, Gian trusted him, and he was not in the family 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 someone.
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 were two things Dom liked, they were 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 faces 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 the 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.
Elena was no happier about Gian’s presence in her life than he was, frankly.
And that only made it that much more difficult.
Gian could have moved Elena into his penthouse, and sold his grandfather’s mansion for a few million, but he had chosen a different route. For one, because neither he, nor his wife, wanted to be together in a smaller space than they had to be. And for two, because the penthouse was his, much like her previous penthouse had belonged solely to her. They were not accustomed to living together, and Gian had built his life around the fact that his wife was not going to be involved.
He was not going to change his lifestyle entirely, simply to suit the desires of a few people who watched him like a hawk.
Thankfully, Elena didn’t put up much of an argument when Gian suggested the mansion as a sort of middle ground. He spent a couple of days and nights there, though usually in an entirely different wing from his wife, and a few nights at his penthouse in the city where he was easily assessable to his men and business.
That certainly didn’t mean either of them liked the arrangement, which only made nights like these that much fucking harder to get through.
“You good, boss?” Chris asked.
Gian kept his features schooled as he replied, “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You just seem … quiet.”
“When have you ever known me to be loud?”
The enforcer chuckled. “Point taken.”
“Are you in the mood for dinner?” Gian asked. “You’re more than welcome to join us. Elena does seem fond of you.”
Or at least, the woman was slightly more pleasant when someone else was nearby.
“I could eat.”
That was that.
Elena barely blinked a lash at one of Gian’s men entering the mansion behind him. Wearing one of her usual dresses, with her blonde hair perfectly done and her makeup flawless, she greeted Chris first, and only turned to Gian once the enforcer headed toward the dining area of the right wing.
“I didn’t know you were coming tonight,” Elena said.
No greeting.
No hello.
Nothing.
“It’s Saturday, Elena. I always come here on Saturday nights.”
“Not usually this late.”
“Do you want a daily update for when I plan to come and go from different places, and when I might show up here?” Gian asked.
Because if that would keep her from meeting him at the door, he would happily try to provide her with those details.
“You’re being a smartass,” Elena said, “and I could do without the attitude.”
“It’s been a long day.”
“Well, you certainly had a long night, didn’t you?”
Gian resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “If you’re talking about the dinner, and then the birthday party at the club last night, yes, it made for a long evening.”
Elena crossed her arms, her jaw stiff as she stared at him hard. He always thought blue eyes would have fit his wife far better than her brown eyes did—the iciness in her gaze couldn’t quite be matched by any other woman he had come in contact with. Sometimes, her brown gaze gave off a sense of warmth simply because of their color, but it was a lie.
She was colder than ice.
“And why wasn’t I invited?” Elena asked. “I am your wife, Gian.”
“Because it wasn’t a family thing,” Gian replied dryly.
“Still—”
“I wasn’t asked or invited to bring you, so I didn’t. Don’t act like that bothers you because we both know it doesn’t. The only thing that might bother you is not being able to buy something pretty to wear out for an evening. If that’s what you want, decide where you want to go next weekend, and I will take you. Not for my birthday, though.”
“Fine.”
Gian sighed internally, taking that as a battle won.
“Also, my birthday is coming up,” Elena added quickly.
“And what would you like for it?”
She smiled sweetly, as though she was pleased with his question. Another false invitation into her web.
It never failed to surprise Gian how easily men could be caught up and then subsequently killed in the maze of Elena’s games and manipulations. He had been one of those men, once. Years ago, it had been him who saw her distant eyes and perfectly-styled appearance and thought, something is wrong with her, she never smiles.
She seemed sad, alone, and too quiet. She had been young at just twenty-three, with no siblings and only her father raising her. Her mother had died long ago.
Her beauty, sweet nature, and soft voice had drawn him in easily enough. Her world had been a malevolent place, and certainly not meant for her.
He had been stupid.
A foolish man caught up in a hero complex.
It was a mistake Gian would never make again.
Not with Elena.
Gian wrongly perceived what he thought to be Elena’s innocence and naivety as a direct result of her upbringing, under the hands of her violent, awful father. He had never once considered that every single thing that Elena offered to a man, whether it be emotionally, verbally, or physically, was a game. Her words were meant to placate and soften. Her touch was meant to disarm and trap.
For her, men were a means to an end.
She had simply found the right man in Gian to use.
It was a particular sport that she had been taught all too well, and had yet to lose.
Gian hadn’t realized he had been playing Elena’s game until it was too late. He had fallen for all of her lies, they were only a few weeks short of being married, he was stuck in the agreement made, and his life shattered. Just like that, she ruined what should have been his free choice and will.
And she had done it for no other reason than to be free.
She trapped him so that she could fly.
“Well?” Gian asked. “What do you want for your birthday?”
Elena shrugged. “Nothing spectacular.”
“But something amazing.”
“That is what your wife deserves, isn’t it, Gian?”
“She certainly deserves something,” he said as he moved past her.
Elena reached out to pat his cheek. It took every ounce of willpower he had not to flinch away. He did not share a life with this woman beyond the one they were forced into, and they certainly didn’t share affection. He didn’t want her touching him, and he had no interest or desire to touch her.
Once, before they’d married, all he had wanted to do was touch her, and to save her. And then he’d figured out her games, but it was already too late.
“Don’t,” Gian murmured, stepping out of Elena’s reach.
“So touchy, Gian.”
“I wonder why, Elena.”
“You’re no fun tonight.”
With her, he was never fun.
“If you want something, then ask for it. Don’t, however, try to manipulate me into giving you something by pretending to be nice or that you give a shit. You don’t. I don’t. It’s that simple.”
Elena shot him a look. “Fine, whatever. Shiny and pretty things, people to sing me happy birthday, the usual.”
Gian nodded. “It’ll be done.”
“Out somewhere, too. Not here.”
“Pick a place.”
Elena was the one to walk past him that time. Her smile was serene and her sarcasm oozed as she spoke over her dainty shoulder. “You’re too good to me, Gian.”
As he should be.
As he had to be.
Because she was his wife.
Little else had to matter, apparently. Certainly not his feelings. Those disgusting fucking things were meant for weaker men, and Gian had no time for weakness. The only time he did indulge his feelings were when it came to a certain woman that was out of his reach.
“Well, are you coming to eat supper, or are you going to stand there in the entryway all night?” Elena asked.
“Did you cook it?”
“God, no.”
“Then yes, I’ll eat,” Gian said.
He didn’t even trust his wife not to try and kill him with food, honestly.
This was how their life was lived, now that they had to be together in some shape or form. Carefully, circling around each other with the occasional sharp word quick to show itself and cut the other person standing too close. Maybe it was easier for them both this way.
If they stuck to what was, they would not dig too deep into what had been.
Neither of them wanted that mess brought up.
Not again, anyhow.
The priest waved his hands upward in a sweeping motion to the parishioners, and everyone stood at the same time to be blessed a final time. Gian was grateful—it was almost over.
And by it, he meant his time with his wife for a couple of days.
Church was meant to be one of his peaceful times, but even that was becoming tainted by the fact that he now sat in a pew with his wife, instead of with his family like he once had. Appearances were everything, after all.
Some needed to be kept happier than others, in that regard.
“Finally,” Elena grumbled under her breath as the priest dismissed the congregation. She stood, brushing down the skirt of her cream-colored, knee-length dress that matched her shoes and hat. “Mass never ends. I hate it.”
And yet, she was one of the best dressed in the entire congregation.
“Church is good for the soul,” Gian replied tiredly.
“People like us have no souls, Gian. This is nothing more than a farce, and if there is a heaven, we will only be allowed entrance because we paid our way in.”
Touché.
“Chris can drive you home,” Gian told his wife as he picked up his aviator sunglasses from the pew. “I have things to do today.”
Elena pursed her lips. “I’m sure.”
She didn’t push him or argue his demands, though. Chris would be waiting outside to return Elena to the mansion, and she had another driver on speed dial to take her wherever in the hell she wanted during the week. She had a license and could drive perfectly well, but she preferred to be chauffeured about like a queen.
Gian didn’t give a shit, as long as it wasn’t him doing the driving.
It wasn’t long after Elena was gone down the aisle that Dom slid in beside his brother in the pew. Gian allowed a few more people to head down the aisle, opting to stay behind with Dom to get his weekly update.
It always fucking hurt.
It sucked like nothing else.
Gian did it to punish himself, surely.
It still helped him to breathe.
“Well?” Gian asked.
Dom sipped from a to-go cup of coffee like he had all the time in the world. “Nothing new, really. Cara’s been pretty quiet the last week. She’s still working at that women’s shelter over on the Fifth.”
“Carolina’s House,” Gian said, naming the shelter.
He knew it, because he’d donated to it often over the years, given his family’s history with the place.
Cara didn’t know that, though.
She didn’t know Gian watched her at all.
Dom nodded. “Still there. She’ll be back in school next month, probably. I’m not sure about the shelter after that.”
Knowing Cara, and what she wanted to do with her life, if the shelter allowed her a position while she remained in university, she would take it in a heartbeat. Gian hoped they gave her the chance. Dreams were worth following, after all.
“That’s about all I have to tell on that side of things,” Dom noted.
“Nothing else?” Gian asked.
Dom gave his brother a side-long look. “She’s not been out with anybody, you know. And you could just outright ask that, instead of posing it like it’s something else. I don’t think she’s even got time for a man, Gian.”
He doubted that. Cara had time, if she wanted to make it. For whatever reason, she just hadn’t made the time.
Yet.
Jealousy burned hot and heavy in his gut at the thought. Gian ignored the reckless, violent emotion, because what in the hell else could he do?
He couldn’t force his wants upon Cara.
Hadn’t he already hurt her enough?
“You could go see her,” Dom suggested.
Gian scoffed. “Our last encounter did not end well. I doubt me showing up would go over spectacularly, either.”
“Then why not leave her alone, man?” Dom nodded down the aisle where Elena had disappeared to. Most of the people had also cleared out of the church. “You do have a wife, Gian. Focus there, maybe.”
“Right, my wife.”
Fuck that.
Gian decided their conversation was going nowhere, and turned around to leave, only to come face to face with his father and mother. Frederic and Celeste made no attempt to hide the fact they had been standing there eavesdropping on the brothers’ conversation.
“Do you have something you would like to add?” Gian asked his scowling father.
Frederic had no qualms about sharing his opinions with Gian, especially regarding his unconventional marriage, and the affair his son had had with Cara for months.
“Your brother has a point,” Frederic said. “Don’t go getting yourself caught up into another mess with the Rossi girl. Not now, Gian. You have better things to focus your time and energy on, and Elena is just one of those things.”
“Or you could mind your fucking business.”
“Gian!” his mother said, horrified and glancing toward the pulpit.
Gian wasn’t in the mood to tone down his attitude for the sake of sensibilities. “I said what I said, Ma. I meant it.”
“You married your wife,” his father said, paying no attention to his wife or what his son had told him. “You chose to marry that girl, and now you have to live with it.”
“I never got a choice, actually. I was given the illusion of a choice, which you’re aware.” Gian slid on his aviator sunglasses, and pushed past his father to head down the aisle. “It still makes no difference to what I told you. Mind your fucking business.”