There was nothing more irritating to Gian than seeing a pair of Royal Canadian Mounted Police detectives waiting for him at the front desk of his building. At least, the managers and ladies working the front desk knew better than to allow the RCMP detectives straight up to Gian’s penthouse.
Ever since Corrado died, the police attention on the Guzzi family was … rough. Damn near constant. It didn’t help that following Corrado’s murder, several more deaths followed in the organization, and most done in a public way.
For the most part, the Canadian crime family managed to keep their heads down and their noses clean where police were concerned. They lived under the rule that less attention was better. This, unfortunately, was blowing that all to hell.
“Gian,” the taller of the two detectives—Seeley, Gian thought his surname was—greeted.
The shorter of the two, the one with wide-framed glasses and a suit that always needed pressed, hung back from his partner. He was usually that way whenever the detectives showed up for another round of make-Gian-talk-and-get-shot-down.
“Detective Seeley,” Gian replied dryly. Then, he nodded to the quiet detective. “Shaw.”
Seeley glanced upward at the tall ceilings of the building, and then quickly back to Gian. “Je voudrais—”
“English only, please,” Gian interrupted.
Seeley’s jaw clenched.
Gian made pissing these men off into a game.
“You speak French,” the man said firmly.
“Today I want to speak English,” Gian replied. “Serve me in my language of choice, as you’re supposed to do. I know how the police works in this country. We’re all on a nod and greet basis out there on the streets, aren’t we? Use English.”
“Fine, English it is.”
Gian stuffed his hands in his pockets, and rocked on his heels, pleased as fuck to have once again, annoyed the cops. Maybe if he did it enough, they would leave him the hell alone for a week. He doubted it, but he figured the risk was worth it.
All Royal Canadian Mounted Police were required to speak both official languages of the country. English and French. Gian found the detectives assigned to irritating him preferred French, and because he spoke French fluently, they expected him to converse in that language.
Gian was just as unpleasant in French when it came to cops as he was in his other languages. Cops all held the same distinct stench. Their job was to seem nice to him, to placate his distrust with them, and bring him in closer to their schemes. They put men like him away all the damn time, and Gian refused to be their next foolish sheep.
“I want to discuss some things that came up in your grandfather’s case, and see if you could confirm anything for me,” Seeley said.
Gian passed the man a look. “Corrado has been dead for months; you should leave him that way and let his soul rest in peace.”
“Don’t you want justice for your grandfather?”
How little they knew …
Justice had already been served.
“What information do you have?” Gian asked, determined to get these idiots out of his building so he could get back up to his penthouse. “And what do you want from me?”
Seeley took a folder from Shaw and opened it up. The very top item happened to be a photograph of a man with half of his face blown off, but the other side was perfectly recognizable. Gian focused on the recognizable part instead of the grisly bits with brain matter and fluids soaking into the green grass under the body.
“Nik Tradek,” the detective said. “Hired gun. We did a bit of digging and found some interesting emails and numbers between him and another dead man of the Guzzi Cosa Nostra—Constantino Rossi.”
“And?”
“It wasn’t exactly made quiet why Constantino was killed, I mean, not when it came to rumors on the streets.”
There was a reason for that; Gian wanted it made clear that anyone who came up against him or his family would meet the same fate. Their closeness to him mattered for nothing.
“Rumors are not admissible in court,” Gian reminded the detective.
“Be that as it may, word only travels when there’s a ring of truth.”
“Again,” Gian drawled, “and?”
“Nik showed up dead last month. As you can see, his face was blown off, or most of it.”
Yes, because it’d taken two months to find the bastard. He lived his life underground and off the grid.
Gian wanted him dead.
He got his wish.
Gian made a dismissive noise. “Well, I guess that’s one less killer in Canada, then, isn’t it?”
Seeley sighed, closing the folder and passing it back to his partner. “Gian, I know you’re not a stupid man.”
“You’re right, I’m not.”
“Then let’s talk.”
“I’d rather not, I’m not stupid, after all. You said it first.”
“Then let me talk,” the detective said.
“You did waste your time coming all the way here, so be my guest, Detective Seeley.”
The man gestured at the file his partner held. “You should be aware—if you aren’t already—that this really is no longer about Corrado’s murder, or the many deaths that followed after his. This is about the Guzzi organization as a whole, and putting an end to the reign your family has had in this city—”
“Country,” Gian corrected smoothly. “We’re the largest organization in this country, at the moment, and for the unforeseeable future, too. We have always been the reigning organization, and that isn’t going to change. Even when the cops couldn’t handle something like the biker gang wars, we did. And for the most part, the Guzzi organization keeps a tight leash on gangs and other violent entities that cause us issues, which in return, cause the people and you issues.”
Seeley tipped his chin up, defiant.
Gian smirked in response.
“I mean, you could be grateful,” Gian added.
“Right, that’s the word police are known to use for criminals.”
Gian waved that off. “Those are semantics. If you’re here to tell me that the focus of the police has changed from putting away murderers, to bringing my family down, then you’re too little too late. You see, I took care of the issues that needed taken care of, and you can take that however you want to. What it means, however, is that you’re left with the rest of us on your side of things, including me. So, here I am. I’ve even made it easy on you.”
“I beg your pardon?”
Gian held out his wrists, offering them to the detective. “You didn’t even have to ride an elevator to arrest me. Here you go, do your job.”
“I—”
“Can’t,” Gian interjected. “Yeah, I know. But hey, I’m really starting to look forward to these weekly meets and the games we play, so maybe in a few more, we’ll actually get to the point where we can sit down and have coffee. Or maybe not.”
“And how are those growing pains coming along in the organization?” the detective asked, moving an inch closer. “How difficult it must be for a boss of your age—even with your last name—to gain any traction with some of those men?”
Gian let his cool, calm expression take over as he answered, “So you’re watching, then? Good, see if you can keep up. Je suis désolé, mais je dois y aller, Detective. Have a good day.”
“We’re not done talking, Gian.”
Gian had already turned back and was heading for the elevator. His response was a flick of his hand over his shoulder, even when the detective called out for him again.
Oh, they were done.
Entirely so.
“Explain to me, boss, how a man who gets driven around ninety percent of his time, has managed to get two parking tickets and one for speeding, in three months?”
Gian glared at the back of Christopher Basso’s head from his spot in the rear seat. “You know they only pulled me over on the speeding ticket just to get a look inside my car.”
“Says you.”
“I wasn’t speeding,” Gian muttered.
“You are aware I know that you drive like a bat out of hell, right?”
“Shut up, Chris.”
“What about the two parking tickets?” the enforcer asked.
Gian scowled. “I couldn’t find a spot. I used a fire lane a couple of times—whatever.”
“You’ll be lucky if they don’t demote enough points from your license to take it from you today.”
“They’re not going to take my license, for fuck’s sake.”
“Well, if they do, I’ll still be here to drive your ass around.”
“You sound like you’re enjoying this,” Gian accused.
In the rearview mirror, Chris flashed a grin. “I enjoy keeping you on your toes, sure. You’re the only made man I know who doesn’t spend all his time in court for offences related to the organization, but instead, his shitty driving habits. I’m serious, they’re going to take your license one of these days.”
“You know what, fuck—”
“Here we are,” Chris said, pulling the car over to the side of the road. “You’ve got a half an hour to get through security and see the judge. Tamper down the attitude, and pay your fines again.”
Gian flipped the enforcer off as he pushed out of the car. Leaning back in, he pointed at Chris and said, “This isn’t over.”
“Maybe they’ll send you for Driver’s Ed, boss!”
Gian slammed the car door closed as hard as he fucking could in response to that nonsense. Chris wasted no time pulling back onto the road, likely knowing he had pushed his luck with his boss enough for the day. Turning, Gian faced the courthouse and the busy steps filled with people coming and going. This wasn’t his first rodeo at the place, and likely wouldn’t be his last.
It took Gian twenty-five minutes, just to get through security because of the long line of waiting people. He slipped into the courtroom designated for traffic offenses and had just enough time to sit his ass down before his name was called. Like a robot, he went through the motions of the court as he had done many times before.
The only ticket Gian chose to dispute was the speeding ticket, because fuck, he had not been speeding that day. Since the officer in question didn’t show up, the judge tossed it out. Gian was still left with two demerits off his license, and a nearly thousand-dollar fine.
“Pay within thirty days, or on floor four,” the judge ordered, his gravel hitting down with a loud enough bang to make Gian’s headache pound.
Great.
Chris was going to have a field day with this nonsense.
Gian wanted to get the whole day over with, and while he could pay at home on the government website, he headed through the maze of people for the bank of elevators. One elevator opened, and a flood of people came out. Gian bolted for that one, not wanting to wait for the next. A few climbed in behind him, and the doors closed. From ground floor, the elevator went up one, stopped, and dropped half of the people off. Only one other person climbed in.
At the third floor, one used mainly in the courthouse for private consultations before appearances, the only other person got off the elevator. In their haste, they bumped into the one person coming on.
Cara Rossi.
She didn’t see him right away, as she was too busy glaring at the asshole over her shoulder who hadn’t even bothered to apologize for running into her. But when she did see him, the door was starting to close, she was already on the elevator, and Gian was frozen in place.
Cara seemed to be in the same state.
“Gian,” she said.
That was it.
That was all she said.
Just his name.
And good God, how he missed that sound coming out of her mouth.
The elevator moved up, closer to his floor.
Gian didn’t know why, as he knew better than to corner Cara, but the part of him that hadn’t seen her in three months, the piece of him that had been lost and torn and so fucking useless, made him move. He pulled the emergency switch, and the elevator jerked to a halt. A red light came on, illuminating the space. A bell-like sound dinged through the speakers.
He was well aware of the camera just above his head, but since he didn’t plan on doing anything that would get them in shit, he ignored it for the moment.
Cara shifted in her heels, the black dress she wore showed off all kinds of leg and skin, but was still long enough to be appropriate. “This is a courthouse, Gian, not your personal place of business or something. You can’t just shut off an elevator.”
“I just did,” he said quietly.
“And someone will start it back up if you don’t push the switch again.”
“So be it, but it gives me a minute.”
“To do what?” she asked.
Gian wasn’t sure how to answer that, so he went with the blunt truth that had been stabbing at him for months. “To just look at you, say hello, anything, Cara.”
“And if I’m not interested in any of that?”
“Then say so.”
Cara only stared at him, pain reflecting in her blue eyes. It killed him that he had been the one to do that to her—that his lies did this to them. He no longer wanted to excuse his actions, and he knew they couldn’t be explained away, but he still wanted her.
He loved her.
So badly.
“I did tell you,” Cara whispered, “three months ago when I left your penthouse. I told you then, Gian.”
“And I’ve left you alone, haven’t I?”
“Yes, but—”
“You should know that I think about you all the fucking time, Cara, even when I know it’s the last thing I should be doing. I miss you, constantly. I’m alone all the time, too, even when I’m not, and it’s not even your fault. I know I did this. I fucked up, I know. I’m sorry, mon ange. I would do it a thousand ways differently, if I could, now.”
“Except you can’t,” Cara said, a fire returning to her eyes and a heat in her tone. “You lied and lied and lied more, Gian.”
“I didn’t tell you the whole story, but I didn’t purposely keep it from you.”
“It, you say. It. Come on, say what it is. Your wife.”
Gian drew in a slow breath, murmuring, “Yeah, my wife. Estranged, spoiled, difficult, hateful, bitter, but yes, my wife, Cara.”
“And how is she? Your wife, I mean.”
“Pleased in her place,” he replied frankly.
He had nothing else to offer in that regard.
Elena wasn’t worth it to him, not after everything.
“I hate you,” Cara said so softly he strained to hear the words. “I hate that I want to say things right now to hurt you, only to hurt you, Gian. I hate that I want you to know what it felt like to trust you, and then watch you fucking ruin it like you did. I hate you for doing that to me.”
He could work with hate, maybe.
Hate was passionate, too.
Like love.
“You broke my heart, Gian.”
“Well, I hope my heart has been a suitable replacement, Cara. Because you still have mine, and you didn’t bother to give it back. It’s like waking up with a giant hole in my chest every single day. I can’t not know it’s gone. I always know. And maybe I don’t have any right to say that at all, but there it is.”
Cara glanced away, but he saw the wetness in her eyes all the same.
“I’m sorry,” Gian said again as the first tear slipped from the corner of Cara’s eye. “I hate me, too.”
Tears meant something—she wasn’t numb and she wasn’t cold. Not to him or what had happened, anyway. It meant there was a part of her that wasn’t done or hadn’t entirely moved on from everything. She hadn’t moved on from them.
“Are you done now?” Cara asked. “Have you gotten what you wanted? Can I go?”
He wanted to say no. He had her barricaded in an elevator, and God only knew how long he would be able to keep her there. He could finally force her to listen to the shit he had to say, if he wanted to.
Gian had a feeling that would not help him with Cara, only hurt him. He couldn’t force her back to his side, he couldn’t demand her there, and he wouldn’t ever lie to her again to have her with him, either.
If she wanted him, wanted to be with him, he needed her to do that on her own. She would then understand it was because she wanted that, too, and had done so, knowing exactly what it meant for both of them.
He couldn’t give her what she deserved. He couldn’t be her husband, or live with her in a public fashion. She would never be looked at with the same respect his wife would, and in fact, would face a barrage of shit just because she wasn’t his wife.
And the titles she would wear because of his selfishness?
Homewrecker. Whore. Mistress. Slut. Goomah.
Gian could keep going, too. He’d heard them all be slung at the woman his grandfather had loved for decades, a woman Corrado barely spoke about to anyone. How could those same people justify shaming someone, when they didn’t even know her or why she made her choices?
Why would Gian knowingly do that to Cara?
He loved her, so why hurt her more?
Gian stepped closer to Cara, and she didn’t move away. Instead, she watched him carefully, with a stone-still body, painted red lips, and eyes that cut him to the core. He reached up, the side of his hand brushing along her cheek to push back the stray curl, before his thumb swept under her eye to wipe away the tear stain.
She was still so beautiful.
Like fucking life in his hands.
“I didn’t mean to do this,” he told her.
Cara nodded. “Yeah, I know, but you still did, Gian.”
“And what I said, before you walked out on me that day, remains the same.”
“You tried to say a lot.”
“I have only ever loved you,” Gian murmured as he leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to Cara’s forehead. His thumb stroked her cheek, and she didn’t move away, but he felt the wetness of her tears slip down to his skin away. “And I’m sorry that it hurts you, Cara. I’m sorry that I hurt you. I’m sorry that I love you.”
“Me, too.”
Gian reached behind Cara and pushed the emergency switch on the elevator. It took a couple of seconds for the machine to respond, for the red light to go off, and for the elevator to move again. Cara turned away from him, then, pressing the second-floor button.
At his floor, Gian expected the people and security waiting there as the door opened to let him out. He shrugged off their questions, giving no answer as to what happened to stop the elevator.
Behind him, he heard Cara whisper as he walked out, “I miss you, too.”
For them, he had been sure it was far too late. He had done that, not her.
But was it?
“Drive,” Gian demanded the second he shut the car door.
Chris glanced at his boss through the rearview mirror. “Shit, that bad?”
“Drive.”
Quickly, the car pulled off onto the road, but the enforcer was still keeping one eye on Gian. It made him feel like a bug under a microscope. He couldn’t hide the fact he was emotionally unsettled—sad, haunted, and angry all at once.
He couldn’t hide shit when it came to Cara.
“You know I was just joking about the whole losing your license thing, right?”
“I didn’t lose my license. I paid the fucking fines. Take me home.”
“Boss—”
“Shut up and drive,” Gian snapped.
“You got it, boss.”
Chris didn’t ask or say another thing. The man made no jokes as he navigated city traffic, and headed in the direction of Gian’s penthouse. Gian, on the other hand, stewed in his fucking mess of emotions the entire way, alternating between glaring out the window, and hiding his clenched hands in his pockets.
He had paid his fines, and then gotten the hell out of the courthouse as fast as he possibly could. He feared that if he ran into Cara again, he wouldn’t have as much control the second time around. He thought it was very possible that he might just grab her, make her listen, and have her talk to him more than what she already had.
Gian was an idiot.
It was only the ringing of his phone that brought him out of his frustrated daze. He didn’t even bother to check the caller ID as he swiped the screen and then put it to his ear. The usual, causal Italian and French greeting he answered with was gone because of his current mood, leaving a rude bark in its place.
“What?” he snarled into the phone.
“Well, hello to you too, asshole.”
Gian’s anger kicked up a notch or two at his wife’s voice. “What do you want, Elena?”
“Rough day?”
“Do you care?”
“Not really,” she answered sweetly.
“Why are you calling me on a Tuesday?”
He wasn’t due back at the mansion until tomorrow evening, at the latest. He didn’t spend every day and evening there, if he could help it. Usually, he found excuses. As long as it appeared that he was in a relationship with his wife, then no one would bother to look too deeply into what was actually going on.
That was good enough for Gian.
As it was, this façade took enough work.
“Dinner, with my father. It’s coming up. He called, and wanted me to remind you.”
Fuck.
Gian’s irritation managed not to spill over into the phone when he said, “Great, anything else?”
“Nope.”
Wonderful.
He hung up without a goodbye, and didn’t feel guilty for it. After all, Elena would do the same for him.