The first thing Gian noticed when he returned to the table was that Cara was absent. Right off the bat, that put him on edge. Constantino ate his food with heavy forkfuls, as though he didn’t have a problem, while Stephan picked at his plate and chatted away on his cell phone.
“Where’s Cara?” Gian asked.
He didn’t even bother to sit down.
Constantino shrugged. “She left.”
“Say that again.”
It didn’t even come out as a question.
His friend let out a heavy sigh, dropping his fork to his plate with a loud clatter. “I said, she left, Gian.”
Gian reached for the cell phone in his suit jacket, but hesitated before pulling it out. “And why the hell would she leave, exactly?”
Constantino made a dismissive noise under his breath, going back to his meal. “She didn’t like what she was told, I suppose.”
What. The. Fuck.
Gian sincerely hoped this was not another incident like he’d had with Constantino at the hospital, but it was looking worse and worse by the second. “I’m going to give you ten seconds to explain what in the fuck that means before I drag your ass out of this restaurant and beat you fucking senseless.”
Made men didn’t fight.
It was a rule.
Gian no longer cared for that particular rule.
Especially not when Cara was involved.
Stephan cleared his throat, dragging Gian’s attention to him for the moment. The man quickly said goodbye to whoever he was speaking to on his cell phone, hung it up, and put it in his pocket. Standing from the table, Stephan dropped his napkin down and pulled money from his wallet, letting it fall by his glass of water.
“And where are you going?” Gian asked.
Stephan jerked his head in Constantino’s direction. “As much as I like this stupid fuck, sometimes he goes too far.”
“Hey—”
“You do,” Stephan interrupted Constantino. “There are things you need to not talk about, or give your opinion, and a guy’s girl is one of them.”
“Is that where you stand on the line for this?” Constantino asked.
Stephan nodded sharply. “You’re damn right it is. Call me when you get yourself straightened out, Constantino. And make sure you apologize. Even if it is Gian.”
Gian let that barely-hidden insult brush off his shoulders, but only because he had one fucking idiot to deal with for the moment, and he wasn’t in the mood to handle two. Besides, Stephan never made an effort to hide his dislike of Gian, in the grand scheme of things. Constantino, on the other hand, had been doing some pretty underhanded shit that left Gian fucking unsettled.
Like whatever this was.
“My apologies,” Stephan said as he passed Gian by to leave.
Gian let him go, never budging an inch, even when Constantino went back to eating his food again. That only irritated the shit out of Gian more.
“Sit, eat,” Constantino demanded. “We’ll talk this out. I fucked up, big deal. It happens.”
Gian didn’t sit. “How did you fuck up, though?”
“She mentioned running into Frankie.” Constantino waved a hand as if to dismiss what he was about to say next. “I might have mentioned that it doesn’t look good on our family to have her running around with you, doing what she’s doing, like she is. Just like it didn’t look good when Lea was involved with Frankie a while back.”
Gian bristled all over. “And you think this is even remotely the same?”
Constantino, stone-faced and dry-toned, said, “It’s exactly the same.”
“You’re wrong.”
“No, I’m not, and I’m within my rights to say so, if I want to. She’s a woman of my family, regardless of where her brother is. So, who gives a shit if her father is dead, and her brother is too busy finishing out a war in Chicago to look after his sister’s business? I’ll speak for them—what you’ve done with my cousin is a fucking shame, Gian.”
“You’re way out of line,” Gian murmured, forcing himself to keep his tone level.
“You know I’m not. Fact is, Cara is now good for what you’ve used her for, and very little fucking else, man. That’s the sad part. Nobody else will ever look at her and think, shit, wife material or anything of the sort. You’ve ruined that, and I don’t even think she knows.”
“Constantino, I warned you once, didn’t I? I warned you—friends or not—I would fucking hurt you, if you spoke badly about Cara again.”
Constantino dropped his fork again, standing from the table and moving to stand toe-to-toe with Gian. Neither man moved a muscle, neither looking away from the other. It took every ounce of willpower Gian had left in his body to keep his hands down at his sides, clenched into tight fists he was ready to throw.
“What’s worse, Gian, is when you are boss at the end of all this, when it’s all said and done, she won’t matter. Not for more than what you’ve already used her for, and maybe even for less. She won’t be allowed to matter. No whore—”
Gian was pretty fucking sure he broke a knuckle on impact of punching Constantino in his ignorant, disrespectful fucking face. He barely felt the pain, and since he felt like one punch wasn’t good enough, he landed another two, back-to-back, sending his friend sprawling to the floor of the restaurant.
Constantino wasn’t knocked out, but he was pretty damn close. Gian figured that had been enough to make his point—he didn’t need to do more, not when the guy was now bleeding and groaning on his back like an idiot.
Gian checked his knuckle.
Not broken.
Dislocated.
He gritted his teeth, and reset the knuckle as he heard a server approach from behind. With a single wave, the server retreated. One of the many benefits of owning the place, he supposed.
Bending down, Gian turned Constantino’s head to make the man look at him. “I warned you, man. I won’t be doing it again. We’re done. You mean less than shit to me at this point. And unless you pull your head out of your fucking ass and work out a damn good apology for this one, you’re going to remain that way. It doesn’t matter to me, one way or the other.”
Constantino laughed hoarsely. “Just tell her the truth, Gian. See what she says.”
“There’s nothing to tell.”
Gian knocked on Cara’s apartment door, ignoring the pain that bloomed in his swollen, bruised knuckle. She hadn’t answered his calls as he’d left the restaurant, or the ones that he’d made on the drive over. A quick check with Chris, who had been designated to follow Cara for safety reasons again, had confirmed that she was at home.
Chris didn’t have more information to offer, though.
“Cara, open the door,” Gian said quietly. “I know you’re here, mon ange.”
Silence answered him back. He understood why. It still hurt like hell. He’d take ten dislocated knuckles over her rejection. Funny, how love worked that way.
Gian knocked again. “Cara.”
“Did you know that in Italian, cara means dear?”
Her quiet question filled him with a sense of relief. She hadn’t opened the door, but it was a start. Gian would take it.
“Of course, I know,” Gian said. “Mia bella cara, amore.”
He heard the lock unlatch on the door a second before Cara slowly pulled it open. She stood on the other side, the apartment’s darkness shadowing her in the hallway light. She had lost the dress from earlier, and the heels, too. Clean-faced, any makeup had been removed, and she’d tossed her wild hair up into a messy bun. An over-sized T-shirt fell at her mid-thigh, and she looked ready for bed.
“I’m sorry I left without at least waiting for you,” she said, crossing her arms under her breasts and staring off to the side. “I got angry and I only wanted to leave. So I did.”
“It’s fine.”
Or, it was now.
Gian understood why. He had simply reacted in a different way than Cara had, perhaps a less than proper way, considering his status. Even Cara had walked away when she was offended, Gian had definitely not.
“I’m sorry for whatever it was that Constantino said to you,” Gian said. “He has no business putting his opinions in where they’re neither wanted, nor warranted. And trust that he absolutely knows that, now.”
Cara nodded. “Sure.”
“You don’t sound sure, sweetheart.”
She looked up at him, sadness coloring her blue eyes. “Did he have a point, though?”
“No, absolutely not.”
“Really? Because if he feels the need to say that running around with you looks bad on me, and if my uncle felt the need to warn me away from you, then why not think something is wrong with it? And what is it that’s so wrong? I don’t understand. I’m not doing anything wrong, am I?”
“No,” Gian rushed to say. “There’s nothing wrong with this—with us. There never has been. Some people have their opinions because they’re stuck in a different time, with different rules. Women should do as they’re told, as they’re expected to do, and not what they want to do. I’m not of that mindset, Cara.”
She frowned.
Her sadness hurt him as badly as her silence.
“And who the fuck cares about those people, anyway?” Gian asked. “I sure as hell don’t. I only concern myself with what you think and feel, not them. They get no say in this or us. None at all.”
“Then why did I let what someone else thought bother me so fucking much?”
“Because you’re allowed to have feelings, Cara. You’re allowed to demand respect from other human beings. No one has any right to make you feel less than them, especially when they don’t know who you are in your heart. They don’t know you. Not like I do.”
“You really do know the right things to say.”
“I say the truth, love.”
Gian stepped forward, opening his arms to test the waters. Cara gave him one of her small, sweet smiles before letting him wrap her in his embrace. Slowly, he walked her backward enough that he could kick the door closed behind him. Tangling his hand into her soft curls, he tilted her head back far enough to steal a kiss from her pretty mouth.
“Anyone who even thinks to breathe a bad word about you in my direction deserves every fucking thing they get,” Gian told her, his calm voice belying his inner rage that had finally simmered a bit. “You’re mine, Cara. I love you. Nothing else matters.”
It was shocking to him in that moment how savage and brutal his love could be. That, without care or consideration, he would willingly and happily hurt someone he thought of as a friend simply because they had hurt her. The possessiveness that nearly always filled him whenever Cara was too far away was suddenly settled when she was in his arms, and his restlessness finally drifted away when he could touch her again.
This wasn’t wrong.
He wasn’t going to let her, or anyone else, say otherwise.
“Fuck,” Gian snarled, pulling his mouth away from Cara’s as she laughed. “I’m going to kill whoever that is.”
“No, you won’t.”
The persistent knocking on her apartment door had effectively cock-blocked him in the worst way. He had just gotten her out of bed, and ready to sit down and eat something—a feat in itself, where Cara and mornings were concerned. He thought a nice fuck on the kitchen table would be a reward for his good deed before breakfast, but apparently, that wasn’t going to be the case.
Cara pushed Gian away, and jumped off the table, pulling the over-sized shirt down her thighs a bit more. “It’s probably Chris.”
Gian’s gaze narrowed. “You don’t know that.”
“No one else visits me. And I know he’s trailing me again. You’re not as smooth as you think, Gian.”
“Never mind, you.” He swatted her ass with a firm pat, sending her flying into the living room with a giggle. “Cover up with something. You’re indecent.”
“You pulled me out of bed this way!”
“Yes, for me. Not for the neighbors.”
Cara stuck her tongue out at him, but still pulled an afghan blanket over her lower half as Gian headed for the door. A quick check through the peephole confirmed Cara’s theory. Chris waited behind the door, his gaze trained on something down the hall.
Gian pulled it open with a scowl. “Do you not know how to use a fucking phone, or what?”
Chris barely blinked in the face of Gian’s rage. “Did I interrupt your morning—”
“Finish that statement.”
The enforcer grinned instead.
The fucker.
“What do you want?” Gian demanded.
Chris held up the item in his hands; a brown box, taped across the top, though the tape had been sliced through and it looked as though it had been opened. “This was delivered to me this morning by a friend, of sorts.”
Gian eyed the box. “What friend?”
“One of Edmond’s enforcers that knew I was more likely to question him first, before shooting. I suspect that’s why the old fucker sent him over.”
Well, then.
Gian took the box, looking over the cut tape again. “Why did you open it, if you were told it was meant for me?”
“One bomb is quite enough for you, don’t you think?” Chris asked quietly. “I didn’t go through the contents, only cut and opened to make sure nothing was waiting to go boom.”
Gian wasn’t the least bit surprised that Chris had chosen to take the risk of opening the box himself before handing it over to his boss. It was that length of loyalty that made Gian appreciate the man even more.
“Thank you,” Gian said.
Chris nodded once. “And I am sorry about, you know, interrupting. If I did.”
Gian scowled again. “Yeah, you did.”
“Sorry, boss.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
With a quick goodbye, Gian closed the door on his man, and headed back for the table. Cara seemed distracted by whatever was on the television, and Gian used that time to his advantage. He pulled open the top of the brown box—no bigger than a shoebox—and emptied out the contents. A small memory card rested on top of a tablet, and photographs fell across the table.
A small, hand-written note fell out last.
A gift, it read. This has gone on long enough, Gian. Here is what you’ve been looking for, and it’s time to end the rest. –Edmond
Gian’s gaze scoured the photos first.
Constantino.
A man Gian didn’t recognize.
He distinguished quickly enough from the images that a trade of sorts was happening—money exchanged hands in the darkness of an alley, and that was it. A few other pictures, taken in the daylight, showed Constantino having multiple meetups with several younger Capos, and even a few of the older ones.
That might not have been such a bad thing, but it unsettled Gian. It bothered him because Constantino had no reason—no business—to be running between Capo to Capo, not when he had his own territory and crew to manage. The dates on the photographs showed Gian that all of those meets had happened before Corrado’s murder.
Gian glanced over at the couch, seeing Cara was still lost in the television. He plugged the memory card into the side of the tablet and turned it on. He put the volume on low as he scrolled through the images and the one video that loaded from the card. More photos of Constantino showed up, although these showcased him visiting Edmond.
Gian tensed all over as he pressed play on the one video the card held.
A video of Claud Rossi lit up the screen, taken off to the side, slightly grainy, but still distinctive enough for Gian to discern who was in the room with Constantino’s father. Edmond, and Matthew, the new boss’s consigliere.
“He’s gotten himself mixed up in some kind of shit this time,” Claud said.
“Do tell,” Edmond urged.
“I think Constantino’s found himself over his head. Maybe he overheard me talking to my wife that the boss seemed unwell, or something. He jumped off my radar a lot more often than he usually does, and I took notice.”
“Me, too,” Edmond said. “Or rather, he was close to Gian. I needed to keep an eye on everyone close to him for a while.”
“I didn’t want to speculate.”
“But you did.”
“I can’t have my son hiding things from me in this business, not in this life of ours,” Claud muttered heavily. “It makes for dangerous things. I followed him, sometimes, and noticed he was trailing Gian some days, others he was off on his own. I started looking around, asking some questions to the men in the crew. A few pointed me in the direction of the kind of business Constantino had been asking about.”
“What kind of business?”
“A hired man.”
Gian’s chest tightened painfully at what he was hearing. He didn’t want to believe it, but certain things—his old friend’s behaviors over the last few months—had left him with a bitter taste in his mouth.
“That’s not all, though,” Edmond said. “After Corrado, I was having a lot of the men watched, because everybody knew that kill came from the inside. I wanted to know who. I owed it to Corrado because, like him, I didn’t see it coming until it was too late.”
Claud shifted on his chair. “And what did you find, boss?”
“He had the bomb planted on Gian’s car. I got photos of the meets and the payment exchanging hands. It speaks for itself.”
“Gian is his friend.”
“Gian is his way to the top,” Edmond corrected with a shrug. “Gian was not making the moves that perhaps Constantino felt he should be after Corrado’s murder, and so, I believe he thought to simply push Gian in the direction he wanted.”
“As in, he didn’t mean to kill him, only knock him down for a bit.”
“So he would get up swinging.” Edmond chuckled. “Frankly, no one knows Gian better than Constantino, if you think about it. Maybe he knew exactly how to push to get what he wanted.”
Edmond had a good point, as much as Gian hated to admit it. Constantino had, on more than one occasion, made comments about Gian’s habits. Like always using his car starter to start his vehicle in the winter, even though it was hard on the engines to do so in the freezing cold weather.
“And if he had fucked up?” Edmond considered out loud. “Well, then I suppose Constantino probably thought of Gian as fodder. He would still get what he wanted, in a way. A war between the younger and older generations that would open up seats all the way across the board.”
“What do I do now?” Claud asked. “He’s my son.”
“He’s a made man,” Edmond replied just as fast. “And because of that, you’ll let him answer as one, no matter who demands their retribution. That’s how made men have always done this—it’s how we always will.”
Gian shut off the tablet.
He had never agreed more with something Edmond said.
He never would again.