I’m coming over, don’t take any of that off.
Cara stared at Gian’s final text message, and then the one she had sent to him right after. I’m not home right now, at dinner with my aunt.
The reason it had taken her so long to send him the picture that he wanted—as he was quick to point out when she had finally sent it—was because she was in a rush. Her aunt had called last minute to invite her over for dinner, and as much as she wanted to say no, Cara wasn’t very good at doing it.
She’d taken the picture for Gian before she’d thrown on a suitable black dress to match the stockings and heels. Then, she forgot to actually send it until the taxi dropped her off at her aunt’s home.
Nonetheless, Gian hadn’t answered her reply back.
That wasn’t like him.
Cara didn’t actually spend a lot of time on the phone with him, as far as that went, but when she did, Gian never wasted time on replying. His texts were always an instant response to hers, never leaving her waiting.
It left her with an odd feeling.
Cara shot off another text when her aunt’s back was turned, asking Gian what in the hell was up. She stuffed the phone into her clutch before her aunt could see her with it when she turned back around.
Daniele gave Cara another once-over, her gaze lingering on the very short length of the black dress. It fell high on her thighs, enough so that the lace at the top of the thigh-high stockings were visible.
“Were you going out tonight?” her aunt asked.
Cara shrugged. “Nope.”
It wasn’t a total lie.
She hadn’t expected to be leaving a bed, after all.
“You wear outfits like that on regular nights at home?”
“I grabbed the first black dress I saw—it was a bit short. It still worked.”
“A bit short,” her aunt echoed.
Cara held back the urge to roll her eyes. At twenty-five, she was not about to go explaining her attire, or the reasons for it, to anyone. And certainly not her aunt. “Anyway, what’s for supper?”
Maybe if she got the hell out of there as soon as possible, she could salvage some of her night. With Gian, preferably. If she could get a hold of him.
“Food,” her aunt replied with a wink. “Food you will eat and enjoy.”
Well, that was that.
Thirty minutes later, a rigatoni dish soaked in thick, rich sauce was shoved in front of Cara’s face. Across the table, her uncle stuffed a cloth napkin into the collar of his shirt as he waited for Daniele to give him a plate, too.
“It’s good to see you around more,” Claud said.
Cara wasn’t quite sure how to respond to that. “It’s been a rough few months.”
“Yes, but it’s better not to wallow. When things can’t be changed, you move on. Capisce?”
“Yeah, I got it.”
She didn’t agree.
But that was an argument for another day.
It was only after Daniele had served her husband, and then herself, did she sit down at the other end of the long table. Her aunt said the usual dinner prayer, giving thanks and asking for a blessing from above, before they could even touch the food. It was one of the few things Cara had a hard time with—the blessing, not the actual act of praying. Even through her parents’ drunken stupors when she was younger, they never forgot to go to church, make Cara and Lea, and Tommas say their prayers at night, or ask for a blessing when her mother managed to remember to cook food.
Maybe that was it; maybe it was that God had been the thing her parents chose to hold onto, even through their years of addiction, and not the three people they had brought into the world.
Cara really didn’t like to think about it.
“All right, let’s eat,” her uncle demanded.
His booming voice brought Cara from her depressing thoughts. For once, she was grateful for Claud’s loud demeanor.
Cara was a quarter of the way through her aunt’s pasta dish when the home’s landline started ringing. Claud waved at his wife to go pick it up, clearly not wanting to be taken away from his food. Daniele shot him a dirty look as she tossed her napkin to the table and headed for the sound of the ringing phone.
Thirty seconds later, Daniele shouted. “Claud!”
Cara stood from the table at the same time her uncle did. Panic had laced her aunt’s yell. She quickly followed behind her uncle, watching as Daniele passed the phone over with wide eyes and worry setting her lips into a hard frown.
“What is it?” Cara asked her aunt.
Daniele acted as though she hadn’t heard the question.
Claud spoke fast—and in Italian—into the phone. As it were, Cara’s Italian was a bit too rough around the edges, and she had an even harder time keeping up when someone was speaking quickly.
But she did manage to catch a few words she knew mixed in.
Gian.
Autobomba.
Ospedale.
The name of the hospital was repeated, too.
Claud hung up the phone before Cara had even realized what happened. He waved a hand wildly at his wife. “My keys, get me my damn keys, donna.”
Cara didn’t move as her aunt rushed by her. “Gian is at a hospital?”
“What?” Claud’s gaze snapped to Cara, but just as quickly, he dropped the stare and headed for the front of the house. Cara followed right behind. “It’s none of your concern, Cara. Enjoy dinner with Daniele; keep her company for tonight.”
No.
She refused to relent, her heart beating hard in her chest. “Is that why he didn’t message me back earlier? A car bomb, that’s what I heard you say.”
Claud froze as he tried to put on his jacket. “Why are you even conversing with Gian Guzzi?”
“Because I’m a grown woman and I want to. Why won’t you answer my questions?”
“Because I’m not required to,” her uncle growled.
Cara straightened like a rod had been shoved up her spine, the familiar sense of being a woman in a man’s world creeping into her mind again. This was how it always was for the women in this life—told to turn cheek, shut up, and behave when it counted. She hated that the very most.
“Let me give you a piece of advice, Cara,” Claud said, finally slipping his jacket on properly. “You’re right, it isn’t my place to tell you who you can and can’t be running around with, now that your father is dead and your brother has the say over you, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t still listen when you are told. My brother—your father—would tell you the same damn thing. Stay the hell away from Gian Guzzi, before you end up in a world of trouble that you don’t want and can’t handle.”
“Aren’t you a part of that world, too?” Cara shot back.
“You have no idea, do you?” Claud’s eyes blazed. “Stay the hell away from the man, Cara.”
“I want to go to the hospital.”
“No. Not with me, anyhow.”
Her uncle didn’t even give her a second look before he went in search of his wife and his keys. Cara had already called a cab before Claud slammed the front door on his way out.
Fuck him.
She would do what she wanted.
Cara stepped out of the taxi after getting her credit card back from the driver, and stared up at the bright lights of the emergency room of one of Toronto’s largest hospitals. She tried to stay away from hospitals—and this one in particular—as it reminded her a lot of Lea. Her twin had wanted to be a general surgeon, and had been a year away from starting her residency, when she died. Another dream cut far too short.
Letting out a slow breath, Cara shook off the unease and headed toward the emergency entrance. Her uncle had about ten minutes on her, so she assumed Claud would already be inside and doing his own thing by the time she figured out exactly where Gian was situated. Maybe he would even be gone by then, and that would be even better for her. Claud would be less likely to make a scene with others around, if he happened upon Cara.
She didn’t even make it inside.
“Cara?”
Constantino stepped out of the shadows, a lit cigarette dangling from his fingertips. The cherry-red tip glowed as he came closer. “What are you doing here?”
Why couldn’t anything be easy for her?
“Did your dad get here already?” she asked her cousin.
“Five minutes, or so, ago. He left right after. Now, answer me.”
Cara tightened the belt on her tweed coat, willing away the cold. “Take a guess.”
Constantino cocked a brow. “You probably shouldn’t be here.”
“Someone already tried to tell me that tonight. Try something new.”
“How did you hear about the bomb?”
So it was a bomb.
Cara tried not to let that word frighten her too much, but it was hard. “I overheard Claud’s phone call. Gian was supposed to come over, but I was already heading out. He hadn’t answered my message, telling him I was already gone.”
Constantino blew out a hard breath. “Don’t go around saying that too loud.”
“Saying what?”
“Nothing,” her cousin muttered. “It’s been a long night. Gian’s already discharged, anyway. He’s not even here, and he’s chilling out where he can’t be bothered.”
Cara stood firm. “I want to see him.”
“Yeah—”
“And why isn’t he answering his phone?”
“Kinda got smashed on the way down to the pavement, and yeah,” Constantino said. “Why don’t you head home, and I’ll let him know you were here.”
Nope.
“I want to see him,” she repeated.
Constantino scowled. “Since when did you become so fucking irritating and stubborn? Weren’t you supposed to be the quiet twin?”
Cara couldn’t quite let those comments roll off her shoulders. “You don’t know shit about me. Don’t pretend like you do, Constantino.”
“Clearly.”
“Take me to Gian.”
Her cousin shook his head. “Fine. Whatever.”
The very moment Cara laid eyes on Gian from across the club’s floor, a swift relief coursed through her system. It was a feeling she hadn’t quite experienced before, and she didn’t know what to do about it. She hadn’t realized that from the second she heard bomb uttered alongside Gian’s name, fear had put her back in robot mode.
She’d gone back to that black space in her mind. Things moved around her, she did what was needed, and went through the motions of life amongst the living, but Cara wasn’t really there. Not entirely. Not like she should be.
You’re catching feelings for someone you shouldn’t, her mind taunted. And for no good fucking reason.
Cara ignored her inner voice, her attention snagged entirely by the man across the floor. His gaze caught hers, and time stopped as he smiled. Even surrounded by a group full of men, all chatting with drinks in front of them, Gian looked at her and smiled.
A reddish discoloration marred his right cheek, up to his temple, but other than that, Cara couldn’t see any visible issues that should be a cause for concern. Then again, she wasn’t close enough to tell.
“Wait here,” Constantino demanded.
She glared at her cousin’s back as he crossed the club floor to the sectioned-off table where Gian was currently seated with the other men. Constantino bent down, said something, and then nodded quickly. That was it, and her cousin took the seat that Gian vacated not a blink in time later.
The club was hot as hell, so Cara pulled off her coat as Gian crossed the space between them, and hung it over her arm. She tried to shake off the lingering anxiety, and seem like everything was fine, but she couldn’t quite do it as he came to a stop in front of her.
“You’re not who I expected to see showing up here tonight,” Gian said.
Cara shifted from one foot to the other. “You didn’t answer me back.”
“Something happened to my phone.”
“Something like a bomb?”
Gian shrugged one shoulder. “I mean, we can do details, but it won’t help all that much.”
Cara sighed, trying hard not to meet his gaze. If she did, he would surely see all the crazy worry swimming in her mind, and he would know that she actually cared. Cara didn’t know if she wanted to go down that road with Gian, quite yet.
“Shouldn’t you be in the hospital?” she asked quietly.
Gian lifted his arms, and turned slowly as if to let her look him over. “Mild concussion, which means no sleep tonight. I can’t hear all that great out of my right ear, but there’s no lasting damage. I’ve got a bruised kidney, but I only need one, anyway.”
Cara shook her head in disbelief. “Lucky.”
“Some people do say the Guzzi blood is made of nothing but gold, luck, and dirt.”
“Who are these people?”
He only grinned.
Cara finally met his gaze then, holding firm. “So, a club is where you decided to come after you get released from the hospital then? Not … home, or—”
“To you.”
His voice turned lower, cool and curious at the same time.
“You don’t have to come to me. That’s not what I meant or what I said.”
“But would you have liked me to?” Gian asked.
Cara reached up to ghost her fingertips along the discoloration on his cheek and temple. “That looks like it hurts.”
“Not a lot. Answer my question.”
“Why a club?” she asked instead.
“Dio, you are difficult when you want to be. Do you know that?”
Cara smiled. “I’ve been told. Why a club?”
Gian gestured over his shoulder. “Someone thought I needed a drink, I couldn’t refuse, given a lot of the shit that’s happened over the past few weeks with the family. I’ve got enough problems, without making a certain group feel like I’m shunning them.”
“I don’t understand a word you said.”
“Yeah, I know, but I like that you’re not all that interested in those semantics of my life, anyway.”
Cara let out a shaky exhale, and dropped his gaze. “This—tonight—freaked me out a little bit.”
“I can tell. You didn’t have to come running, though. I was fine, as far as that goes.”
“I was gone before I even knew what was happening, so …”
Gian chuckled.
That was all Cara got—one of his husky laughs—before he grabbed her waist, pulled her in close, and kissed her fast. The bruising force of his mouth crashing against hers took her breath away, and all that remaining fear and worry stopped, just like that. His hands slid up her sides and cupped under her jaw while his tongue darted into her mouth and gave her a taste of the bourbon he’d been drinking.
Cara felt dazed-like, when Gian finally pulled away.
Breathless.
Stupid.
Spun.
“I knew this would look good,” he said.
“Huh?”
His thumbs slid down over her throat, hooking under the delicate lace of the black choker he had sent to her the day before. “This here, it looks perfect, mon ange.”
“It does have a certain appeal,” she admitted.
“There was a white one—”
“Gian.”
“But this one matches those stockings you’re wearing, anyway,” he said, never missing a beat.
Cara rolled her eyes. “So, hey, if you’re good here with … your friends, then I’ll head out. I don’t need to be here, and you’ve got my number.”
“I am good,” he said, “and so are they, so how about—”
“Lea?”
Cara froze in Gian’s warm hands like ice water had been poured down her spine. Gian, too, stiffened, his hands tightening to her neck at the quiet call of a name Cara rarely heard spoken anymore. She didn’t think it was random, not with the way the man posed the question over Gian’s shoulder, or the way Gian’s gaze turned cold and hard in an instant.
A beat of time passed, and then another.
Cara’s breath felt painful in those moments.
Gian moved to her side, his arm snaking around her waist. Cara faced the well-dressed man, who looked to be around the same age as Gian. Clean-cut, fresh-faced, and good-looking. He certainly wasn’t anything to scoff at, and whoever he was, he looked like he recognized her.
“Frankie,” Gian said, his smile belying the coolness in his voice. “I don’t think you’ve met Cara Rossi, have you?”
The man—Frankie—suddenly appeared as though he had taken a punch to the gut.
“My bad,” Frankie said, offering Cara a fleeting smile. “Constantino wanted to know if you were going to head out, Gian.”
“Sì, I think I am.”
Frankie nodded. “All right, have a good—”
“Why did you call me Lea?” Cara asked.
“You’re mistaken,” Frankie murmured. Then, he gave another nod to Gian. “Later, boss.”
He was gone before Cara could question him again, but Gian wasn’t.
“Come on, let’s go,” Gian said, turning them both and directing them toward the front of the club. “My place is closer, if that’s okay.”
“Whatever,” Cara replied. “Why did he call me Lea?”
“I don’t know.”
Gian was lying.
Cara could hear it in his voice.
“Gian.”
“Some people in my circles knew Lea from being around, so maybe—”
“No, he sounded like he was in pain when he said it,” Cara argued. “That’s not a passing friend, Gian.”
“Just drop it, bella. It’s not important.”
She didn’t think so.
“Why are you lying?”
“I’m not,” Gian said.
“I think you—”
Cara suddenly found herself yanked down a hallway behind Gian, and pulled into what looked to be a storage room of some sort. She didn’t even have time to ask him what in the hell he was doing, before his lips were on hers again, taking away her words, thoughts, and breath.
“I didn’t tell you how much I liked this dress, did I?” Gian asked.
Cara’s head fell back against the closed door. “No.”
“I do, I like it a lot.”
“Who was that guy, Gian?”
“Nobody important.”
“Gian.”
He either wasn’t listening, or he wasn’t hearing Cara. As his hands slid up under the short skirt of her dress, and he lowered to his knees, Cara couldn’t decide if she really gave a shit in that moment.
“Yes, I really like it. And the length is perfect, because it takes nothing to get it up,” Gian muttered.
Hot.
Sinful.
Teasing.
That damn mouth of his was all of those things. And it was the only thing Cara focused on, as Gian dragged her panties down her thighs and his mouth was on her pussy. He had a wicked tongue with more talent than most men had in their entire bodies. He sucked on her clit, his tongue drove fast into the little nub right after, and she couldn’t see straight.
“Holy shit,” Cara gasped.
Distractions, she thought.
That’s what he was doing.
Distracting her.
Fuck.
It was a good distraction.
Sleepy-eyed, Cara leaned in the doorway of the small gym, and tried to get some of the sleep out of her head. Gian didn’t seem to notice her presence as his speed on the treadmill picked up from a jog to a thirty-second sprint before it shut off. He didn’t even give himself time to breathe before he moved off the machine, and headed to the bar for a set of a dozen chin-ups.
Cara had no idea where this man got his energy.
But shit, it was a beautiful thing to watch.
The power, his body’s lines, and the way he focused in on his task … it was all rather beautiful.
Gian dropped to the floor once his chin-ups were finished, and reached for a waiting water bottle and hand towel. Cara let him relax before she cleared her throat to make her presence known to him.
He flashed her one of his signature grins as he came close enough to press a kiss to the top of her head. “Morning.”
“How long have you been awake?”
“Most of the night,” he answered.
“The concussion, I forgot.”
“You didn’t need to be staying up with me, anyway. Beauty sleep.”
Cara scoffed. “You do see me, right? Because nothing about this screams beauty at the moment.”
Her hair was wild. Her eyes were sleepy. She had shoved on his forgotten dress shirt instead of her clothes because it was easier. She needed coffee, food, and a shower, and then she might be half presentable to the public.
Gian’s hand tangled into her messy hair as he brought her closer for a kiss to her cheek. “Shut up and take the compliment, Cara.”
Well, then …
“Fine, but I’m all fucked-out, so don’t think you’re getting laid for that one this morning.”
His laughter came out dark and heady, waking Cara up even more. “Fucked-out, that’s a new one.”
“I need more time being awake to properly converse like a real human.”
“Well, let’s get some food in you and then see how you feel,” Gian said.
Cara followed behind him as he headed toward his penthouse’s kitchen. “Now is probably the best time to ask this, then, huh?”
“Ask what, Cara?”
“Who that guy—Frankie—was last night, and why he called me Lea.”
Gian’s steps came to a full stop.
Cara damn near ran into his back.
Slowly, he turned to face her, his amusement from earlier gone entirely. “You’re not going to drop that, are you?”
“As much as I like you on your knees, eating my pussy like it’s the last thing you’re ever going to taste, no, that’s not going to work today. If that’s what you meant to say.”
Gian’s lips pressed into a thin, unimpressed line. “Cara—”
“I dealt with the distraction last night. Try the truth today, please.”
“I don’t know a lot about it.”
“Tell me what you do know, Gian.”
He crossed his arms, and Cara matched his posture in the hallway. She wasn’t moving a damn inch until he started talking. Simple as that.
“Sometimes, Frankie runs in the same circles as me, but we’re not friends, not like Constantino and I are. But like I said, sometimes we run into one another. As far as I know, from passing mentions or seeing them out, Frankie went out with Lea for a while a year back or so. Those were the few times I actually saw her or came in contact with her.”
“Like a few dates, or …?”
“I think it was more than that,” Gian admitted, “but I can’t say for sure, and there’s certain things men don’t ask each other in this business, when women are brought around.”
Cara’s brow furrowed. “I don’t understand. Lea didn’t have a boyfriend before she died, and even before that, there was no one she talked about.”
Sure, her sister went out and did her own thing. Lea had a social life that didn’t include Cara a lot of the time, because she wasn’t into that sort of thing. But a man? A boyfriend, for months? Cara didn’t think so.
“As far as I know, it ended a couple of months before Lea died,” Gian said with a shrug. “I only know that because … well, because I do.”
“Because why?”
Gian scowled. “Because Frankie got married to the broad that ended up pregnant with his kid; he married her, and it was the right thing to do. That’s what a man is expected to do when he knocks a woman up—marry her as soon as possible. I don’t know the personal details because that shit is private. I know what was presented to me like it was to everyone else.”
Cara suddenly felt like someone had sucked all the air out of her chest. “What?”
“Sometimes, it’s better to drop things, Cara.”
“Did Lea know he was running around with someone else?”
Gian barely blinked. “Maybe it didn’t make a difference to her at the time.”
It did to Cara.
It was all the same to her.
She thought her twin would have felt the same.
“I think I want to go home,” Cara muttered.
Gian didn’t even try to convince her to stay.
Cara needed to think.
She couldn’t do that with Gian around.