Page 105 of Unraveled

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.