Page 8 of Unraveled

Gian’s brow knotted together. “Pardon? He won’t go to his doctors for more than a checkup or a flu shot.”

Frederic glanced down the hall, behind Gian, as though he were looking for someone to be standing there. No one was. “He’s not going to tell you, if he didn’t tonight.”

“Tell me what?”

“That he’s not well. Some strange results showed up in his bloodwork. He went in a month ago to have another round of tests.”

“He didn’t tell me about any tests.”

His father sighed, tipping his glass higher for another sip. “I think he tells no one. I know because I’m the surviving son, I need to know.”

Gian didn’t like where this was going. “What is it, then? What’s wrong?”

“Colon cancer, it seems. Aggressive. He’s supposed to start treatment within the week, but you know how he is.”

Corrado wouldn’t put himself in any situation that would give another made man in the organization a chance to point at him and call him weak—unable. This would do that, entirely. But not getting aggressive treatment would mean certain death, wouldn’t it? If the cancer was already at an aggressive stage …

“Does it matter if he gets treatment?” Gian asked quietly.

Frederic’s gaze dropped to the floor. “It’ll give him a bit more time.”

“Be specific.”

“A year or two, with treatment. Six months, maybe, without.”

Fuck.

Fuck.

Gian grimaced as pain shot its way through his whole body all at once.

“I’m sorry, Gian,” Frederic murmured.

He loved his family. It was what Italians did.

But his grandfather?

It was far more than love. It was respect, and an adoration that had followed Gian since he had been a young boy under his grandfather’s feet. His relationship with his grandfather had always been different. Sometimes difficult, always strong, and never wavering.

“I … don’t know what to do,” Gian said lamely. “Do I bring it up to him or no?”

“It’s up to him, either way. He’s eighty-five; he’s old and wise enough to make this choice. Don’t ask him, or tell him you know, if he doesn’t bring it up to you first.”

“Yeah, I got it.”

He didn’t like it, but he understood. Apparently, like his grandfather, Gian was supposed to simply pretend nothing was wrong. And in six months, when it all went to shit, where would that leave him?

Gian didn’t know.

“Try to forget about it for the night. You’re young, Gian, and he knows that, which is probably why he didn’t want to upset you tonight. I’m not like him, though, and the longer you were made to wait before being told, the angrier you would be. Enjoy your time, deal with the rest another day.”

His father’s words seemed simple enough. That didn’t mean they would be easy to follow.

Gian bypassed the line at the front door of the new club—Danza—and went in through a back entrance where he had a man standing guard. He nodded a greeting to the enforcer as the man stepped aside, and held the metal door open.

“Busy, Raul?”

“Packed full, boss.”