Page 93 of Unraveled

If it was, she had already been doing this with Gian for months.

So why did it feel different now?

Why was it better?

“Again?” he asked, hovering over her on the bed.

Cara smiled, pushing up on her elbows to kiss his mouth that tasted like her. “I love you.”

Gian smirked. “Again?”

“Always.”

Gian found it was a strange feeling to have so many eyes watching him, waiting on him to speak. Like his words and his direction, was the only thing that mattered. Of course, he’d always been in some sort of position of power, regarding the mafia as an underboss. He always had some sort of control. His direction had always been followed when he had given it.

This didn’t feel entirely the same.

This was different, because his word had become law to these men. To them, there was no one above him, no one for them to look at to ensure the direction he was giving, the demands he was making, were the right ones. It was only his word, and his wants, that now mattered.

Before, Gian had not felt the heavy weight of that kind of responsibility on his shoulders where the men of his Cosa Nostra were concerned. He shared that weight between himself, his grandfather, and Edmond. He’d never fully understood how important it was to say the right thing, to make the right choice, the first time.

Maybe he had been spoiled in that way.

“As we expected, Edmond is not backing down,” Gian said. “But no one is surprised about that, right?”

None of the men answered, not that he expected them to.

It was their time to listen.

It was his time to talk.

“There’s only one thing to do now—push harder, put more pressure on him, on his men, on his territory—where ever the hell we need to, in order to get what we want. None of us should want a street war. As it is, we have too many bodies piling up. We have too much official attention. The police won’t leave us alone. The bigger problem is, neither will Edmond. He’s not going to back down, and we won’t either.”

Gian stopped his spiel long enough to take a drink from the server that approached his table. Two fingers of whiskey burned all the way down his throat as he drank it in one fast gulp. He probably should’ve sipped the drink, as it deserved, but he wasn’t in the mood. What he wanted, were quiet streets, compliant men, and Edmond in a grave.

Gian didn’t think he was asking for much.

However, if their lives were that simple, then everything would be a hell of a lot cleaner. And as the old saying went, nothing worth having would come easy.

It was his own fault for not being better prepared for this.

Gian only blamed himself for that.

He had spent too much time after Corrado’s death, stuck in his own problems, wandering around lost in his own world. Instead of handling the issue that was Edmond from the very beginning, Gian had let it fester. And now what had been a small wound, was a gaping, infected hole, eating away at his la famiglia.

“You could always hire someone to finish Edmond, if that’s what—”

Gian’s gaze cut to the Capo in the corner booth, and the action quieted the man instantly. “Like he did for my grandfather?”

Or, Gian still assumed that had been done by Edmond. He had no reason to believe otherwise, and the fool didn’t offer one.

“Well …”

“Say it. That’s what you mean.”

The Capo gave a single nod. “Fine, sì, that’s what I mean, boss. Consider what we might gain by ending it quicker.”

“In a coward’s way,” Gian said slowly. “A way that makes us the coward.”