Page 115 of Entangled

Cara fixed her hat, tipping the wide brim down enough to hide half of her face. She let Gian lead them into the church, her mind on her son at the penthouse with his grandmother. Her presence at the funeral would be enough; no need to go adding their child’s intrusion, too.

Inside the church, Cara was acutely aware of the eyes that watched her. She didn’t talk unless greeted, and only to offer her condolences to Chris’s parents and younger brother, standing at his closed casket.

She had already met his mother and father once. It had taken a lot of begging on her part, but Gian took her down to Chris’s ICU room where he was kept alive on machines until his parents chose to pull the plug on their adult son. She wanted to thank him—for everything.

It was in that hospital room where Cara finally learned why Chris had always used miss when he spoke to her, and not her name. His father used it for each nurse, to the female doctors, to Gian’s mother, who kept watch on Marcus while they went inside, and to Cara.

Because respect is important.

Cara wanted to pay her respects and say goodbye because it was the very least she could do, after everything. Fuck anyone who thought she didn’t belong there like they did, simply because she was who she was.

“Are you okay?” Gian asked as they took a seat in a middle pew.

Cara let him tuck her in closer to his side. “I am, Gian.”

“But sad.”

Yes, sad.

The funeral wasn’t a big affair. Chris’s father spoke, as did his younger brother. A friend got up to read something, as well. The priest finished it all off. Then, the mourners headed to the private graveyard to bury Chris in the cool October ground, while colorful leaves fell all around.

Gian and Cara were some of the last to leave the graveyard. Cara noticed a few men—some she recognized, like her uncle—stayed close to Gian after the graveyard cleared out.

The limo pulled up, and Gian opened the back door for Cara to climb inside.

“I have a dinner,” he told her, “one I can’t miss today.”

Cara’s brow furrowed. “You didn’t say anything about that earlier.”

“Came up last minute. I can’t refuse, not if it’ll mean peaceful streets for a while.”

“Peaceful streets?”

“Chris wasn’t the only man buried today,” Gian said vaguely. “So, if this dinner will smooth over any possible problems with the new man in charge, I shouldn’t miss it.”

Cara quickly realized Gian was giving her a lot of information to take in, without actually saying a lot. She appreciated it.

“Okay, then I’ll see you back—”

“She isn’t going to show at the meet with the new Camorra boss, is she?” a voice called out from behind them. Gian tensed, scowling. Cara tried to look over his shoulder at the man making a scene over nothing. She recognized him as one of Gian’s men, but she didn’t know his name or how important he might be. “Wasn’t bringing your goomah here enough, boss? We don’t need to be rubbing her in their faces, too, considering.”

Gian leaned in, gave Cara a quick kiss on her lips, and then closed the limo door. Or, he tried. Cara kept it open, unsure of what was about to happen.

“Don’t drive off,” she told the driver, not taking her eyes off Gian as he stalked toward his man.

The guy didn’t even see Gian reaching inside his jacket. Or if he did, he didn’t have time to react. Gian pulled his gun from within his jacket, and then beat the man with it. He beat him until blood spilled, and the man was unconscious on the ground. He didn’t say one word while he did it. No one stepped in, either.

Then, as fast as that rage and violence had showed itself, Gian straightened to his full height, and it was gone. As though it had never been to begin with.

Cara, on the other hand, wasn’t quite sure what to do.

“Would anyone—anyone at all—like to revisit this conversation?” Gian’s bloodstained hands skillfully tucked the gun away. Not one man spoke up. “Good, then let’s move on.”

Yes, move.

That sounded like a great idea.

She closed the car door.