Page 22 of Cara & Gian: The Guzzi Duet

Cara came face to face with heartache. Gian looked like heartache.

“Gian?” she asked.

He stared at her for a moment, running a hand through the slightly-longer bit of dark hair at the top of his head. In his other hand, he held a cell phone.

“Rain check on the coffee, at least?” He tried to smile, but he ended up with a frown, anyway. “I know that’s not what you agreed to.”

“A rain check?” Cara asked faintly.

“I’ll call you a cab, if that’s all right. I have to head out.”

“Is something wrong?”

Cara knew better than to ask.

She should have taken this saving grace for what it was, and run with it. Whatever happened, it would get her out of Gian’s penthouse quicker than before, and maybe she could leave her strange feelings behind with it. A part of her didn’t really want that, though.

“My grandfather,” Gian said, glancing down at the phone in his hand, “was murdered this morning, when he stood in front of the terrace windows of the room he uses at my parents’ mansion. Sniper shot to the head—dead before he hit the ground—and he didn’t see it coming.”

Cara’s body grew cold all over. “I’m sorry.”

What else could she say?

She knew far too well how this life took and took and took, but rarely ever gave back.

“Rain check,” Gian repeated.

Cara nodded. “Rain check.”

Someday.

“A shame, that’s what it is. Dio. Rest his soul.”

Cara tried to brush off the mutterings of her uncle, but given the way her aunt passed her a false smile and rolled her eyes, this clearly wasn’t a first-time thing.

“It’s good to see you, dear,” Daniele said, taking Cara’s coat.

Constantino came into the house behind her, not even bothering to say hello. He passed his suit jacket off to his mother before she asked for it, and he disappeared down the hallway, likely heading for his father.

“Don’t mind the men this week—they’re a bit off,” her aunt muttered, shooting a glare in the direction her son had gone.

It had been three days since Cara spent the night with Gian Guzzi, and she had not heard a single word from him, about him, or his family. She had come home from school to find a message on her voice mail from her aunt, asking her over for dinner.

She knew what Daniele wanted, and while it irritated Cara to feed into the whims of others, she went. Her aunt meant no harm, she only wanted to check up on Cara and likely make sure she was still amongst the living.

“Food is nearly ready,” her aunt said, “so I hope you’re hungry.”

Cara almost asked if her aunt was going to report her state back to her mother, or even her brother, but thought better of it. No need to be rude to the only family she had left around, even if she would rather keep a distance, given her uncle and cousin’s involvement with the mafia.

“Sure, Zia,” Cara replied, “I’m starved.”

Then, her uncle’s voice boomed through the house again, making her aunt sigh heavily.

“But, Dad—”

“No one is saying anything, Constantino,” Claud complained. “No one knows who killed the boss, or who would even want to. No matter, Edmond and Gian will figure it out, and make whoever it was answer for what they’ve done.”

Gian.

It was the first time in three days that Cara heard his name.

Like his touch, it still made her shiver.