It was possible to be entirely alone in a room full of people.
Gian Guzzi had never had that experience before, but now it was all too common. He had wrongly assumed that taking the highest seat in his Cosa Nostra family would leave him with very little time to consider or wallow about his personal problems, but that couldn’t be further from the truth.
Already, it was August. A hot, humid summer month that Gian had planned to spend with someone else, ignoring the heat as best he could. Three months had passed since his last encounter with Cara Rossi, but not a single fucking day went by where he wasn’t reminded of her in some way.
Part of that was by his own hand, of course.
Being a boss, on the other hand, forced Gian to keep his personal issues quiet. He certainly couldn’t afford to let the men around him think that he was distracted by his emotions, never mind a woman that he could no longer have. He needed for them to think that at all times, he was on his very best game, no matter what.
Duty first.
Legacy second.
And only then, love.
Gian finally understood what his grandfather, Corrado, had been trying to tell him for years. He had assumed that it was a sacrifice all made men needed to make for the sake of la famiglia, but he was wrong.
Only the boss made that sacrifice.
Cosa Nostra had to be his one constant. He had to breathe the business. He had to bleed the life. He was the one who was expected to repeat the rules and enforce them. He was the only one who was looked to when something needed to be heard. His voice spoke for everyone.
That was what a good boss did. Then, if he did his job well, the boss’s men would never know that he was just like them, affected and ruined by silly things like love and a woman.
Duty. Legacy. Love.
Always in that order.
Always.
Oh, yes.
Gian understood those words perfectly well now.
It was better to listen to the people around him, let them talk, and then form his own opinions and give orders from what he learned. He learned that quickly enough as a boss. It also left him with too much time, when he was alone with his thoughts.
All he ever did was think.
“Happy birthday, boss!”
Gian tried to smile as a hand clapped his back with enough force to shake him from his inner hell. It brought his attention forefront to the VIP section of the club and the men, again. Men celebrating his thirtieth birthday.
He should be celebrating, too.
“Here, another drink,” Stephan said.
A whiskey was shoved into Gian’s hand.
He sipped at the strong liquor, as it gave him something to do. “Merci.”
Stephan said something else but Gian wasn’t listening. He was not a big partier to begin with. He had only agreed to this night with his men because they had asked for it. Given how quickly tensions could flare in the family, peace-keeping was a constant part of the business. Especially for Gian.
Earlier in the day, he had spent too many hours sitting around a dinner table with the older generation of Capos in the family and their important people. They, too, had wanted to celebrate their boss’s birthday in some way, but not like the younger men did. Which was understandable.
While the divide between the generational lines had closed enough for Gian to consider it comfortable, he still preferred to keep the two groups separate. He allowed everyone their voice, and their chance to express it. As much as was acceptable, anyway.
“Happy birthday to you! Happy …”
Gian was urged forward in the group of men as a server strolled forward with a cake in her hands. It was a two-tier cake, gold in color, with black trim. The Guzzi family colors. His name and the proper birthday greeting had been scrawled across the side. It certainly looked good, but even his appetite was seriously lacking lately.
Happy birthday, boss.
Dirty thirty, Gian.
The platitudes kept coming from everyone. Gian smiled and nodded, laughing when he needed to. He wasn’t shocked anymore that no one seemed to notice his cheer and good-nature was nothing more than a carefully-crafted lie.
He had perfected this shit in no time at all.
“Set it down,” someone told the server with the cake.
A table was pulled over, and the cake was set down. Another man passed Gian a knife, while paper plates, napkins, and plastic forks were set out on the table by another one of the girls who worked in Gian’s club.
“This one is all you,” Domenic said, nodding at Gian, and then to the cake. “Go for it. Might as well add some diabetes to the alcoholism these fools already have.”
Gian smacked his brother in the back of the head for that one. “You’re one to talk. How many nights a week are you in a club drinking, never mind at home alone?”
Dom shrugged. “It’s how I meet people.”
“Right. Good excuse.”
“Just cut your fucking cake, Gian.”
“You know I didn’t ask for a cake,” Gian said to his brother, lowering his tone so only Dom would hear. “I only agreed to a few drinks.”
Dom nodded. “They want to celebrate you, man. Let them.”
Gian sighed.
Right.
Celebrate.
It was only him that wasn’t feeling the party.
“Just cut the cake,” Dom said. “After that, they won’t even notice when you go. They’ll be too drunk and working on a sugar-high.”
“You get to be the lucky—or unlucky—fuck that stays behind to make sure they don’t tear my club apart,” Gian warned.
“I can do that.”
Fine.
As long as Dom knew …
Truthfully, Gian was grateful for his brother. Dom had been one of the very few constants at Gian’s side since he’d taken over the family. He had made his brother, as he promised to do, and given Dom his proper in to the family business. Besides, it was a hell of a lot easier to make Dom his consigliere when he was already a made man.
Dom became Gian’s right-hand man practically overnight. But that was how it needed to be, and Gian didn’t give fucking anyone the chance to argue or question it. Dom was better suited for the consigliere position rather than a Capo or underboss, simply because the men knew him, Gian trusted him, and he was not in the family for everyone else, only his brother.
As he had always been.
His underboss, on the other hand, had been something he allowed the men of the family to pick. It was unusual, and certainly not the norm, but they had their voice and vote in someone.
Stephan was who they chose.
Somedays, Gian wanted to kill the bastard.
Other days, he was worth his weight in arrogant, ignorant gold.
“Hurry up!” someone shouted from behind Gian.
Dom chuckled. “Let them eat cake, Gian.”
“Didn’t saying that get someone killed once?”
“She didn’t give them the cake, though.”
Gian didn’t think that was the point.
Still, he went ahead and sliced into the cake. While the outside had been a gold and black-trimmed masterpiece, the inside was a vibrant crimson color. Red velvet, it seemed.
Like blood.
It was oddly appropriate, considering how much blood he had already spilled.
“All right, move over, let me handle this,” Dom said.
Gian willingly gave the knife to his brother, and let Dom get to work. If there were two things Dom liked, they were food and good conversation. Gian was able to step aside, and barely anyone noticed as they were too busy drinking their liquor and shoving their faces full of cake.
Gian knew, in that moment, he should take the time to appreciate what he was seeing. Calm and peace. Content men. Vanishing violence. A family ready to work.
He should have been happy.
He should have been … a lot of things.
Being a boss was not as easy as he had thought it would be. He had only been given a glimpse of what the position was like when his grandfather filled the spot. Now, sitting in the seat himself, Gian had his eyes wide open.
It was fucking lonely at the top.
Gian was constantly surrounded by people.
He had too much work to do.
He never stopped moving.
His time was thin.
His patience was thinner.
And yet, more than he cared to admit, he found himself entirely alone. No amount of work, Cosa Nostra, or distractions would help with his problem.
Only one person could—Cara.
She was out of his reach, now, to an extent. Physically, she wasn’t his to have, no matter how badly he wanted her. Emotionally, she had every fucking one of her claws buried into his heart, and she didn’t even know it.
His soul was entangled with a woman who no longer wanted him, even if he would still die for her.
Gian had no one to blame for that but himself.
