Corrado dropped his stare, and so did Alessio. “You should get that, yeah?”
Alessio nodded.
He needed to breathe.
To reflect again.
Corrado’s presence made those things hard.
Even when it hurt.
“I have calls to make,” Corrado said, stepping back as Alessio fished the phone out of his jeans pocket. “Say hello for me.”
“Probably not.”
“Yeah, Dare is likely in a mood, anyway.”
Where was the lie?
Alessio answered the call as Corrado disappeared down the hall. Not that he sensed the man’s loss, because it was still imprinted on Alessio’s entire soul. Corrado never left, even when he wasn’t seen.
“Dare,” Alessio greeted, putting the phone to his ear.
“Les, how are things?”
“Better.”
It wasn’t a lie.
“Oh?”
“Yes.”
“That’s ... good,” Dare replied.
Didn’t sound like he meant his statement, though.
“I have information, or rather, confirmation,” Dare said.
“On what?”
“The upcoming Albanian job. We were waiting for the call, the right time, as the client said. They’re nearly ready to give the okay, and it should come up anytime over the next few weeks. You need to be ready to pick up whatever and leave. All right?”
Shit.
This hit had been years in the making, according to the client. Alessio had taken the job a few months back even though the client wasn’t ready to see it through back then. Semantics, and details wouldn’t line up quite right.
“Any way we can change the member for the job?”
“Not possible,” Dare said, “I have signed the contract to you. Those are rules I don’t bend or break, not even for you, Les.”
Right.
“Got it, Dare.”
“Are you sure everything is well?”
“Yes.”
Or it would be.
Soon.
“Oh, and Les?”
“Yeah?” he asked.
“I need the contract for the auctions signed and faxed over soon to include your portfolio for the potential buyers.”
Yeah, damn.
“I, uh ... I’m not going to the auctions, actually.”
Dare was silent for a moment. “Because of him?”
“It doesn’t matter why.”
“Whether I want you to do the auctions is not important, but I don’t want you not doing something you’ve wanted to do because Corrado Guzzi has more control of your life than he should, Alessio.”
“Dare—”
“You seem to forget you’re not an extension of him, Les. You’re not his shadow. Don’t forget you were somebody long before you even knew he existed.”
Yeah, but Alessio liked life better now.
He could never go back to then.
9.
Ginevra
“Ma,” Chris greeted, leaning over the table to kiss a waiting, smiling Cara on her pinked cheek. Ginevra, standing next to the man, wasn’t offended that he said hello to his mother before he even considered pulling a chair out for her at the table. “Corrado sends his love.”
“I bet he does.” Cara’s gaze turned on Ginevra and lit up even more. “And I managed to get you away from that penthouse, hmm?”
A laugh escaped her.
“Thank you for asking me to lunch.”
Cara waved a hand. “Oh, it’s a little thing. Chris, help her sit.”
“Right, right.”
Chris pulled the chair across from Cara at the table out for Ginevra, and she made herself comfortable at the table. Once he was sure she and his mother were fine, he said his goodbyes, and said he would be back later before disappearing around the partition wall keeping them hidden from the rest of the restaurant.
And what a place it was.
Gold draperies, matching tablecloths, napkins, and dark-colored rugs under each modernly decorated table. Large golden chandeliers hung above every table, making Ginevra think she was underdressed in the simple black dress she had thrown on for the lunch date with Cara Guzzi.
“This place is ...” Ginevra trailed off, unsure of how to describe it.
“A little much, yeah?”
She passed Cara a look.
The other woman only shrugged.
“My husband likes to go over the top,” Cara explained, “and since this restaurant is one of a few he owns, you can always tell when Gian has had his hand in the design. Lots of gold, a spattering of black, the sense of wealth all over ... it all screams Guzzi.”
Ginevra hadn’t considered that, but now Cara had said it, she realized the other woman was correct. Like their mansion, or even the aura the couple and their sons gave off, it very much appeared like she was sitting in an excessive show of wealth.
Not that it was uncomfortable.
Just ... very there.
Present.
Unashamed, maybe.
Cara waved a hand, and the woman that had been standing at a table nearby, but without staring at them, made her way over with the crystal pitcher of a pinkish liquid. She poured the juice—at least, that’s what Ginevra assumed it was—into the two glasses on the table, and then turned to give Cara her attention.
“The usual, Mrs.?”
Cara nodded. “Yes ... gives us a few options.”
“Sure.”
It was only once the server left around the partition wall that Cara turned her attention on Ginevra again, a glimmer in her eye as she asked, “And how are the boys?”
Boys.
As in, both.
Ginevra didn’t miss that.
Cara smirked when Ginevra didn’t answer right away. “I know about them, you know, and about things I am sure Corrado would tell me are none of my business, too.”
Great.
Ginevra’s cheeks heated, but still she answered with, “It’s complicated with the three of us.”
“I imagine.”
“I’m not sure what else to say about this other than that.”
“Nothing,” Cara replied, winking. “Complicated sums it up pretty well.”
Didn’t it?
Conversation turned to a safer topic as they waited for their food. The designer of the dress Ginevra was wearing, one of the many outfits that were delivered to the penthouse from the same boutique that Corrado seemed to favor when she needed something special to wear.
“Why all the gold?” Ginevra asked.
“Oh, that’s just a Guzzi thing.” Cara shifted in her chair, flicking out one napkin to ready it on her lap. “Blood made of dirt and gold, they like to say. It’s been a thing for a few generations, and started before they were ... a famiglia,” she said, choosing her words carefully, “the family had made their money in black gold.”
“Oil.”
“Yes.” Cara peered around their private section with a soft fondness in her gaze. “And as much as this restaurant seems like too much, I still love it the most out of all the ones in the city.”
“Why is that?”
“My husband bought it after a date we had here, although back then, it didn’t look like it does now. They had the best poutine I had ever tasted, and Gian took that to heart. As he does with most things.”