Page 13 of Entangled

“You don’t sound surprised.”

“Your hands give it away.”

Nathan chuckled. “I’m going to take that as a compliment.”

“Miss, your order is ready.”

Cara dropped Nathan’s hand with a shrug and turned to grab her waiting goods. “Thank you for the conversation, but I really am late.”

“No problem.” He flashed her a smile. “Have a good day, Cara.”

“You, too.”

Cara had only taken a couple of steps toward the door, when a familiar figure passed by the café’s windows outside the business. She recognized the man for two reasons—one, he shared similar features to his brother, and for two, she had seen his face on the news over and over again several months earlier.

Domenic Guzzi.

Gian’s younger brother.

For a second, Cara simply stood there, watching Domenic pass by the café without as much as a look inside. She didn’t even know if the guy would recognize her, but it didn’t much matter. He didn’t matter, really. It was just the fact that Cara almost expected to see Gian, too.

How long could they be in the same city without running into one another? And she really hated how a part of her wanted that run in, too.

Move on, she told herself.

Before she could think better of it, Cara turned on her heel to approach Nathan again. It didn’t have to mean anything, but a date was a date, and it meant she wasn’t wallowing on a man who had severely fucked her over in the emotions department.

“Did you forget something?” Nathan asked when Cara approached him. He already had his order in hand, and looked like he was ready to head out, as well.

She held out her phone, the screen unlocked and ready to input a new contact. “Plug your number in—no guarantees, though.”

He glanced down at her phone before taking it from her. “No promises here, either.”

Cara could work with that.

There was nothing more irritating to Gian than seeing a pair of Royal Canadian Mounted Police detectives waiting for him at the front desk of his building. At least, the managers and ladies working the front desk knew better than to allow the RCMP detectives straight up to Gian’s penthouse.

Ever since Corrado died, the police attention on the Guzzi family was … rough. Damn near constant. It didn’t help that following Corrado’s murder, several more deaths followed in the organization, and most done in a public way.

For the most part, the Canadian crime family managed to keep their heads down and their noses clean where police were concerned. They lived under the rule that less attention was better. This, unfortunately, was blowing that all to hell.

“Gian,” the taller of the two detectives—Seeley, Gian thought his surname was—greeted.

The shorter of the two, the one with wide-framed glasses and a suit that always needed pressed, hung back from his partner. He was usually that way whenever the detectives showed up for another round of make-Gian-talk-and-get-shot-down.

“Detective Seeley,” Gian replied dryly. Then, he nodded to the quiet detective. “Shaw.”

Seeley glanced upward at the tall ceilings of the building, and then quickly back to Gian. “Je voudrais—”

“English only, please,” Gian interrupted.

Seeley’s jaw clenched.

Gian made pissing these men off into a game.

“You speak French,” the man said firmly.

“Today I want to speak English,” Gian replied. “Serve me in my language of choice, as you’re supposed to do. I know how the police works in this country. We’re all on a nod and greet basis out there on the streets, aren’t we? Use English.”