Page 3 of Entangled

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.

Gian buttoned up his suit jacket as he stepped out of the back of the black town car. Chris held the door open until Gian stepped away from the vehicle, and then promptly closed it shut once he could. Standing in the middle of the large, circular driveway, Gian stared down the mansion that had become a private hell of sorts for him.

He did not want to enter that house.

He couldn’t even call it a home, now.

Once upon a time, it had been exactly that. A home. His grandfather and grandmother’s home, filled with memories of years long past and happier times. Now, whenever he entered the mansion, invisible weights fell on his shoulders, while a pressure built in his head, ready to burst at any moment.

That could happen to a man when he was expected to share a space with his wife, especially when said wife was Elena Guzzi. Gian was expected—in his current position—to behave a certain way regarding his wife and marriage. It looked better on his image, and his family, when he treated his wife as his wife. Regardless of how he felt about it, he needed to be seen with his wife. Out and about, at the mansion, and more.

Elena was no happier about Gian’s presence in her life than he was, frankly.