Page 129 of Unraveled

It wasn’t for her brother to decide.

Not on this.

“Do we know who showed up?” Gian asked.

Dom looked to Stephan for an answer.

“All of them,” Stephan said, the cigarette on his lips bouncing with every word.

While Gian despised Stephan for a great many reasons—including the man’s attitude and ways—he had to admit that the Capo was honest and honorable when it came down to business. After carefully going through every man Gian could find, he was surprised to find out Stephan had no hand in Constantino’s plots.

Given how fucking hard it was to find trustworthy people lately, Gian chose to allow Stephan into his very small circle. At least, for the time being. He didn’t have to particularly like the guy, he only had to trust him.

Gian found his brother watching him, doing that damn thing that Dom always did whenever he was uneasy about a situation, and needed a steady, yet invisible support to walk him through. He didn’t blame Dom for being that way at twenty-five. Shit, years ago, Gian had been the stupid kid, wading into the mafia with unrealistic expectations, needing guidance just the same.

He had looked to his grandfather. Who else fit the bill with his last name? Domenic only had Gian to look to, now.

“Ça va?” Gian asked Dom in French.

Dom shrugged one shoulder. “Je vais bien, Gian.”

He didn’t look fine.

Apparently, his attempt at using French to probe his brother’s inner emotions without embarrassing him was not lost on Stephan.

“He’s got to learn this shit and how to deal with it somehow,” Stephan muttered, walking forward and leaving the brothers behind. “Treat him like a fragile figa that needs special handling, and he’ll never be more than a walking, talking pussy, boss.”

Dom glared at the Capo’s back. “I don’t like him.”

Gian blew out a breath. Now or never, he supposed. Dom wanted to be in, he wanted his button, he wanted the title of a made man. He needed to understand what all of that meant, too.

Gian slapped his brother on the back and said, “You don’t have to like him; you do have to respect him. Especially now.”

“Yeah, cazzo.”

Fuck was right.

“Let’s get this over with,” Gian said.

Like any good made man would do, Stephan waited for Gian to catch up with him at the entrance of the old pizzeria. Gian was careful to hold the heavy duty garbage bags out at his side, lest any residual fluids leak onto his leather shoes. Stephan held the door open, allowing Gian to go in first, but making Dom hold the door for himself before he, too, could enter.

Dom was lower on the totem pole, and so the actions of those around him would reflect his status until he earned a better title or position. Even if it was something as simple as not holding the door open for him.

It was all about the respect in Cosa Nostra.

A man had to show it long before he was ever given it.

“Look who finally showed his goddamn face,” came a call from within the pizzeria as Gian strolled inside.

Gian ignored the older Capo’s half-taunting tone, but only because for the moment, the man didn’t know the position he was in, compared to his younger counterpart. The older generation of made men in the Guzzi family would always have some left-over feelings after this was all said and done, Gian was sure of it, but he hadn’t been given much of a choice.

At the end of the day, it was Guzzi for a reason.

He was not willing—no matter his age, his lesser years compared to other men, or anything else he might lack—to allow his family’s name to dim in the Cosa Nostra world. His grandfather would never have handed off the boss’s seat, nor his status and respect, to anyone who didn’t share his last name.

Gian wouldn’t do it, either.

He passed a look around the old pizzeria, taking in the many faces of men he recognized, some he’d grown up alongside, others whose feet he had chased under for years. He understood far too well that his actions would have consequences, but he sincerely hoped these men didn’t make it harder on him than it needed to be.