Page 159 of Cara & Gian: The Guzzi Duet

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.”

“Fine, English it is.”

Gian stuffed his hands in his pockets, and rocked on his heels, pleased as fuck to have once again, annoyed the cops. Maybe if he did it enough, they would leave him the hell alone for a week. He doubted it, but he figured the risk was worth it.

All Royal Canadian Mounted Police were required to speak both official languages of the country. English and French. Gian found the detectives assigned to irritating him preferred French, and because he spoke French fluently, they expected him to converse in that language.

Gian was just as unpleasant in French when it came to cops as he was in his other languages. Cops all held the same distinct stench. Their job was to seem nice to him, to placate his distrust with them, and bring him in closer to their schemes. They put men like him away all the damn time, and Gian refused to be their next foolish sheep.

“I want to discuss some things that came up in your grandfather’s case, and see if you could confirm anything for me,” Seeley said.

Gian passed the man a look. “Corrado has been dead for months; you should leave him that way and let his soul rest in peace.”

“Don’t you want justice for your grandfather?”

How little they knew …

Justice had already been served.

“What information do you have?” Gian asked, determined to get these idiots out of his building so he could get back up to his penthouse. “And what do you want from me?”

Seeley took a folder from Shaw and opened it up. The very top item happened to be a photograph of a man with half of his face blown off, but the other side was perfectly recognizable. Gian focused on the recognizable part instead of the grisly bits with brain matter and fluids soaking into the green grass under the body.

“Nik Tradek,” the detective said. “Hired gun. We did a bit of digging and found some interesting emails and numbers between him and another dead man of the Guzzi Cosa Nostra—Constantino Rossi.”

“And?”

“It wasn’t exactly made quiet why Constantino was killed, I mean, not when it came to rumors on the streets.”

There was a reason for that; Gian wanted it made clear that anyone who came up against him or his family would meet the same fate. Their closeness to him mattered for nothing.

“Rumors are not admissible in court,” Gian reminded the detective.

“Be that as it may, word only travels when there’s a ring of truth.”

“Again,” Gian drawled, “and?”