Page 27 of Cara & Gian: The Guzzi Duet

It was the only day, in a string of many days, where the men of the Guzzi Cosa Nostra quieted their grumblings, put aside their misgivings, and settled in to pay respects to a boss unlike any other.

Gian had expected sadness.

He’d prepared for it.

He found his grief was different for the funeral than it had been leading up to it. Not lessened, but rather, softened. He had done well to keep his emotions buried when he needed to, but as he traveled behind the hearse in a black town car, the grief was not as striking.

It still ached.

It still hurt.

It had simply softened for a moment.

Gian surveyed the familiar faces as the vehicles parked in a long line along the church, and then began to empty of people. He stood alongside his mother, father, brother, and sister as the hearse backed up to the entrance of the church, stopping at the steps.

Despite all the people, Gian still felt singular. Above, perhaps, looking down. Not entirely there, as the back of the hearse was opened to showcase the shined, black casket with gold-plated bars and leaf designs along the corners and sides. The casket matched the one his grandmother had been buried in two years before, after her heart had finally given out.

The whole day felt familiar.

Except for the fact that the men who pulled their caps off and bowed their heads, were not doing so for respect of their boss’s grief, but rather, the loss of that very same man. He had not been expecting that second of distant familiarity.

“Let’s go,” Domenic said, his hand landing hard on Gian’s shoulder.

Gian stepped forward with his brother as another six men filed in behind them. Six familiar faces to help carry the casket in, before they would help to carry it out, too.

One of those men happened to be Claud Rossi.

Gian had known that Claud would be one of the pallbearers for his grandfather, chosen by Edmond and several others in the family. Still, he looked around for the man’s family, only finding Claud’s wife and son. His oldest friend, Constantino, nodded at Gian as he passed, but oddly, that wasn’t the face of a Rossi he had wanted to see.

He’d wondered if Cara might show up.

She certainly had no reason to, and no connection to his grandfather.

Gian had a million and one other things to let consume his mind lately, but more often than not, his thoughts drifted back to the redheaded Cara, and the coffee she had promised him.

He was going to need a break from his life after today.

Something to let him breathe.

Cara just might do …

Gian simply had to figure out when.

“Whiskey, neat,” Gian ordered.

His grin deepened as Cara’s head popped up at the sound of his voice. From behind the bar, her eyes widened.

“Gian.”

He leaned over the top of the bar, pointing at the specific brand of whiskey he wanted. “That one, please.”

Cara didn’t make a move to reach for the bottle. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“I asked first.”

So she did.