Page 7 of Cara & Gian: The Guzzi Duet

“Merda! You only believe that nonsense because you’re attached to the team.”

Maybe Gian should have left the conversation lie with his arrival. “Argue about sports on a night when I don’t have somewhere to be, huh?”

His grandfather’s sharp, dark gaze skipped to him in the doorway, but the irritation was quickly replaced with the sort of mirth only an eighty-five-year-old man could have. Perhaps had it been another made man, and had Gian’s tone not been so playful when he spoke, his grandfather might have gotten up from his chair, ready to discipline his subordinate as only a Guzzi Don could.

But it was Gian.

And this was his Grandpapa.

He often got away with more than he should.

Gian tried not to abuse his grandfather’s affections. Corrado only looked old on the outside, as his mind was still as sharp, volatile, and prone to violence as it had ever been. He didn’t let Gian get away with very much when others were around.

Others not including Frederic, of course. Gian’s father was not a made man like he and his grandfather. Those rules of respect did not apply.

“You’re late tonight, Gian. You almost missed me, I was going to head home and go to bed. It’s been a long day.” Corrado pushed up from the large leather chair, wincing a bit as he stood. “My bones are getting too old to be up this late.”

“You will not, Dad.” Frederic jumped into the conversation from his spot at the windows. “It’s late, you don’t need to be driving all the way across the city tonight. You can sleep in the room you like upstairs. The one with the terrace overlooking the backyard.”

“I like that room in the spring, when the birds are back from wherever the hell they go for the winter.”

“You’ll stay here,” Frederic said firmly, shooting his father a look. Then, he gave his son a smile. “Did you say hello to your mother?”

“Would she recognize me as her son, otherwise?” Gian asked back.

“Point taken.” Frederic finished the last of the whiskey in his glass, and set it on the corner of his desk. “I’ll leave you two alone, then. Keep it at a dull roar, Dad. The room upstairs will be waiting when you’re done.”

“Yes, yes.” Corrado waited until his son was gone from the office, and the door was shut, before he spoke to Gian again. “The new club is opening tonight, sì?”

“Opened a while back, actually. This is the first night I’m going in to see the place in action. It’s fashionable to be late, or so I’m told.”

His grandfather chuckled. “Only when a boss is not involved, or …?”

Gian smirked. “Or you are the boss. I know, Grandpapa.”

“You have to learn, Gian, even the stupid, small things. Someday, I won’t be here to repeat this same, old shit to you every day of your life, and then who will? How will you remember when the time is most important?”

“You’re going to be here forever,” Gian said, “so what in the hell do you mean?”

“Not forever.” Corrado sighed, turning to face the window. “I’m as old as dirt, and you know it. There are too many people who continue to remind me of how old I am, Gian, and how it would be better if I stepped down for—”

“Fuck those people.”

A dark laugh escaped his grandfather as he turned back around. “Yes, what you said.”

Unfortunately, what his grandfather said had a lot of merit. Most Cosa Nostra bosses did not live long enough to see eighty-five. Never mind the fact that Corrado had already held his position for forty-five years. Bosses usually retired their seats before their age started to become too prevalent, as no good made man wanted to be seen as weak or senile to his men.

And now, their famiglia had gotten to a point where there were, at times, three generations sitting around the table with a voice wanting to be heard. His grandfather’s generation, men of his father’s age, and then their sons, too. Younger made men who didn’t get much of a voice.

Gian didn’t fall entirely into the young Capo category, considering he was his grandfather’s underboss with his own seat at the table, but he understood and sympathized with their frustrations.

“Well, I’ll send you off then, since there’s nothing to chat about that can’t wait until morning,” his grandfather said, passing him by with a clap on the shoulder.

“My evening is never as important as you are. I can wait.”

“It’s fine, just the usual nonsense with the men. I was thinking maybe we could work to erase some of the lines between the generations if we sat down and talked about it, but it can wait until tomorrow. Enjoy your evening, Gian, and behave.”

Gian scoffed. “I behave.”