Page 84 of Cara & Gian: The Guzzi Duet

“Sit, sit!” Gian clapped his hands twice, helping to quiet the men milling around the long dinner table. He waved at the waiting seats, and the men began to fill them. “Dinner is served.”

As he said those words, two women, and one man, strolled into the dining room, each holding platters carrying all sorts of foods. Once the food was set down on the table, the help left and then returned with pitchers of drinks.

After they were gone for good, Gian waited to see if any man at the table would reach for food or a drink before he approved it. None did.

Instead, they looked to him, waiting.

As all good made men did for their boss.

It had taken Gian a couple of weeks to really get used to the fact that a great portion of the Guzzi made men saw him as exactly that—their boss.

He thought it appropriate to hold their first unofficial dinner where the last man they respected and followed as a boss had his, too. At Corrado’s home, at his dining room table.

Maybe he had done this for a bit of nostalgia, too.

Gian took his own seat, said a quick prayer as had become a custom when sitting down to eat dinner with family, and then he waved again. “Tutti mangiare.”

His order for everyone to eat was no faster out of his mouth before the men began to reach for the hot dishes. He wasn’t particularly hungry—a shitty by-product of his stress, likely—so he sat back in a chair that had once belonged to his grandfather, and enjoyed the sight of the Capos and enforcers filling their plates.

Conversations filtered around the table between men, some discussing the events and attacks that had escalated rather violently over the past couple of weeks. Gian allowed them those discussions, and only joined in if he was directly asked a question. He found that he learned a lot more, and the men talked a lot more, when they had a boss who cared to hear what they had to say.

All but one man at the table was made.

Gian turned to his left, where his brother Dom was stuffing his face with pasta. “Hungry, fratellino?”

Dom bristled. “Only little compared to you in age, Gian.”

He laughed. “Relax. You’re lucky to even be here.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Being unmade, Dom shouldn’t be allowed to share the same experiences with made men until he had earned his seat at the table and his spot within the family. But … Gian remembered times when his grandfather had allowed him to sit at the table, and to have a voice. He figured that had been Corrado’s way of making his intention clear about giving his grandson his in to the family.

Gian was only doing the same for Dom.

In a way …

“So, do you think—”

Dom’s question was interrupted by a ringing phone. Gian recognized the familiar sound instantly, but because he wasn’t sure why his grandfather’s house line would be ringing, he looked over the table of men to see if it was one of their phones. None reached for their phones. Corrado’s mansion had been kept running ever since his death, as the Guzzi family had often used it, and no one was quite ready to put it up on the market officially. Even the cook, maid, and the man who ran errands and greeted guests stayed in the house, with pay.

But they never mentioned the home getting calls.

Eventually, the ringing stopped.

The maid stepped into the dining room, pressing her palm over a cordless phone to keep her voice from being heard on the line. “Mr. Guzzi, there’s a call for you.”

All eyes turned on Gian. He stood from the table, leaving the men behind with a demand for them to keep eating, and that all was fine. Although to be perfectly honest, he wasn’t sure what in the hell was going on.

Just outside the dining room, he took the phone from the maid and put it to his ear. His usual Italian and French greeting slipped out before he could think better of it. “Ciao, bonjour.”

“Gian, how are you this evening?”

Gian stiffened in place. “Edmond. Why in the fuck are you calling me at Corrado’s home? And better yet, how did you know I was here?”

“I know a lot of things.”

“Oh? Try me with one.”