Gian (Trassato Crime Family Book 1)(30)
Staring at the floor, I pinched the bridge of my nose. “What are you saying? You want me to end the engagement?”
“Gianluca, I promoted you because you have a knack for making difficult decisions, not because your dad wanted it. You’ll figure out what to do.” He squeezed my shoulder. “I heard she’s seen some stuff.”
My head snapped up. “Who told you that?”
He scratched the side of his face. “It doesn’t matter who told me. What I don’t understand is why you didn’t mention it.”
Fucking Carlo. I knew I couldn’t trust him. With soldiers like him, I didn’t need enemies. I had to convince Dominick to assign him to some other unsuspecting capo. “Since when have you wanted to micromanage every detail? You don’t need to worry about Evangeline. Ya’ gotta know, I have this under control.”
Dominick pinned me with his dark stare. Then, he lifted his chin. “All right. I’ll let you take care of this for now, but know that the day might come when you need to make a tough call. Until then, I need to know you’ll make the right choice. You’ll protect this thing of ours.”
I bowed my head. “Yeah, you know I will.”
He slapped me on the shoulder. “Good. You’re better than some of those other young turks.”
I flinched. Young turks was what he called the younger, less traditional generation of Mafiosi. The older guys looked down on us. They believed we were more inclined to break the old rules. In my mind, it was a direct slight.
“Yeah. Yeah. I need to get back to Evie.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Evangeline
I stared at Gian from the corner of my eye as he navigated the Sunday evening traffic. He hadn’t said much of anything since he spoke with his uncle. At dinner, he answered every inquiry with as little information as possible, and he pushed us out the door the minute I finished my dessert.
“Dinner was wonderful. Your mom’s a good cook. I can’t believe how much food she made. She could’ve fed the entire neighborhood.” I toyed the folds of my dress. “I kind of feel guilty that she did all that when we’re just…you know.”
“Don’t worry about it. She likes to entertain,” he answered, glancing in the rearview mirror.
“Yeah, I guess. What did your uncle want?”
He frowned, his fingers tapping impatiently against the center console. “Nothing you need to worry about.”
“He probably thinks I’m an idiot. I can’t believe I fainted.” I squared my shoulders. “For the record, tonight was the first time that happened, so you don’t need to worry about bringing me in public.”
He glanced over his shoulder. “Uh-huh.”
“Gian, what’s the matter? Are you mad at me? Did I ruin everything?” I cataloged my conversations at dinner. “Did I say something stupid? Your family hated me, didn’t they?”
My shoulders drooped under the weight of the self-created disasters infecting my life. Gian’s dad had said exactly five words to me all night—“It’s nice to meet you.”
Dinner conversation wasn’t much better. His uncle’s early departure set the tone of the celebration. Clearly, he found me wanting, and everyone else agreed with his assessment. Everyone bowed and scraped around him like he was some sort of king. The instant that thought floated through my mind, the pieces of the puzzle clicked together, refusing to be buried under layers of excuses any longer.
Dominick wasn’t merely Gian’s uncle—he was the head of the Trassato crime family. The same one people whispered about in hushed murmurs with an equal measure of awe and disgust. While Gian and Carmela had never confirmed or denied anything, the writing was on the wall.
Panic wrapped around my ribcage like a tourniquet. A gust of air whooshed out of my lungs. Needles of fear pricked at my skin like thousands of poison-tipped arrows. The thudding of my heart drowned out the sound of the radio.
Holy shit.
No.
No.
No.
This isn’t real.
Trembling, I covered my mouth with my hand.
“Evie, are you listening to me?” Gian’s voice snapped me out of the ocean of tragedy I’d been drowning in.
“What?” I rotated toward him. One hand white-knuckled the steering wheel while the other clawed at his hair. His eyes glittered with menace. His lips were pinched. “What’s wrong?”
“Open the fucking glove box and hand me the gun.”
My stomach twisted into a knot. “The gun? What do you need a—”
His body bristling with violence, he slammed his hand against the dash, and I flinched. “Dammit! Don’t question me. Just do what I ask for once.”