Page 108 of Entangled

His son.

Marcus slept off the bottle of formula he’d downed as soon as the nurse had brought it in for Gian to feed the boy earlier. Although to be fair, Marcus had not wanted the formula at all or the oddly-shaped nipple that was nothing like his mother’s breast, shoved into his mouth. In a hospital crib, swaddled in a warmed blanket, the baby had no idea how close to death he had come.

No idea at all.

Gian, despite tired legs and an aching back, kept watch over the boy. He tensed at every flicker of Marcus’s lids, and each jerk of the baby’s limbs beneath his tight swaddle. Marcus was perfectly fine—not a scratch or bump on his beautiful, innocent head. His car seat had made sure of that when the SUV had been run off the road, and then subsequently rolled down an embankment.

Still, Gian couldn’t get the image of his son’s car seat with a single bullet hole through the back rest, only a couple of inches higher than where his son’s head would have been laying. He couldn’t forget the pieces of broken window glass scattered across the baby’s body, or the bloodstained blanket, colored red with Cara’s blood.

Cara.

Pain shot through Gian like a lightning bolt.

His gaze darted to the closed door of the hospital room, and he had all he could do not to go out and demand someone give him more answers. He would get none if he did, anyway. Not until Cara’s surgery was either over, or unable to be completed.

Three shots.

One through her hand.

One to her thigh.

The final one—the most deadly and likely to cause complications—to her chest. They had been aiming for her heart, though a shot to the head would have been quicker and cleaner. Gian figured it wasn’t about quick or clean, it was about making a point.

A point he heard loud and fucking clear.

“Boss?”

The sound of Stephan’s voice brought Gian from his internal war. The underboss stood in the now opened doorway, his gaze stuck on the phone in his hand.

“Dom wanted me to let you know that he got ahold of Tommas Rossi, and that your mother is on her way up now,” Stephan said. “Tommas can’t get out of Chicago right now, but he demanded updates every hour, on the hour. I guess your mother is in quite a state and is asking to see the baby.”

Gian nodded, but the numbness was beginning to seep in, taking away his desire to talk, or even think. This was better, though, as he wouldn’t feel so guilty when he left his child and Cara to recover in the hospital without him while he finished a job that was long overdue.

The guilt would come later, surely.

He would deal with it then.

“Mr. Guzzi,” greeted the maid as Gian walked past the kitchen’s entrance inside the mansion. “I was not told to expect you tonight, sir.”

Gian cursed under his breath, but turned back to Mariana with a forced smile. “I wasn’t expecting to be here tonight, either. Are you the only staff left?”

She nodded.

“Good,” Gian said, “you’re free to leave early. Now, preferably.”

“But I haven’t finished my—”

“It’s fine. Please head out.”

Gian waited for Mariana to gather her things, and then saw her out the front door. Satisfied he was now alone in the Guzzi mansion—albeit, his wife was somewhere—he went back to his task. Finding Elena.

It didn’t take him long.

Elena rested in a Jacuzzi tub with bubbles that smelled of vanilla and overflowed to the floor. A half-downed bottle of wine sat on the edge of the tub, no glass in sight. Apparently, she was drinking it straight from the bottle. The steam in the master bathroom was thick enough to make Gian squint down at his wife from up above. He ignored her nakedness, as it did little for his desires, and it wasn’t as though he hadn’t seen it before.

“Elena,” Gian barked.

She jerked awake in the tub, her flailing sending water and bubbles peppering the walls, floor, and Gian. He didn’t bother to move, simply continued standing above her, glaring down.