Page 100 of Entangled

“I don’t excuse Gian. I only choose to love him. The rest is details. Those don’t matter.”

“They never should.” Tommas nodded, and then reached for Marcus. “Now, give me my nephew. It’s time for him to wake up and meet me properly. Where is Gian, by the way?”

Cara handed the sleeping baby over. “He thought I might like to spend some time alone with you first before inserting his presence, too.”

“That’s fine and great,” Tommas replied just as fast, “but it doesn’t answer my question.”

“At the mansion.”

Tommas’ gaze cut to Cara just as Marcus woke up. “Is that where she lives?”

“Her name is Elena. His wife. You can say her name to me, Tommy.”

“Again, not my question.”

“It is.”

“I see,” her brother said softly.

“It’s not always easy or pretty. I never thought it would be, though.”

“But love, right?”

Cara smiled. “Yeah, love, Tommy.”

“I haven’t decided if I like you yet or not,” Cara heard her brother say from down the hall.

She carefully closed the door to Marcus’s nursery, not wanting to wake the baby up after his before-bed feed. It was like the baby thought he suddenly needed another round of milk before he could go back to sleep. Cara’s well was dry for the moment.

“I don’t think it’s required for you to like me, honestly,” Gian replied with a chuckle.

Cara kept her steps light and quiet as she walked down the hall, heading toward the office where Gian had disappeared to with Tommas when she went to feed Marcus after supper. Just a foot from the opened doorway, she held back from going further where she could be seen, and listened to the conversation happening beyond the doors.

She knew better than to eavesdrop.

She couldn’t help it.

All evening, from the time Gian had arrived back at the penthouse, the two men had engaged in very safe conversation with one another. They almost seemed to be circling around one another, too, as though they were being careful about their words and actions, lest one offend the other.

Cara was not sure if that was because of their respective positions in their organized crime families, or for her.

“I like that you love her,” Tommas said, “and that counts for a lot.”

“I love her entirely.”

“And your son, too. That much is obvious.”

“He’s my greatest pride and joy, and she gave him to me.”

“But I don’t like the rest,” Tommas admitted. “I don’t like that she is pushed aside in the eyes of others, or given labels and names that she doesn’t deserve. I don’t like that it must hurt her to spend half of her week with you, and wonder the other half. I don’t like that there are nights she is alone, caring for your child, because you have distractions elsewhere.”

“Responsibilities—duties,” Gian corrected fast and sharp. “Distractions implies something that is not and has not ever been there. Use the right word, Tommas. It’s the least you can do if you’re going to insult me to my face.”

“I’m not trying to insult you, Gian. I only want to understand.”

“You’re like me, aren’t you? You sit in my spot, too. You know these rules, this life, and those people. Divorce would mean ruining my family’s legacy, at the very least. At the most, my life would be given up as a sacrifice. So here I am, doing what I need to do.”

“Certainly not what you want to do.”