Sweetest Sorrow (Forbidden Book 2)

by J. M. Darhower

  He trailed off. Maybe what he asked for was selfish. Maybe it made him an asshole.

  She wasn't responding, which made him think that was exactly how it sounded.

  "Nothing to say?" he asked, turning to her.

  She stared at him.

  "Seriously? Nothing?"

  Gabriella pursed her lips. "But what if I want friendship bracelets?"

  Dante put the key in the ignition and started the car. "Then you ought to make them, because that's a bit out of my range of skills."

  "Really? You just braid some string together. You can braid, can't you?"

  "Maybe," he said, pulling out into traffic. "Never really tried before."

  "Unbelievable," she muttered. "Take a class or something."

  Dante navigated the streets, making his way down to Little Italy, to the old sports bar he used to hustle at on the weekends. He neared Mulberry Street, swinging into a parking spot along the curb.

  Gabriella climbed out of the car and paused on the sidewalk, waiting for him. They walked in silence down the block, Dante's mind wandering.

  "Maybe we should cross the street," Gabriella suggested, her voice hesitant.

  "Why?"

  She didn't answer. She didn't have to. Dante's gaze shifted, his footsteps coming to an abrupt stop. Yellow caution tape quartered off most of the sidewalk, leaving just a small path to squeeze through. The surrounding buildings were blackened, scorched by fire, chunks of bricks missing and glass shattered. Plywood covered doors and windows, signs posted along some of them.

  Danger. Do not enter. Condemned.

  He saw, quite clearly, the center of the destruction. A small crater had been blown into the asphalt.

  He had to look away.

  He knew. He did. Gavin had told him it happened there. But knowing and seeing were different. It was physical confirmation.

  It was a slap in the fucking face.

  Something struck him as the two of them stood there, him trying to come to terms with what he was seeing, while Gabriella stood in silence, not questioning his reaction.

  She knew about the explosion.

  Of course she did.

  Why wouldn't she know? Rumors ran rampant at the hospital. An explosion like that would've made the news.

  "Are you okay?" she asked eventually, her hand on his arm.

  "No," he admitted.

  "Let's go get that drink," she said. "We can go around."

  They crossed the street, and Dante kept his head down, his eyes trailing the sidewalk until they made it to the bar. Familiar faces greeted him, watching him with stunned looks.

  He ignored them, motioning to a table. "Take a seat. I'll get our drinks."

  "You don't know what I want."

  "You look like a margarita kind of girl."

  She scowled. "Really?"

  "Fine," he said. "I take it back. What do you want?"

  "A margarita."

  Before he could respond, Gabriella skidded over to the booth to wait. Dante approached the bar, tucking in at the side where the bartender lurked.

  "Galante," the man said, plastering on a smile. "Great to see you!"

  "I'm sure," Dante muttered. "I'll take a margarita on the rocks and a Heineken."

  "Coming right up."

  The bartender made the drinks, refusing Dante's money when he tried to pay. He knew he should've been grateful for that, and back in the day he would've probably expected the special treatment, but it irked him now.

  He threw the cash on top of the bar and walked away.

  "Your margarita," he said, sliding it on the table in front of Gabriella before sitting across from her.

  "Thank you," she said, offering a smile, one that felt a hell of a lot more genuine than the bartender's. "Guess your reputation precedes you everywhere."

  He took a swig of his beer. "What makes you say that?"

  "Everyone is staring at you with awe," she said, "but in that pretend-I'm-not-looking way that isn't really subtle at all."

  "How do you know they're looking at me? Maybe they're looking at you."

  She rolled her eyes as she sipped her margarita. "Why would they be looking at me?"

  "Because you're beautiful," he said, that word making her blush. Huh. "Besides, I'm nobody special."

  "That's not what I heard."

  "Yeah, well, you shouldn't believe everything you hear. People like to talk, and none of it's true. It's nothing more than gossip."

  "It's all false?"

  "Yes."

  "Huh. So, true or false—your father is mob boss Primo Galante."

  "Alleged mob boss," Dante corrected her. "He's never been convicted of anything."

  "You're involved in organized crime."

  "True," Dante admitted, before saying, "allegedly."

  "You were caught up in a violent turf war. You were kidnapped and assumed dead. Those people tortured you and almost killed you out of revenge."

  "Oh, that's all true. Allegedly, anyway."

  "Allegedly," she muttered. "So which part was false?"

  "The part where they made me out to be a bad guy because of it."

  "You think you're a good guy?"

  "I know I am."

  "Even though everything else is true?"

  Dante regarded her. "I like to think what defines a man aren't his circumstances or his mistakes. What defines him are his intentions, and mine have always been good."

  "That's deep," she said, continuing to sip her drink.

  "So, I get it, you think I'm a bad guy…"

  "Whoa, I never said you were a bad guy. I'm just riddling out where your head is."

  "Moonlighting as a shrink again."

  "Being a friend," she said. "And just for the record, you know, I didn't draw the short straw."

  "What?"

  "In the car, you insinuated I got stuck with you, but that's not true. I volunteered."

  "Why would you do that?"

  She shrugged. "Because you needed somebody. Everyone else was being all weird about it. I don't think it was you, really... I think it was your father. He barked orders and demanded things, and it freaked them out. Nobody wanted to be that person..."

  "The person who killed Primo's kid."

  "Yep," she said. "Because I gotta tell you, you looked bad."

  "But yet you volunteered. Ballsy."

  "I wasn't worried. I'm more worried now. You were fighting hard then, but now…"

  "Are you saying I gave up?"

  "More like you're currently in the process of shutting down."

  "I've told you before—you don't know me."

  "Oh, but I do now." Gabriella motioned between them. "Friends, remember?"

  "Right, my mistake. How could I forget? Of course us being friends now means you know everything about me."

  "I know you use sarcasm to hide how you're feeling."

  "How do you know that?"

  "Because you just did it."

  "How observant."

  She smiled, sipping her drink some more, sucking every last drop from her glass. "You know, you're kind of cute when you're annoyed."

  "Cute, on top of charming? If I didn't know any better, I might think you have a thing for me."

  A sharp bark of laughter burst out of her as she shoved her glass aside. "Puh-lease. You're hardly my type."

  "What's your type?"

  "The opposite of you."

  Ouch.

  "Loyal, upstanding citizen, you mean? The kind that doesn't get kidnapped and tortured?"

  "More so the hair and the eyes." She scrunched up her nose as she waved her hand around in the direction of his face. "More Nate Archibald and less, you know, Chuck Bass."

  He gaped at her. "Did you just...?"

  "No offense, of course."

  "Of course," he said. "I thought everyone liked Chuck Bass."

  She laughed. "Do you even know who Chuck Bass is?"

  "Gossip Girl."

  "How…?"

  "I had a siste
r," he said with a shrug. "She was more of a Carter Baizen girl, though. She wouldn't shut up about it."

  Had. Past tense. Dante threw back his drink, swallowing what was left of it. It wasn't very strong. Not strong enough.

  "Had?" Gabriella asked. "Genna, you mean?"

  "Yeah."

  "What happened to her?"

  Dante's eyes flickered to meet Gabriella's gaze, seeing an innocent curiosity that nagged at him. "Are you fucking with me? We just walked past the spot outside."

  It seemed to take a moment for his words to register. "You mean where the car blew up?"

  "Ding, ding, get the girl a cookie, she solved the riddle."

  "I, uh… I don't know what to say."

  "You don't have to say anything."

  "But I just... I had no idea. I mean, yeah, the car blew up, but your sister?"

  "What? It hasn't been on the news?"

  "Well, I don't watch the news, but…"

  She sat there, staring at him.

  Dante let go of his empty bottle, pulling away to stand up. "Anyway, a deal is a deal. We said one drink."

  Gabriella stood, smoothing her scrub top. "Yeah, I should be getting home."

  Dante reached into his pocket for his keys. "I can drive you."

  "No need," she said as they stepped out into the warm Manhattan morning. "I can walk."

  "Don't be ridiculous," he said, stalling on the sidewalk in front of the bar.

  "Ridiculous would be driving me, considering my apartment is closer than your car."

  "No shit? Which one?"

  She pointed at a tall brick building across the street, three lots down. "Top floor."

  Interesting.

  As much as he hung out in that area, it was a wonder they hadn't met before. How many times had he passed her on the street without noticing? How many times had they unknowingly crossed paths? He'd been inside that building a few times.

  Small world.

  "Thank you," Dante said, grasping her arm and rubbing it. "For humoring me."

  "That's what friends are for," she said. "And I'm around, you know, if you need a friend again."

  "That goes both ways," he said. "Anything you need."

  Gabriella turned away, taking a few steps before stalling again. When she glanced back at him, a look of confusion crossed her face, like she had something she wanted to say but was afraid to spit it out.

  Jesus Christ, was she going to ask him to come up?

  He would, without hesitation. The condition he was in, he'd probably disappoint. He wasn't sure he could satisfy her through his exhaustion, or if he was even strong enough to be on top, but hell, she could always ride him, right? If my dick cooperates… Regardless, she wasn't the kind of girl a guy said no to, but then again, she wasn't really the kind of girl who asked a stranger to come to bed with her… was she?

  "Dante?"

  "Yeah?"

  "I'm really sorry about your sister," she said, "and I just think you should know… well… nobody has mentioned her being involved. I honestly had no idea. I wondered why she never came to the hospital. I didn't know you believed… that she was … there."

  Dante's expression fell.

  Gabriella left then. He watched her as she crossed the street, his eyes glued to her until she disappeared inside the building alone, leaving him with those parting words.

  It made no sense.

  Barsanti knew.

  His father knew.

  Hell, Gavin knew.

  So why didn't the rest of the world know?

  Chapter Eight

  "I got a job."

  Four words. Hell, four syllables. They came together to make a sentence that just didn't compute in Genna's brain. She heard them, sure, but it didn't make sense. I got a job. What the hell?

  What was that jibberish?

  "A job," Genna said. "You got one."

  "Yep."

  Matty grinned, looking damn proud. It was cute, she thought. He was cute. Something about the moment felt just so wholesome. But she couldn't quite enjoy it, thanks to her confusion. How the hell did he get a job? She didn't even know he was looking.

  "What kind of job? You're gonna need to elaborate, Matty."

  "The kind that earns money. We're okay at the moment... we've got more than enough to get through. We don't have many bills, not while we stay here, but still, we're having a baby, so…"

  "So…"

  "So I got a job."

  He said it just like that, like that was all there was to it. He got a job so that he can earn money, because obviously he hadn't been doing enough, seeing how he was only doing everything.

  "A job doing what?" Genna asked. "Because you're being kind of vague and it's making me think the worst."

  "It's legal, don't worry."

  "Prostitution is legal in Vegas. I'm still worried."

  "Well, technically, prostitution isn't legal in Vegas, it's only—"

  "Matty," she growled.

  "—legal at brothels around the state." He sighed, holding his hands up. "Fine, it's cooking."

  She gaped at him. "Cooking."

  "Yeah, I was in town, running errands, when I passed this small diner that had a 'help wanted' sign hanging on the door. I got curious, asked what kind of help they were looking for. The manager said they needed someone who could cook."

  He shrugged then, like that was that, like there was no need to go any further with the story.

  "So... you volunteered?"

  "More like I applied," he said. "I filled out an application... or Matthew did. I figured it was a long shot, considering I'm twenty-five and have no work history, nor do I have any references, but they were desperate. I start tomorrow."

  Genna wasn't sure what to say. Congratulations? Thank you? Are you fucking crazy? She didn't know which sentiment fit best. They were in uncharted waters. When leaving New York, they hadn't given much thought about the future. Sure, they talked about the possibilities, but they hadn't stopped to consider the specifics. They both had an ungodly amount of family money, but touching a single penny of it was out of the question.

  That would be dangerous.

  Way too dangerous.

  So all they had was whatever cash Matty had pulled together from whoever had helped them. He'd said it was enough to get by, but how much was that, exactly?

  "It's only making ten bucks an hour, but it's something," he said. "Thirty or so hours a week, after taxes, we're looking at an extra grand or so every month."

  A thousand dollars. Genna used to blow that in ten minutes at the mall. She bought shoes that cost more than he'd make in a month. She couldn't wrap her brain around it.

  Matty's smile fell. "Why are you looking like that, Princess?"

  "Like what?"

  "Like you're about to cry."

  Tears burned Genna's eyes, a lump forming in her throat. "Probably because I am."

  He full on frowned and opened his arms, pulling her into a hug. "I thought you'd be happy."

  "I am," she whispered, tears streaming down her cheeks. "I'm just sorry you have to go through this because of me."

  "Whoa." He pulled back to look at her. His hands framed her face, holding it in place. Fresh calluses had sprung up on his thumbs, the skin rough as he stroked her flushed cheek. "This isn't something I'm going through because of you. This is nothing you did. It's not some kind of punishment, Genna. This is living. This is how other people live. It's a lot of work for not a lot of pay, but it's money I'll earn, money I'll deserve, money I made for my family."

  Matty's right hand drifted down, leaving her face, and settled on her stomach instead.

  "And that's enough for you?" she asked.

  "It is," he said. "We've got plenty of cash. And I still have people I can turn to. I don't have to work, but I need to. I need to do this for us. Can you get that?"

  It took Genna a minute, but she got it. It wasn't about the money. He got a job to contribute. He needed to feel like he was working toward something
. For weeks they'd been holed up in that house, doing little more than just existing, venturing out only to get what they needed.

  "I get it," she said. "I do."

  "Good. If you start to get lonely here and want me to quit, I will." He kissed her forehead. "Anyway, since it's my last night of freedom before I become your average everyday working man, I thought we could go out and celebrate."

  "Celebrate how?"

  "Vegas is just down the road," he said, his smile returning as he nodded toward the vacant highway. "I'm sure we can find some trouble to get into there."

  Genna grinned. "Trouble sounds fun to me."

  They didn't have many clothes, and most of Matty's were stained from working around the house. And Genna had little more than tank tops and shorts... shorts that kept getting shorter because she insisted on cutting them up and tops that got tighter because—whoa, mama—the breasts seemed to balloon overnight. But upstairs, in the bedroom with the scattered bottles, Genna had found a slew of clothes hanging in the closet. Most of it was gaudy, some even falling apart, but a few things Genna encountered had been salvageable, some dresses and even a pair of heels that miraculously fit just right.

  "You don't think Mrs. Whatever-Her-Name-Is would mind me borrowing her clothes, do you?" Genna asked, pulling a hanger out of the closet and holding the black dress up to her as she turned to Matty, who lurked in the doorway.

  "I don't think she'll ever know," he said, leaning against the doorframe. "Besides, finders-keepers. Not sure how much you want, though, since half of it looks like it came out of the 80s."

  "More like the 90s," Genna said. "80s were all about big shoulders, but the 90s went sleeveless a lot."

  "I stand corrected."

  "And the shoes," she said, reaching down to snatch up a pair of pointy-toed heels, "are more like early 2000s, without a doubt. 2004 or so, I'd say. Shoes were so pointy you could stab a man with them. So someone was still here then, or else these wouldn't be around."

  Matty raised his eyebrows. "You should've been a P.I."

  "Hardly," she said with a laugh as she stripped out of her clothes to try on the dress. "I've got the pieces, yeah, but none of them fit. Downstairs there's a rotary phone and an old ass television without a remote, which is totally more the 60s, right?"