Sweetest Sorrow (Forbidden Book 2)

by J. M. Darhower

  Gabriella wrapped his arm in gauze. "You don't think he could've been there, too, do you? There's no chance he…?"

  "No," Dante said. "He wasn't in there."

  "You're sure?"

  "If Amaro's son needed rescued, he would've made damn sure it happened."

  "How do you know?"

  "Because that's the type of father he is."

  Gabriella seemed to accept that answer, reaching into her medicine cabinet and pulling out an orange prescription pill bottle, handing it to him. Vicodin. "Isn't sharing meds against the rules for you?"

  "It's against the rules for everyone, but I've jeopardized my career a bunch already, so what's one more time? Besides, you deserve it, you know... deserve to feel better. You're a hero."

  "I'm not a hero, Gabriella."

  "You pulled a man out of a burning building," she said, smiling sadly. "Pretty sure that makes you Superman."

  Genna stood in the kitchen, scowling, as cold air trickled out at her from the noisy decrepit freezer. She shifted packages around, her stomach growling. She'd left Matty asleep in bed, since he had the day off of work, figuring she could fend for herself, but man, she'd never gotten better at being domestic.

  What the hell to cook?

  Pizza—pizza cheesesteak, pizza burger, flatbread pizza—pizza something, extra-cheesy with pepperoni, preferably fast. Why can't I get delivery in the desert?

  Floorboards creaked as she stood there, footsteps on the stairs coming her way. They headed right to the kitchen, like a guardian angel sent to save her from impending starvation.

  "Oh Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art the fucking Pizza Rolls, Romeo?" She closed the freezer door, her scowl deepening at the sight of the face in front of her. "Oh, ugh, not Romeo."

  "And you're no Juliet, Genna with a G."

  Gavin Amaro stood there, the epitome of the words dressed to kill, wearing a well-tailored black suit and a smirk. "When did you get here?"

  "Last night, after you two were asleep."

  "And what, you just let yourself in?"

  "Pretty much," he said. "I'm surprised you didn't see my car or hear me come inside. You're getting complacent."

  Genna rolled her eyes, peeking out the window, seeing the black rental car right beside the one he had given to them on his last visit. "What do you want, anyway?"

  "Needed to get away for a bit."

  "So you come to the desert? The middle of nowhere? That's your ideal holiday vacation?"

  "Seems to be working for you. Besides, gotta occasionally bless you with my presence so you don't miss me too much."

  She scrunched up her nose. "I don't think that'll be a problem, but I guess I can tolerate you for a while as long as you buy me breakfast."

  "Buy you breakfast."

  "Yep," she said. "But keep your hands to yourself, because I'm a married woman now."

  He blinked a few times before pulling a set of keys from his pocket, muttering under his breath, "fucking Galantes."

  Her brow furrowed at that, but she shrugged it off when he motioned for her to follow him. "Wait, seriously, you're going to?"

  "Why not?" he asked. "Pretty sure there's a rule against denying a pregnant woman food."

  Genna slipped on her shoes, trailing him to the door. "Should I wake Matty?"

  "No, just let him sleep," Gavin said. "We'll bring him something back."

  The two of them climbed in Gavin's rental car, and he drove down the bumpy dirt path leading to the highway.

  "What do you want?" he asked. "Pancakes? Waffles?"

  "Pizza."

  "Where are we going to find pizza at seven o'clock in the morning on fucking Christmas?"

  "I don't know," she said. "Figure it out, Amaro."

  Gavin pulled out onto the highway, aiming the car in the direction of Las Vegas. He sped along, not saying anything, fiddling with the radio trying to get something decent to come in. The further away they got from the house, the more Genna questioned this decision. She'd climbed in the car with him after he showed up out of the blue, never even hesitating. Ugh, maybe I am complacent.

  "You're not kidnapping me, right?" she asked. "Because Matty might be mad about that."

  "Not a chance," Gavin said. "Even if I wanted to, I'm pretty sure you'd annoy me so much I'd just take you right back."

  "Or kill me," she said, clarifying when he shot her a look. "Not that I'm suggesting it. I'm just saying… you're not gonna kill me, right?"

  "I'm going to buy you pizza for breakfast," he said, "and then I'm going to drive you home, so that you can continue living and bring your whatever-it-is baby into this world. What is it, anyway? Boy? Girl?"

  "One of those."

  "Shouldn't you know by now? What are you, eight months?"

  "Almost seven, and yeah, but I didn't want to know what it was yet. It's a surprise."

  "What the hell? Wasn't getting knocked up surprise enough?"

  She laughed. "Well, that was more shocking of the terrifying variety, but this is an exciting kind of surprise. Matty knows, though, so if you actually care and aren't just asking because you don't know what else to say to me, I'm sure he'd be happy to tell you."

  "I do care."

  "Do you?"

  "Yeah, it would be nice to know if I'm having a niece or a nephew."

  She eyed him. "You know this baby is more like your second cousin, right? I mean, I know you Amaro-Barsanti-Brazzi guys got your family trees all tangled up, but nowhere in that crazy ass mess does that make you my kid's uncle."

  "Ah, I like to think I'm an honorary uncle."

  "There's nothing honorary about you."

  He laughed.

  A few minutes before eight, they found a pizzeria in the heart of Las Vegas with a fluorescent 'open' sign flashing in the window. Gavin parked in a small adjacent lot and the two of them went inside.

  "What do you want on your pizza?" he asked. "Some weird pineapple artichoke broccoli combo? Is that what you pregnant chicks get down with?"

  She grimaced. "Call me a chick one more time, and I'm revoking even the second cousin title. And gross. No. I want pepperoni."

  "Pepperoni," he repeated as he stepped up to the counter to order.

  "And pickles," she called out, finding a small table to sit down at.

  He glowered, ordering a large pepperoni with pickles, before joining her. After the pizza came out, Genna tore into it, while Gavin plucked the pickles off a piece to take a bite.

  "This is what I miss about New York," she said. "Good pizza."

  "That's what you miss?"

  "Yep."

  "Nothing else?"

  "Well, I mean, I miss other stuff, and what I really miss is nothing I can ever have back," she said. "I used to think living there was isolating, since my dad micromanaged my life, but I at least had my brother. I took that for granted, because now I know what isolation really is. It's weird without him, without having him to talk to."

  Gavin stared at her, ignoring his pizza.

  "I mean, don't get me wrong," she said. "I have Matty, and I love him. I desperately love him. And I'm happy building a life with him, having a family with him, but this baby will never know my life. It'll never have an uncle that's not honorary."

  Gavin didn't respond. Genna didn't expect him to. For all she knew, he wasn't even listening. She finished scarfing down her pizza, boxing up the rest.

  It was half-past nine when they made it back to the house to find Matty pacing, a nervous wreck. He burst out onto the porch wearing only a pair of boxers, hair sticking up all over the place, desperately needing a shave.

  "Whoa, buddy." Gavin let out a low whistle. "You're about a banjo away from Deliverance here."

  Genna laughed, glancing at Gavin. "I think I've told him that before."

  "That makes two votes for Matty-B taking a damn razor to that mess he's calling his face these days."

  "I woke up to an empty house," Matty said, ignoring them. "I woke up to my pregnant wife missing, the car
still in the yard, and her phone still in the house. I woke up not knowing where the hell she could've gone. I damn near called the police until I remembered that was out of the question."

  "We went for food," Genna said, carrying the pizza box as she stepped up onto the porch. "Figured we'd be back before you woke up."

  "You should've left me a note," Matty said, pulling her to him. "Just leave me a damn note next time so I don't think you've been kidnapped."

  "See," Genna said. "Told you he'd be mad if you kidnapped me."

  "Good thing that'll never happen," Gavin said. "Don't want to upset your baby daddy."

  "Ugh, see, that's it," Genna said. "Just when I think maybe I can grow to tolerate you, you throw out a word like that."

  She headed inside, leaving the men out on the porch. After putting the leftover pizza in the refrigerator, she settled into the living room, turning on the television to the one channel that got reception. Cartoons. Matty and Gavin joined her after a bit, Matty plopping down beside her on the couch, still wearing just his boxers.

  "Are you not putting any clothes on today?" she asked, eyeing him.

  "Wasn't planning on it," he admitted.

  Her gaze shifted to Gavin, who lingered right inside the room, watching them with a goofy grin. "He told you what we're having, didn't he?"

  Gavin nodded, straightening out his expression. "Do you have a phone I can use?"

  "What's wrong with yours?" Matty asked.

  "Nothing, but seeing as I'm here, in what's pretty much your safe house, I'm not going to risk turning it on and having it ping my location, but I ought to check my messages."

  "Good point," Matty said. "Didn't think about that."

  "Complacent," Gavin said.

  "My phone's in the foyer, on the stand by the front door," Genna said. "It's kind of ancient, but you can use it."

  Gavin nodded his thanks, disappearing from the room. Genna leaned over, curling up against Matty. After a few minutes, a noise rang out from the foyer, a rush of footsteps followed by an engine starting.

  Genna and Matty shared a look before she got up, walking that direction, finding her phone on the stand beside a small gift bag with a red bow on the side of it. She glanced out in just enough time to see Gavin's taillights as he sped out onto the highway, dust flying. Weird.

  She walked back to the living room, carrying the present. "Gavin left."

  "Without saying goodbye? Did he even say what he came for?"

  "He said he needed to get away for a bit," she said, shrugging as she sat back down, shaking the gift bag in Matty's face. "I think he left us a present, though."

  Matty took it from her, looking inside, and froze. "Huh."

  "What is it?" Genna asked, snatching it back, digging through the bag. She pulled something out, holding it up, her insides twisting, her heart aching in her chest. A tiny white baby onesie, I love my uncle written on it with a red heart.

  Chapter Nineteen

  There was a certain unwritten rule in the business that was supposed to be non-negotiable, a rule that even the most rebellious mobster followed: bosses were not to be harmed.

  A soldier never did anything without permission, and his boss would never sanction the death of another boss, not without a unanimous vote. The rule was designed to protect the delicate balance of power, but it didn't take into account there were more ways to harm a man than murder. Loved ones became surrogate targets. Innocent blood got spilled. Men were annihilated emotionally.

  Murder might've been more merciful.

  It was this rule that had kept Roberto Barsanti alive long after Primo Galante wanted him dead. For damn near twenty years, Primo had been seeking permission, calling meetings and asking for votes, but he came up short every time. There was always one holdout, one man who said there had been enough bloodshed.

  Johnny Amaro.

  The door to the house opened, animated voices streaming through the foyer. Primo stepped out of his office, greeting the half-dozen men coming into his home. His own little Helter Skelter crew, dressed in all black. The sun was rising outside, another day upon them, another night of anarchy over.

  "There's food and drink in the kitchen," Primo told them. "Help yourselves."

  The men scurried off, all except for Umberto Ricci, who lurked behind the pack although Primo considered him their leader. Something about his expression made Primo pause. He waited until the others were preoccupied to motion toward his office. "Join me, Umberto."

  Umberto followed him without question.

  "How did it go?" he asked, sitting down on the couch. "Did you handle it?"

  Umberto nodded. "Amaro was at his cafe. We lit it up and then, well… lit it up."

  "And you got him?"

  "Had him," Umberto said. "He was hit and the building was on fire. There was no way he was getting himself out of there."

  "But?" Primo raised an eyebrow. "I sense a but."

  "But somebody pulled him out," Umberto said. "Somebody helped him."

  "I told you to stop anyone who got in the way," Primo said. "I told you not to let anybody help him."

  "I know, but—"

  "Another but?" Primo sat up straight. "I told you this was too important for you to let anything get in the way. We had one shot at this. One. Failure isn't an option. So I want to know what you were thinking. I want to know who was so important that you ignored an order!"

  Umberto hesitated, like he didn't want to answer, but he had no choice. "It was Dante."

  Primo forced himself not to react to that information. Dante. His son had made himself scarce since his hospitalization, the Dante returned not the same one Primo had raised. An imposter walked around in his body, wearing his face, constantly getting in the way. He'd gone from being the apple of Primo's eye to the bane of his existence.

  Primo hadn't been sure what to do about it. He'd held out hope that he'd come around, but months had passed and things progressed in the wrong direction, only getting worse.

  "Did you confront him?"

  "Dante?"

  "Amaro."

  "Oh, yeah. He took one look at me and knew what was happening, so my questions mostly fell on deaf ears. I did get one thing out of him, though."

  "What?"

  "That you were right."

  While he should've felt relief, hearing confirmation, Primo was overcome with anger. "He told you that?"

  "In not so many words," Umberto said. "I told him we were looking, that we wouldn't stop until we found what we sought. He told me we could tear the city apart all we wanted, but we weren't going to flush them out, because, and I quote, 'They left New York'."

  Primo stared at the wall as he tried to control the fury building up inside of him. Someone had to have helped them. Someone had to be protecting them. They'd conspired before to shield Matteo from his reach and someone was doing it again.

  Only this time, they were hiding his daughter with him. His own flesh and blood, betraying him time and again, trying to get one over on him, but he wouldn't let it happen.

  No bodies in the car. Primo wasn't stupid. Barsanti's defeated behavior told Primo that he had nothing to do with it, that he had no idea of the truth. His misery was genuine, his common sense clouded by grief. They hadn't been hiding anywhere they'd gone before, but they had to be somewhere.

  And he'd find them.

  "Bring Dante in," Primo said. "If someone tries to stop you, kill them… even if that someone is him."

  There's a particular smell in hospitals that most people associate with sickness, but Dante knew the odor came from a specific chemical. Iodoform. It treated skin infections as an antiseptic and cleaned corridors as a disinfectant, clinging to patients and everything around them, even following Gabriella home on her scrubs every morning.

  Dante fucking hated it.

  Because all the knowledge in the world couldn't keep him from associating the stench with dying. It was unconscious, a sensation that hit him the moment he stepped foot in Presbyte
rian hospital.

  His chest tightened, his lungs on fire. Or fuck, maybe that was still the smoke inhalation…

  Men packed the waiting rooms, filling the chairs and lingering in the corners, some wandering the hallways while others lurked outside the doors, waiting for news. Dozens of them, from bosses down to street soldiers, held vigil, a few different families present in a show of solidarity.

  But Dante noticed, as he took in the crowd, that not a single Galante had come… no one except for him. It was no wonder, knowing what Dante knew, what Dante suspected every other man there believed to be true, based on the skeptical looks cast his way. The Galante family was the culprit. The sins of the father fucking up his kids again.

  Dante didn't stop, didn't acknowledge anybody, heading for the elevator and heading up to the ICU. He stepped off onto the floor, pausing to collect himself. An alarm went off in the distance, a loud blare of beeping assaulting his ears.

  "You're actually here."

  Gabriella leaned against the wall beside the elevator, appearing exhausted, although her shift wasn't even halfway over.

  "You look like you knew I was coming."

  "I did," she said. "Someone called Gavin from downstairs, said you were spotted in the building. I was sitting there when they warned him."

  Warned him, like Dante posed a threat. "What are the odds he welcomes my company?"

  "I'd say you've got a 50/50 shot. He hasn't let anyone else come up since he got here, wanting to be left alone, but he didn't ask me to leave when I sat down."

  "You're his cousin. I'm just the son of the guy who put his father here."

  "You're his friend, and he's probably your best friend, remember? I'd say it's worth trying."

  "Oh, I'm going to try," he said. "Just kind of hoping to not get punched today."

  "He wouldn't do that."

  "He's done it before," Dante said, giving her a soft smile as grazed her cheek with his knuckle. "He punched me because of a certain somebody he wanted me to stay away from, but I'm too hard-headed to listen."

  Gabriella seemed surprised by that and started to respond when a stern voice cut through the hallway. "Nurse Russo!"