By Any Other Name (3 page)

No elaboration. No explanation. It was unnecessary, anyway. Dinner was over twenty minutes early. Primo marched from the room, a man on a mission, while the word lingered around them in his wake, like a heavy, ominous cloud of noxious fumes, hell bent on poisoning whoever breathed it in.

Barsanti
.

Fuck. Shit. Goddamn. Cunt. Cocksucker
. None of those words held a fraction of the offense of uttering the curse
Barsanti
around the Galante household. If Genna's mother had been there, the mere sound of it would have driven her to prayers as she madly made the sign of the cross, outraged to have the blasphemous word spoken at her dinner table.

At that thought, Genna carefully set her fork down, giving up the façade of being interested in eating
ever again
, as her gaze drifted to the empty chair right beside her. It had been vacant for a little over four years, but every single night, without fail, a plate and silverware were set at it like someone might actually sit there again someday.

The chair across from it, too, remained uninhabited, also set for dinner, never again to be used. That one had been unoccupied for as long as Genna could remember. She had only been two at the time, much too young to recall what happened.

Dante had been five, though. It was his first memory… one she knew he would never forget. He carried the scars with him, mentally and physically, the skin on his chest thickened and distorted from extensive third-degree burns, his perception forever tainted.

"I should go," Dante said quietly, standing up. "Dad might need me."

Genna nodded but otherwise ignored him as he walked out. She always wondered what he thought at these moments, if he was reliving that day—their fatal run-in with the Barsantis.

To nobody's surprise, New York was a hot spot for organized crime. Five families shared stake in the illicit underground world, although two held the most power around Manhattan: the Galantes and the Barsantis. They worked amicably for a lot of years, sharing control equally, until one day the peace shattered, exploding into a fiery blaze.

Literally
.

Since then, the vicious rivalry festered, a war between the families waging, the hostility so great that the mere mention of their existence made Genna sick with anxiety, and she was as far removed from the lifestyle as a Galante could possibly get. But as far as she was concerned, those people were monsters. Her father had taught her that since she was just a little girl, warning her, protecting her, so she would know to stay away.

"The only good Barsanti is a dead Barsanti," he'd said. "You see one, you run the other way."

Once her father and brother were gone, Genna went upstairs to fix her hair and put on make-up before heading out for the night. There was no way she was hanging around that house by herself with nothing to do but worry about what her family was up to. She drove straight to Harlem, parking in front of the townhouse where Jackson stayed. After locking up her black BMW, she knocked on the front door, expecting his sister to answer, or maybe one of his parents, but was stunned when none other than Jackson himself opened the door for her.

"Hey!" She rushed right at him, wrapping her arms around him in a tight hug that seemed to startle him more than anything.

He tensed, lightly patting her back. "Oh, hey, Genna."

"You're out! I thought you'd call me when someone sprung you."

"Yeah, well..." He nervously rubbed his neck, frowning. "I didn't think that was such a good idea."

"Why?" It hadn't been entirely
her
fault they got arrested. Sure, she started the car, technically, but it had been
his
idea to take it for a spin. "What's wrong?"

"Your dad doesn't think we should see each other anymore."

Her expression fell when he said that.
No
. "No."

"Look, I just think maybe he's right."

"Did he threaten you?" she asked. That would be
so
like her father. Wouldn't be the first guy he scared away from dating her. In fact, he seemed to scare everyone away. She couldn't even keep friends because of him monitoring her life and constantly intervening, sending his minions to wherever she was to keep an eye on them.

"No, he didn't threaten me. It's nothing like that."

"Then how do you know he doesn't want us together?"

"He told me," he said sheepishly, "when he bailed me out this afternoon."

"So
that's
it." Angry tears burned Genna's eyes, but she felt little in the way of sadness. No, this felt like betrayal. "He paid you off."

"I'm sorry, Genna," he said. "Really, I am. I didn't want to hurt you."

"You didn't," she said, backing away from him as she tried to ignore the pain nagging her chest that suggested otherwise. Man, it
did
hurt. It hurt like a son of a bitch. "I'm just disappointed, Jackson."

He tried to apologize some more, calling her name, but she was already off the steps and heading toward her car. She thought he didn't care who her father was, that he wouldn't be intimidated by the name… by the reputation.

Turned out, she had been wrong about him.

What had started out as a bad hair day, thanks to a malfunctioning alarm clock and dreary late spring weather, quickly spiraled out of control to arguably one of the worst mornings of Genna's life. By the time she reached the criminal court building in Chinatown for her hearing, she was drenched from a sudden rainstorm and running ten minutes late.

She sprinted down the hallway, her new black Jimmy Choos rubbing blisters on her feet, and crammed into the first elevator she came upon, skidding through just in time before the doors closed.

Her back was to an older man in coveralls, the scent of stale cigarette smoke and sweat surrounding him. She held her breath so not to inhale the stench, but she could feel every breath of his against the back of her neck as he wheezed. She tried to inch away, tried to get some space between them, but every time she shifted he seemed to move with her, pressing himself into her, brushing against the curve of her ass and driving her short skirt up further.

Worst elevator ride ever.

The man got off on the tenth floor, glancing back and giving her a playful wink. She shuddered as the doors closed again.
Ugh, gross
.

The elevator seemed to stop on every single floor on the way up, so by the time she made it to the twenty-third, she was actually
fifteen
minutes late for her hearing. She sprinted into the courtroom, shoving the door open so hard it disrupted the judge in the middle of proceedings. All eyes turned to her as awkward silence permeated the room.
Oops
.

"Sorry," she muttered to no one in particular as the judge turned his focus back on the case at hand. Her eyes scanned the courtroom, seeking out the lawyer her father had hired, and found him standing up front… with Jackson.
Wonderful
.

Jackson looked uncomfortable, dressed in a too-big black suit that did no justice to his physique; his hair was cut neatly, not the shaggy mop it used to be. She was so fixated on how he looked that she nearly missed the judge's words.

"This case is adjourned in contemplation of dismissal. I'm setting a court date for six months from now. If you can stay out of trouble until then, all charges will be dropped."

The judge banged his gavel, a small wave of murmurs flowing through the courtroom as Jackson smiled, his shoulders sagging with relief. He turned to leave, striding right by Genna, so close their arms brushed together, but he didn't so much as even look her way.

The entire thing reeked of Primo.

"Next on the docket is
The People versus Genevieve Galante
."

Sighing, Genna tore her gaze away from the door where Jackson had disappeared out of and approached the lawyer still lingering at the front of the courtroom. He smiled politely at her as he shifted through his stacks of paperwork, putting Jackson's on the bottom as he moved hers to the top. "This should be quick. The judge just needs to sign off on the plea agreement we made."

"Why does Jackson get to walk free and I have to plead guilty?"

"That's just the way it worked out," he replied, his voice casual, but Genna caught the hidden meaning in the words.
That's the way Primo Galante arranged it
. Regardless of if her father wanted to admit it to her or not, she knew half of the people in the courtroom were in his pocket in one way or another, whether they owed him favors or he paid them handsomely. How else did the man, career criminal, manage to stay out of jail all these years?

"Miss Galante," the judge started, peering at her through a pair of thick wire-rimmed glasses. "The agreement made between your council and the district attorney for the lesser charge of unauthorized use of a motor vehicle in the third degree, a misdemeanor, is approved. The court hereby sentences you to 120 hours of community service and a $1000 fine. Your driver's license is also suspended until at which time you can complete your sentence."

The bang of the gavel echoed through the room before they quickly called for the next case. Genna's lawyer motioned for her to step out, but she just stood there, gaping at the judge.

"Is there an issue, Miss Galante?" the judge asked, eyeing her peculiarly when she refused to budge.

She opened her mouth to argue, to point out how harsh that sentence was, but the lawyer cut her off and spoke up instead. "No problem, your honor. My client's grateful for the court's leniency today."

Stepping in front of her, he physically led her away from the defendant's table and through the courtroom before she could really protest. She stepped away from him once they reached the hallway, throwing up her hands in disbelief. "You call that
leniency
?"

"It could've been worse," the lawyer said. "You could've gone to jail for the felony."

She glared at him as he casually strode away. "Could've been
better
. I could've gotten away with it like Jackson did!"

Frustrated, she sulked down the hall, in no rush now that everything was over. It was in and out within a matter of minutes. She approached the elevators, groaning when she saw a small crowd stuffing into one of them. She paused there, deciding to wait, and pressed the down button as soon as that one was gone.

In a matter of seconds, a second elevator dinged behind her. Genna spun around to look at it just as the doors opened, relieved to see wide-open space, the bright lights illuminating the shiny floor. She started toward it, her footsteps briefly faltering when she caught sight of a lone guy waiting in the corner.

Holy shit.

They stood eye-to-eye with her in six-inch heels, but he wasn't looking at her at all. His attention was fixed solely on a Blackberry as he typed away at the tiny keyboard. He casually relaxed back against the railing, legs crossed at the ankles, his sneakers so new even the bottoms were pristine white. His serious expression looked to be etched from the smoothest stone, his sharp jawline covered in a dusting of hair, but his skin appeared so, so soft, like the slickest satin. A warm tan glow swaddled him beneath the lights. He wore a pair of designer jeans and a long sleeved white button down, a cream-colored cable knit sweater overtop of it. His dark hair was perfectly styled or else effortlessly untouched, and just long enough to give the locks a slight messy wave. The tips of her fingers tingled with the urge to caress.

This guy…
no, this God
… had been zapped straight off the pages of GQ and transplanted right here in her elevator.

Thank you, Jesus, Joseph, and motherfucking Mary.

The elevator starting to close right in front of her face finally spurred her to action. Genna darted forward so quickly it captured his notice. Without breaking his stance, his eyes shifted from the phone to her, catching her gaze when she stopped in front of him. A trance fell over her as she stared into his eyes, golden splotches around the iris that faded like flames into the brightest blue, like an abstract Picasso painting come to life. A shadowy ring surrounded them, framing the vibrant color in darkness.

Never in her life had she ever seen eyes like his.

The elevator closed behind her as she stared at him, utterly speechless.
It's rude to stare
. Even a kindergartner knew that. But she couldn't look away.

He stared back boldly, arching a single eyebrow at her, a slight hint of amusement cracking his stony expression. The sight of it, the subtle curl of his lips into a smirk, made her stomach furiously flutter.

This day just got
so
much better.

They started moving as Genna swallowed thickly, trying to get her wits about her, trying to think of something to say to break the ice. Her lips parted, a shaky breath leaving in the form of half a word, when the elevator violently shuddered, alarming her back into silence. The lights flickered, before abruptly, they started plummeting. Her heart was in her throat, hammering hard, the movement nearly knocking her off her feet. She stumbled in her heels, but a strong hand grasped her, stabilizing her enough so she could grab the railing.

Floors flew by in the blink of an eye before an ear-splitting screech echoed around them. They ground to a sudden stop, jolting her again, the motion making her vision blur as she gasped. "What the fuck was
that
?"

"Emergency brakes." His smooth voice held not a hint of anxiety. His accent was restrained, hardly enough for her to notice. New York, yes, like her own, but it held a slight hint of something else in it. New Jersey?

"Did we just…?" She shook her head, frazzled. "Are we…?"

"Stuck?" He stepped past her, the smell of his cologne—subtlety sweet and entirely sensual—infiltrating her senses. "Yeah, I'd say so."

He pressed the call button on the panel. When nothing happened, he repeatedly pushed the red alarm button. Genna could hear the alarm going off, the siren echoing through the elevator shaft. After a moment, he stopped, running his hands along the doors and gripping them in the center, prying them open just a crack to look out, but there was nothing to be seen.

They were trapped between floors.

"Just great," she muttered, reaching into her purse for her phone. She pulled it out, holding it up, the signal flickering between one measly bar and no service.

Hello again, bad day. Should've known you weren't done fucking me yet.

She continually struggled to get service, holding the phone up as high as she could reach, as the guy retook his spot in the corner and pulled out his Blackberry. She watched him incredulously as he started typing on it, just as casual as he had been before. He cut his eyes at her as he finished, slipping the phone back into his pants pocket. "You're wasting your time. You'll never get a strong enough signal to make a call from in here."

"So, what, I shouldn't even
try
?"

He shrugged a shoulder. "I wouldn't."

"We're trapped in an elevator," she said, stressing the fact that they were
trapped
. "Maybe you're cool with that, I don't know. But this has the makings of a bad R. Kelly song, if you ask me."

Before the guy could respond, his phone chimed. He pulled it out just far enough to glance at the screen. "Like I said—not enough signal to make a call, but just enough to send out a message."

"You got ahold of someone?"

"Yeah."

She stared at him, shocked, when he planted himself on the grimy floor, his back pressed into the corner. How could he remain so calm?

"You might want to get comfortable," he said. "Knowing this city, it'll probably be a while before they get to us."

Genna stubbornly stood there for a few minutes, her feet starting to ache in the high heels, aggravating her blisters every time she shifted position. Sighing, resigned, she finally kicked them off, discarding them in the middle of the elevator. She sat down against the wall diagonal from him, tugging on her skirt and crossing her legs to keep herself covered, but she was pretty sure she flashed him the goods on accident.
Damn short skirt
.

"Great," she muttered. "I just can't catch a break."

"Bad day?"

"The worst."

"Ah, I doubt that," he said. "It can always be worse than it is."

Rolling her eyes, she gazed down at her hands and picked at her nail polish to distract herself. It was only two of them, but there was very little ventilation in the elevator. She could already feel the air warming up. "You sound like my lawyer."

"Your lawyer, huh? Were you here for a case?"

"Yes."

"What did you do?"

She hesitated, considering lying, but thought better of it. Why did she care what
he
thought? She didn't know the guy. "Stole a car."

"You?" he asked incredulously. "A car thief?"

She cut her eyes at him. "Technically, my boyfriend did it… or my
ex
-boyfriend, anyway. He walked away with barely a slap on the wrist, while I got enough community service to last a lifetime."

"That doesn't seem very fair."

"It's not," she said. "But whatever, that's just my luck today. Late for court, get fucked over by the Justice Department, and then the elevator tries to kill me. I'm pretty this day ends with someone shoving me in front of a train, which I'll probably have to take now, since the judge revoked my license for good measure."