Sweetest Sorrow (Forbidden Book 2) (14 page)

Matty sat across the small table from Genna, watching as she gnawed on a pickle spear. Her fourth, as it was. She hadn't eaten anything else. An entire plate of food was going untouched because of goddamn pickles. They'd stopped at a small restaurant just inside of the Vegas city limits, both of them ordering cheeseburger platters, with Genna requesting
'an ass-ton of extra pickles
'.

Much to her delight, they'd brought her a whole bowl of them.

"Do you like cucumbers?" he asked.

Her face scrunched up. "Gross."

"Pickles are just pickled cucumbers. You know that, right?"

"I'm aware," she said, pointing what was left of her pickle at him. "I don't even like
pickles
, but I started craving them."

"Pregnancy cravings."

"It's funny, because I was eating one the day I found out. It actually made me sick. Dante—" She cut off after saying her brother's name, silence taking over for a moment, before she continued. "He joked about me being pregnant. It never crossed my mind until then, but it probably should've. He realized his joke wasn't a
joke
, so he bought a test and made me take it. I was in shock, but he, well… he went to find you."

Matty knew the day she referred to. He'd riddled out the timeline, having not much else to do while on the road except dwell on what happened. It made sense, looking back. Something had set Dante off the night he showed up in Soho looking for a fight.

It was the night he'd taken Enzo's life.

It was meant to be me instead.

"I asked him why," Matty said. "Your brother, you know… he was who he was, but I never took him to be malicious. So I wanted to know why he'd come after us."

"What did he say?"

"He said I gave him no choice, that because of me you were as good as dead."

Genna took a bite and muttered, "He
so
overreacted."

"I don't know," Matty said. "I don't know if there's such a thing. He just… reacted."

She damn near dropped her pickle. "Did you just...? No, seriously, did you just
defend
him?"

Matty stared at her.
Huh, guess I did
. "I just think about your father and what
he
would've done. You being pregnant would've set him off, regardless. He coddled you; we all knew it.
Nobody
touched his little girl. Add in that it was
me
that did it, someone he already hated, and he would've lost his fucking mind."

"My father wouldn't have killed me."

"Maybe not, but he would've killed
me
, Genna, and there's no way he would've accepted this baby. It's impossible. The hate runs too deep. It's a part of you, yeah, but all he would see is the part that's me."

"He wouldn't hurt a baby," she said. "Children are
innocent
."

The moment she said that, her expression shifted, reality hitting her. Even she didn't believe her words. History had taught them that when it came to their fathers, innocence was irrelevant.

"I was innocent once," Matty said. "You were, too. So were Joey, and Dante, and even Enzo. None of us started out as monsters. I don't know that any of us even became them. But it didn't stop people from seeing us that way. So maybe your father would've kept you breathing, but breathing doesn't always mean living. Dante was right—you were as good as dead."

Genna tossed the rest of her pickle down on her plate before pushing it away. "Never in a million years did I think I would hear you defend a Galante."

"Don't get used to it," Matty said. "In fact, I'm wishing I could take it back."

"Whatever," she said, smiling. "It's burned in my brain. You'll never live it down. You're practically aligned with the enemy now."

"Practically? I was aligned with the enemy the moment I felt what it was like to be inside of you. There was no coming back from that."

"What did it feel like?"

"What?"

"Being inside of me."

Her voice was dead serious, but the twinkle in her eye told Matty she was teasing him.

"You really want me to describe it?"

"Yep."

He considered that. What did being inside of her feel like?
Everything
. It was Heaven. It was Hell. It was the most beautiful torture he'd ever felt. "Let me put it in words you'll understand."

"I'm listening."

"It's chocolate cake with strawberry icing, covered in chocolate sprinkles, eaten straight out of the pan."

Her eyes widened. "
Damn
."

"Anyway…" Matty motioned for the waitress to bring the check, even though neither of them had eaten much. "The night is young. What do you want to get into?"

"What are my options?"

"We could see a show, maybe. There are musicals and concerts—"

"And strippers," Genna chimed in. "Aren't those Chippendales guys in Vegas? You know, the dudes with the little G-string banana hammock looking thingies with the black bowties?"

Matty ignored that. "And magicians and comedians and who knows what else. There's gambling—"

"And prostitution."

"And nightclubs where we could go dancing, I guess, if we want to be around a bunch of drunk people when we're sober."

"I think that describes the
entirety
of Vegas, but go on."

"There are shooting ranges and roller coasters and racecar tracks—"

"And wedding chapels."

"And…" That stalled him. "And wedding chapels."

"They've even got those drive-thru ones," Genna said. "You could make an honest woman out of me without even getting out of the car."

Matty laughed. "What comes after that? Road-head for the honeymoon?"

"You wish," she said, balling up a napkin and smacking him square in the chest with it. "It'll be a cold day in Hell before I suck a dick in a stolen Honda."

The waitress approached, damn near tripping over her own feet when she heard Genna. Her eyes widened, cheeks flushing, as she glanced between them. "I, uh… I'll just take this when you're ready," she muttered, dropping the check on the table before scurrying off.

Matty shook his head, picking up the check, when Genna muttered, "Oh fuck, I did that."

He pulled out his wallet, grabbing a few bills to pay. "Traumatized the waitress? Yeah, you did."

"No, I sucked a dick in a stolen Honda," she said just as the waitress again approached. The woman took the money, dashing away, as Genna rolled her eyes. "You remember when we met at the courthouse? I said I was there for stealing that car?"

"I remember," Matty said. "I'm guessing it was a Honda?"

"An Accord," she said. "
Wow
. I can't believe I actually sucked a dick in a stolen Honda."

An exasperated sigh echoed around them as the waitress tossed Matty's change down on the table before stalking off. Genna glared at the woman's back.

"Well, then," Matty said, leaving his change on the table. It was more than he'd usually tip, but he figured the waitress deserved it this time. "Guess it's a cold day in Hell, Princess."

"Yeah, well, it's not happening ever again," she said, pointing at him. "Don't go thinking I'm some cheap floozy just because I let you fuck me on a pool table that first night."

"I wouldn't dream of thinking that about you. No
baby mama
of mine will ever be a cheap floozy."

"Ugh, don't call me that." She grimaced. "This isn't an episode of
Maury
we're living. If you cheat on me and deny my baby, I'm not going to give you some DNA test on national television. I'll cut your dick off and make
you
suck it in a stolen Honda. You got that?"

"Jesus Christ," someone muttered nearby.

Matty glanced to the next table over, watching the waitress shake her head as she delivered a few plates. Leave it to Genna to shock a woman who works in Vegas, a woman who has probably seen and heard
everything
. He almost felt bad for her. It was hard to tell sometimes with Genna whether or not she was being serious. There was still a bitter coldness to her exterior, the rigid façade that had earned her the
Ice Princess
nickname. It wasn't really her, of course. The Genna that Matty knew was warm and loving.

Loving enough to see past his name, to judge him for
him
, knowing it was a risk. The fact that he was a Barsanti should've scared her away, but she gave him a chance. She was one of a kind. There was nobody else like her—nobody as brave, and as beautiful, and as downright
crazy
as Genevieve Galante.

"Got it," he said, turning back to Genna. "How do you feel about being called a Barsanti?"

"I don't see how that's
better
."

"It's probably not," he admitted, "but you wouldn't be my baby mama anymore… you'd be my wife."

"What?"

"Like you said, there are a lot of wedding chapels in Vegas. I'm sure one can squeeze us in."

She stared at him, her expression blank.

Matty wasn't sure what that meant.

"Are you joking?" she asked finally.

"No," he said. "I mean it."

"You want to get
married
."

"Yes."

She stared at him a bit longer, long enough for him to question if maybe he'd screwed up by suggesting it. He got that it wasn't ideal, and she deserved more than a quickie wedding in Vegas that wouldn't even be legal, considering they couldn't use their real names, but it would still count where it mattered. They'd know, even if nobody else would.

"I'll marry you," she said quietly, "under one condition."

"Anything," he swore.

Genna leaned closer to the table, her voice dead serious as she said, "There can be no goddamn Elvis Presley in the building."

A smile slowly formed on Matty's lips as he mirrored her, leaning her direction. "Deal."

Two hours later, as the sun set over Vegas, Matty and Genna found themselves in a little chapel on Las Vegas Boulevard, one that didn't even have a name. A blue sign stood out front of the old stone building, 'wedding chapel' shining bright in lights. A few white pews lined the sides of the aisle, soft lighting bathing everything in gold. The room was vacant except for them and the minister, the lady who worked the front desk stepping in as a witness. It hadn't taken long to secure a marriage license, a hundred bucks and a form filled with lifetimes of lies that nobody questioned. Another two hundred dollars later, there they were, a wedding in progress. All that remained were the vows.

Matty took her right hand, holding it as he gazed at Genna beside him in a little black dress she'd taken from a stranger's closet. She was nervous. He could tell. Her left hand clutched a tiny rose bouquet so tightly her knuckles glowed. He hadn't spoken a single word yet but tears already brimmed her eyes.

"We've been through a lot," he said, not sure where to start, but it was enough to send the tears streaming down her cheeks. "More than most people go through in a lifetime. The world tried to tear us apart in the worst ways, but we didn't let it, and I know I'll never let it, because you
are
my world now. No matter what happens, I'll always be here for you. I'd follow you to the end of the Earth and back again, if I had to, if you needed me to. I wouldn't hesitate. I love you."

Genna tried to wipe away her tears with her arm, still clinging to the bouquet. Matty reached over, brushing them off her cheeks, as the minister motioned for her turn.

"I love you, too," she said, staring at him, her mouth opening and closing a few times, like the words were caught inside of her. Damn near a minute of silence passed before her face contorted and she let out a cry loud enough to startle their makeshift witness. "Ugh, that's all I've got!"

"Ah, come on, that was weak," Matty said playfully. "I know you've got something else in you."

"Matteo," she whispered. "Kind of rhymes with potato."

Matty laughed, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her to him. "Good enough for me."

"Fucking hormones," she whined into his chest. "Yours was perfect and mine's over here all jumbled in my brain and I don't know what to say except I love you, I really do… I love you more than chocolate cake with strawberry icing."

"With chocolate sprinkles?"

"Don't push it."

He kissed the top of her head before turning to the minister. "What's next?"

The old man smiled. "Rings."

Matty frowned. "Got none of those yet."

"Then I suppose that's it," the man said. "By the power vested in me by the State of Nevada, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride."

Matty cupped Genna's chin with one of his hands, the other still around her. Slowly, he leaned down, kissing her, taking his time to savor the moment.

"Mrs. Barsanti," he whispered against her lips, loud enough only for her to hear.

"I'm
not
taking your last name," she whispered back.

"I don't blame you," he said. "So, how about that honeymoon now?"

"You can suck your own dick in the Honda."

"Tempting, but I was thinking about Paris, actually."

"Paris?"

"Paris Hotel and Casino," he whispered. "How about we go see that other Eiffel Tower?"

S
oho
.

Dante could count the number of times he'd visited the neighborhood on one hand. He'd driven through it while on missions from his father. Once, he threw caution to the wind and went home with a girl who lived there. And then there was that time, not long ago, when he confronted the Barsanti brothers, when he'd lost control and somebody ended up dead.

It was a mistake, he knew. He'd had no business going to Soho.

It was just asking for trouble.

So why, yet again, did he find himself there?

There, on the wrong side of that invisible boundary. It was pointless now, he figured.
Nowhere
was safe. He'd been attacked in East Harlem, somewhere the Barsantis just didn't go. That had all changed, though, because of Matteo. He'd flown into town in that goddamn red sports car, violating every rule the families had established, blurring lines and inviting himself where he didn't belong.

Dante didn't blame Genna. She'd been innocent. She didn't know what their world was like. She didn't remember. But Matteo should've known better.

Because of him, everything was different.

Dante hesitated on the sidewalk in front of the brick building, gazing up at the faded sign near the entrance.
The Place.

Here goes nothing.

Opening the door, Dante stepped inside the busy bar. Chatter echoed throughout the place, dozens of men hanging around, socializing. There was almost a happy undercurrent, an excited buzz in the air, but it didn't last long.

Someone noticed him, recognizing his face, and that was all it took. The whispers started, passed along from person to person like a game of
Telephone
. It was so blatant that Dante trailed the gossiping with his eyes.

It took less than a minute for the whispers to reach everyone. Men gawked, and sneered, a few even prematurely reaching for weapons. The only person who didn't seem to react was the man standing at the far end of the bar. His back was to Dante, his shoulders relaxed, like he had not a care in the world.

Roberto Barsanti.

Dante took a deep breath before approaching the bar near where Barsanti stood.
No sudden movements. Gotta stay calm
. Even a hint of agitation could get him shot.

"A Coke," he ordered, stopping in front of the bartender.

The guy glared at Dante, blinking a few times. He made no move to get the drink or even acknowledge Dante had spoken at all.

A throat cleared. "Get the boy his drink."

The bartender's posture slumped as he muttered, "Yes, sir."

"I'm not looking for trouble," Dante said right away as he glanced beside him at Barsanti.

"Oh, I don't buy that for a second," Barsanti said. "You wouldn't have come here unless trouble was what you were looking for."

The bartender set a small glass filled with ice against the bar, pouring some soda into it before shoving it toward him. Dante nodded his gratitude as he picked up the drink. "How do you know I wasn't just
so
appreciative of your hospitality that I decided to come by for another visit?"

A slight smirk touched the corners of Barsanti's lips. "In that case, how about a tour?"

"I think I've seen most of it," Dante said. "Saw the basement, now I'm seeing the bar… all that's left is whatever's up above."

"Nothing's upstairs," Barsanti said. "My boys used to live up there, but not anymore."

Dante's eyes flickered to the ceiling.
Huh
.

Barsanti rubbed his mouth, tapping his fingertips against his chapped lips. He was thinking, probably about what to do with Dante. Kill him or humor him? Dante figured he had fifty-fifty odds. After a moment, the man turned, motioning to the bartender. "Give me a bottle of our best Scotch."

The bartender snatched an unopened bottle off the wall behind the bar. Barsanti took it, swiping two clean glasses.

"Come." Barsanti motioned for Dante to follow him. "Join me."

A part of Dante wanted to plant firmly in spot, refusing to follow that order, because it went against everything he'd always stood for. Just being there made him sick to his stomach. It felt inherently wrong. But another part of him, the part that had led him to Soho in the first place, reminded him he had nothing to lose.

Kill him, Barsanti might, but he could've done it weeks ago if he'd wanted. Besides, killing him at that point would've been
merciful
.

So Dante trailed the man to the back of the bar, into an offshoot room filled with pool tables. Barsanti set the bottle of Scotch and the glasses down on a small table inside the door before sticking two fingers to his lips and letting out a loud whistle that stalled everyone.

"Out," he barked, not needing to say another word. The handful of men shuffled toward the door, shooting Dante some unpleasant looks.

"Do you play?" Barsanti asked once they were alone, picking up a pool stick that was leaning against a nearby wall.

"I'm sure you already know the answer to that," Dante said.

Barsanti returned the stick to the holder before grabbing another, cleaning up. Dante watched the man make a quick sweep of the room, straightening everything up, before returning to his bottle of Scotch.

"I've heard about your occasional hustle," Barsanti said. "I've heard a lot about you, in fact. I like to stay on top of things, and people, they always seem to have a lot to say about
you
."

"I can't imagine why."

Barsanti opened the bottle, pouring a bit in each of the glasses. He nudged one toward Dante before picking up the other and swallowing the liquor. "Word on the street is that you don't remember anything, that you have no idea what happened to you, but the fact that you're here tells me differently. You wouldn't have come without a reason."

Dante hesitated, eyeing the liquor. He set his glass of soda down beside it, having no interest in drinking either one. "I want to know why you didn't kill me."

Barsanti considered that as he poured himself more Scotch. "Would you rather I did?"

Dante didn't answer.

"You know, I was about your age when I came into power," Barsanti continued. "It wasn't easy, but it worked, because your father and I had come to an understanding. We respected each other. We worked together. He even made me your godfather, you know."

Dante glared at him. "I know."

"But something changed. I don't know when, or why, but we lost it. Respect turned to suspicion, and eventually, we cared about territory more than anything. So your father attacked, and I retaliated. Figured that would be the end of that, but Primo, ah… he doesn't know when to let things go."

"You killed his son."

"And you killed
mine
," Barsanti said, a hard edge to his voice, as he pointed at Dante with his glass. "You can be angry, and you can hate me, but don't be a hypocrite."

"What happened to Enzo wasn't intentional."

"You aimed your gun at him and pulled the trigger. It doesn't get much more deliberate."

"Then why let me live?"

Barsanti swallowed his Scotch before setting the glass down. "Because I stood along that street in Little Italy as my son's car burned, and I realized that nothing I could do to your family would
ever
be as bad as what Primo did. We want revenge for losing our children. Believe me, I'd love nothing more than to see you dead for what you've done. But Primo's got no one to blame for his loss now except himself."

"He doesn't blame himself," Dante said. "It wasn't intentional."

Barsanti let out a sharp laugh, a bitter edge to it. "You Galantes and your
unintentional
excuses. Your father used a bomb. A
bomb
. He had every intention of letting that bomb go off, regardless of who got caught in the blast."

"He wouldn't have—"

"Your sister had enough time to get there," Barsanti said, cutting him off. "Your father knew where she was going, so why did it still happen? Why didn't he stop it?"

"Why didn't
you
?" Dante asked. "I remember the night my brother died. Your people were lurking. They knew kids were there. So why'd you still let that bomb go off? Didn't you care who got caught in the blast?"

Barsanti was quiet for a moment before saying, "No."

"No?"

"No, I didn't care."

"You're
sick
."

"Maybe I am," he said, "but at least I'm honest about it."

Rage simmered in Dante's bloodstream. He felt himself shaking.
Despicable son of a bitch
. Clenching his hands into fists, he turned away, knowing if he didn't get out of there, he'd likely do something that
would
get him killed.

"To answer your question," Barsanti called after him. "I let you live—not for him, not even for you—I did it for
myself
. I've lost my children, and I could blame your father, I could blame
you
, but the fact is, I brought this on them.
I
did. It was my job to protect them, and I failed. So I let you live, because I'd murdered a son once and look what that got me. I didn't want to murder another. It wasn't worth it."

Dante walked through the bar, heading for the exit. He'd damn near made it when someone stepped right into his path, blocking him. Dante's muscles coiled at the familiar faces.

The Civello brothers.

Spineless motherfuckers
.

That rage he'd tried to quell boiled over, flowing out of him, prickling his skin. He stepped forward, not stopping, bumping right into one of them. Dante looked the guy dead in the eyes. If they expected him to cower, they'd be disappointed.

"Move," Dante said, "or I'll move you myself."

"I'd like to see you try."

Dante shoved against him, knocking him back a few steps, right into his brother. Before the guy could try to come at him, Dante took another step forward, toe-to-toe again. "If you think I'm afraid of you, you're wrong. You're nobody. You're
nothing
. You might've got one over on me before but never again. Next time you get in my way, you'll be cut down.
Permanently
."

"Ohh, strong words from such a weak little boy that couldn't even protect his baby sister."

Dante didn't think. He didn't care. Those words hit him and he
swung
. His fist collided with a jaw, knocking the guy back, making him lose his footing.

At once, people swarmed them.

Hands grabbed Dante, yanking him back as others threw punches. Pain tore through him, rippling down his spine when he was thrown into a nearby wall. He gasped as the air was forced from his lungs, a fist slamming into his gut, over and over. Dante fought back, blindly swinging, a blur of bodies surrounding him, attacking.

The Civello boy got up from the ground, reaching into his pocket. Dante spotted the knife in his hand as he flipped it open, coming at him. Before he could defend himself, the door to the bar swung open.

Fucking reinforcements
.

Panic threatened to consume Dante, but when his eyes darted that way, he saw a familiar face.
Umberto
. Galante soldiers flanked him, rushing inside, ten seconds too late to stop what was happening. The blade sliced into Dante, searing pain tearing through his side. He growled, clenching his teeth, as chaos erupted. Weapons were pulled, guns aiming at heads.

"Enough!" a voice bellowed through the bar.
Barsanti
. He didn't approach, but the lone word was enough for them to press
pause
. Barsanti's men lowered their guns as Dante was released, the hostile mob around him retreating.

Dante clutched his bleeding side, staggering toward the door, shoving through the crowd. He stepped in front of Umberto, his old friend's gun inadvertently pointing at him.

Dante continued to the door, moving around his father's men, not addressing any of them. Stepping out into the warm night air, Dante inhaled sharply, pulling up his shirt to examine his side. Blood streamed from the wound. Not so much that he would bleed to death in the street but enough be concerning.

"What the fuck, Dante!" Umberto spat, storming out of the bar behind him. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

Dante groaned. "The son of a bitch got me."

Umberto looked at the wound as he shook his head, muttering under his breath, "I can't believe you fucking did that. What were you
thinking
?"

Dante dropped his shirt, covering the wound, as the rest of the Galante men resurfaced. What was he thinking? It was hard to say. "How'd you know I was here?"

"Lucky guess."

"Bullshit," Dante said. "Are you following me?"

Umberto hesitated, not wanting to answer that question, which was all Dante needed to figure it out.

"He
ordered
you to follow me." Dante shook his head. "Unbelievable."

Truthfully, he wasn't surprised. How many times had his father told him to shadow Genna, to keep an eye on her? Every damn day since the moment she'd learned to walk.

"He was concerned," Umberto said. "You're not acting like yourself."

"Stop following me. I don't need a fucking
babysitter
. I'm fine. I can take care of myself."

Dante turned, taking a few steps, trying to apply pressure to his side to stop the bleeding.

Umberto quickly caught up, grabbing his arm. "Look, let's get you to the hospital, okay? Get you seen by a doctor."

Dante yanked his arm away. "I don't need a doctor."

"You're hurt."

"I'll live."

"Come on, don't be this way, man. We're friends."

"Are we? Because I thought we were, Bert, but seems to me I was out of sight, out of mind."

Umberto gaped at him, jaw slack. No defense to that.

It would've been nice, he thought, for just a moment, to have someone put him first. It would've been nice to have someone care about him… to have someone
miss
him.

It would be nice to have someone need him again.

It would've been nice, but that wasn't how it happened. It was never about him
.
He was just a pawn. Umberto hadn't hesitated to fill his shoes, hadn't hesitated to take his place in the game.