Sweetest Sorrow (Forbidden Book 2) (37 page)

Stepping inside, he pressed the button for the lobby, the doors almost closing before a hand shot between them, forcing them back open. Alfie stepped inside, pressing the '
door close
' button. Dante leaned against the back wall of the elevator, rubbing his cheek.

When they reached the lobby, Dante made his way to the exit while Alfie veered into the waiting room. Four in the morning, almost twenty-four hours passing since the café fire, and the city was quiet.
Eerily
quiet. Dante headed for the hospital's parking garage around the corner, going for his car on the second tier. Pulling his key out, he approached it, his footsteps faltering when it came into view.

Someone was sitting on the hood.

They wore all back, oversized hoodie.
Umberto
.

Carefully, Dante scanned the garage, looking for others, but black sedans packed the place and he couldn't differentiate between them.

His steps were measured as he approached the McLaren.

"Nice car." Umberto glided a gloved hand along the glossy blue paint. "Not really
you
, though."

"You don't even know me."

"I do. Or I
did
. Dante I knew was smarter than this."

"Smarter than what?"

"Smarter than driving a car that stands out so much."

"What are you going to do? Blow it up?"

Umberto slid off the hood to take a few steps his direction. "Do you really think I'd do that to you?"

"Yes."

His answer was instant.

Umberto would do
anything
that Primo ordered.

A car pulled into the garage, speeding around the corner, coming their direction. Dante's heart raced at the flash of headlights. The car skidded to a stop behind him, blocking him in.

"Your father wants another word with you," Umberto said. "Shouldn't take long."

"Just long enough to shoot me, huh?"

"Don't be stupid." Umberto opened the back door. "Get in."

"Can't do that."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't want to."

"Figured you would've learned by now that these things aren't negotiable."

"I'm not looking to negotiate," Dante said. "I'm just flat out fucking denying."

"It's an order."

"I don't give a shit."

Umberto reached beneath his hoodie for a pistol. He aimed it, hand steady, not wavering. "Don't make me do this, Dante."

"That's the thing," Dante said, glaring at him. "I'm not making you do this. This? It's not
me
. So shoot me if you want, Bert, but you'll have to shoot me in the back, like a coward."

Dante turned, taking a single step before the gun cocked.

"Last chance," Umberto said. "Get in the car."

Dante closed his eyes, swaying, as grabbed the door handle of his car, preparing to get in. Seconds passed. He waited for the gunshot. He waited, expecting it, until another voice cut through the garage. "I believe he was quite clear when he said he wasn't going anywhere with you."

Alfie stood nearby, flanked by a few others, guns drawn and aimed at the sedan with the back door standing wide open.

"This has nothing to do with you," Umberto said. "Mind your own business."

"You're wrong," Alfie said. "I've made it my business."

Umberto's expression hardened. "His father wants a word."

Alfie turned to Dante. "You got anything to say to your father?"

"Nothing."

"Then I guess his father is just shit out of luck," Alfie said. "So why don't you run along and go pass that on to your boss? Tell him his son has nothing left to say to him. If he has a problem with that, he can take it up with the Brazzi family."

Umberto hesitated before lowering his gun, his eyes on Dante. "You're making a mistake."

Dante didn't respond, watching as Umberto slipped into the back of the car. It sped from the garage, leaving Dante intact. He glanced at Alfie as the others disappeared into the darkness. "You just saved my ass."

"You dying would hurt my Gabby, which means we have to try to keep you breathing… you know, just until my little girl gets sick of your existence."

"
W
here the ever-loving
fuck could it be?" Genna muttered, looking through a dresser drawer in the master bedroom. She shifted things around, yanking out old clothes and tossing them behind her, onto the destroyed bed. Despite going through the rest of the place and fixing things up, making it more of a home, they never bothered with
this
room.

Admittedly, it freaked her out. She still wasn't sure what kind of people had lived there, but she'd never forgotten Chris's words from the garage, about the creepy reclusive lady living out there. Many days since then, while Matty worked and Genna stayed home, she imagined what that would be like—living there for decades, isolated, becoming an urban legend more than a genuine person.

The thought
terrified
her.

Once that drawer had been rifled through, Genna shut it, moving on to the next one to do the same thing. She raided the entire dresser before moving on to the bedside stands, giving up eventually and turning to the closet. Besides the clothes hanging up and the pile of shoes strewn beneath, a few small boxes were stacked together on a shelf, the last of the untouched leftover belongings.

Genna scowled at them.

Fuck it
.

She stood on her tiptoes to pull the first two down, finding nothing of importance. She reached for the third box, yanking on it, her grip slipping as the cardboard tore.

"Shit!" she yelped, jumping back as the box came crashing down, everything spilling out. A loud clatter, followed by the sound of something rolling, like marbles scattering along the wood. Glancing down, Genna's heart nearly stopped, her jaw going slack.

A few inches from her bare foot lay a silver gun, the metal dull. Genna had no idea what kind it was. Despite growing up in the family she had, she knew little about guns. In a pinch she could pick one up and squeeze the trigger, maybe even hit something if she got lucky, but she wouldn't bet her life on it.

She didn't much
like
guns.

Genna stared at it for a minute, her eyes glossing around the rest of the box's contents, surveying the stray bullets that had scattered when it fell. Not finding what she wanted, she backed out of the bedroom and left the mess.

Not even going there
.

She scanned the other bedrooms, knowing she'd find nothing. She'd already been through all of it, cleaning and organizing—nesting, as Matty called it. If she had come across it, she would've remembered.

She headed downstairs next.

No luck in the living room.

No luck in the dining room.

No luck in the kitchen.

What the fuck
?

Sighing, Genna paused in the foyer, frustrated and out of places to search. She spotted the small stand near the door that held the telephone, eyeing the small drawer on it.
Huh
.

"Please, please, please," she whispered, tugging the drawer open, a frustrated groan escaping her.
Empty
. "Oh, fuck you!"

Slamming the drawer shut, she stomped through the house, giving up as she headed for the back door to storm out. It was around sixty degrees outside. Cool for the desert, maybe, but being as it was the middle of winter, snow likely covering every inch of her former home, it still felt almost like summertime to her. It was hard to gauge the passing of time when the weather seemed to only have two settings: hot and hotter.

The hard ground scraped against her filthy bare soles as she approached the Lincoln. For months, she'd slaved over the thing, rebuilding carburetors and rewiring systems and replacing parts and then redoing most of it when she fucked things up the first go around, pouring sweat and dousing herself in SPF as bugs ate her up under the scorching desert sun, throwing money into it that she was sure they couldn't afford as she followed directions in books and looked at diagrams and taught herself the in's and out's of renovating cars. She'd smashed fingers and dropped things on her toes, sliced her hands open and bruised already sunburned skin, carrying battle wounds from crawling under the damn thing, replacing everything that needed replaced to make it realistically work. Cosmetically, however, the car was still a wreck, parts of the frame rusted out, but Genna still found it beautiful.

Would be even more beautiful if I had the key to the damn thing.

Genna glowered as she stood there, resting her hands on her stomach. In all the time she'd been working on it, in all the time she'd spent
thinking
about it, she never considered the fact that she hadn't encountered the key anywhere. Chris had warned her not to start it without first fixing certain things, so she decided to kind of just… fix it
all
before trying. And there she was, the car as good as she'd get it, and no key anywhere.

Sighing, Genna snatched up a screwdriver from her pile of tools and opened the creaky driver's side door to climb in behind the wheel. Prying open the dash to reach the steering column, she fiddled with the wires, not needing a diagram for this part.

She'd hotwired her first car at fourteen after watching
Gone in 60 Seconds
and knew the older the car, the easier the stealing.

Piece of chocolate cake
.

She stripped and twisted wires together, the dashboard coming to life. Grabbing the starter wire, she closed her eyes, whispering a prayer to the car gods, before sparking it against the others. The car hesitated before starting, and Genna pressed the gas, squealing with excitement as the engine revved.

The rumbling sound surrounded her, rough and gritty, the entire car trembling, but son of a bitch, it
started
. She sat there in awe, making sure it wasn't going to stall, before she climbed out and walked around to the front, popping the hood.

"Oh yeah, I'm the fucking
man
," she sang, dancing around, twirling as she grasped onto her stomach, damn near falling thanks to a screwy equilibrium.

She left the car running as she ran back inside, going for her phone in the foyer.

She needed to call someone. She needed to
tell
someone. So she dialed Matty's number, despite the fact that he was working.

"Genna?" He answered right away. "What's wrong, baby?"

"Nothing's wrong," she said. "I got the car started!"

He hesitated. "The car?"

"Yeah, the Lincoln! I got it started. Like, it actually
started
! I mean, I kind of had to hotwire it because I couldn't find a key, but it's running!"

Noise surrounded Matty from the diner, so loud she wasn't sure he could even hear her, but he repeated some of her words back. "You hotwired the Lincoln."

"Yep." She walked into the kitchen to grab a bottle of water. "I know I'm only supposed to call when it's an emergency, but I just
really
wanted to tell someone."

"It's okay," he said. "We're kind of busy right now, though, so we'll talk about it when I get home. I'm getting off early. Gavin's in town."

Genna made a face as she took a sip of her water, glancing out the window, catching sight of a black car out on the highway, pulling onto the property.
Speak of the devil
. "Ugh, okay, he's already here. I'll see you in a bit. Love you."

"Wait, what? He's—"

Genna flipped the phone closed and deposited it in the foyer on her way back outside. The car was still running, and she squatted down, trying to peek under it to make sure fluids weren't leaking, but her stomach got in the way.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of a pair of slick black dress shoes approaching, the steps measured.
Gavin
. "Look, I got the car running!"

"Should you be doing that?"

The voice was deep, kind of monotone, very matter-of-fact, not at all the smug lightness she expected.
Not Gavin
.

Genna hauled herself back to her feet, on edge. In front of her stood an unfamiliar man, six-foot-something and sturdy, wearing a well-fitted black suit. He was older, maybe forties, with dark hair that kind of curled. Italian, without a doubt, and Genna might even have called him handsome if it weren't for the fact that his expression was crazy intimidating. He carried himself with the same kind of swagger Genna used to see in her father, that untouchable 'I do what I want, just
try
to stop me' attitude. With just a look she pegged him as part of the mob. The question was
which
part... what family did he come from?

Not that one was better than another. The fact that
any
of them might've found them wasn't good at all.

"Why?" she asked defensively, taking a step away, creating some distance between them as she regarded the man. "Because I'm a woman? Because I'm
pregnant
?"

"Because it's not yours," he answered, approaching the car and peering inside of it.

"How do you know it's not mine?"

"For one, you hotwired it," he said, surveying the interior. "It would've been easier to just shove something in the ignition."

"I didn't want to damage anything." Was he seriously giving her grand theft auto
pointers
? "Figured I'd stumble upon the key eventually."

The man didn't respond to that, circling the car. Genna's eyes darted around, her gaze flickering back into the house, planning an escape route.

"Did you learn that from your father?"

That question damn near stalled Genna's heart. "What?"

"Hotwiring cars. Is that something your father taught you?"

Genna swallowed thickly. "I taught myself."

"Interesting."

"Why? Because I'm a woman?"

"It has nothing to do with you being a woman," he said, pausing beside the car, "and everything to do with your father being Primo Galante."

The sound of that name on the stranger's lips made Genna lightheaded.
Primo Galante
. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You don't have to lie to me. In fact, I'd prefer you didn't. I'm not in the business of hurting pregnant women."

"What about the non-pregnant ones?"

"Only when necessary."

"Well, at least you're honest," she said, clutching her stomach.

"You can relax," he said. "I'm not here for you."

"Why
are
you here?"

"I was nearby on business and figured I'd check on the property."

Her brow furrowed.
The property
?

"I inherited it years ago," he explained, "but I have no use for it, so when Amaro asked about a safe house, I offered it up."

"Oh, it's
yours
."

"Technically."

The man reached inside the car, flicking the wires apart, cutting it off. It struck her then, as she watched him. He knew the car didn't belong to her because it belonged to
him
.

"I didn't know," she said, motioning to the car. "I knew it belonged to somebody, but it was just sitting there, and that was kind of sad, you know? Because it's a great car, and really, it's a shame to let it rot."

"It is a shame," he agreed.

"You said you inherited this house, right?"

"Yes."

"Can I ask you something about it?"

"You already did."

Genna couldn't tell if the guy had deadpanning down to a science or if he just legitimately left his sense of humor back wherever he came from. "Can I ask you some more stuff?"

"If you insist."

Something told her he wasn't the kind of guy who took kindly to insisting, so she treaded lightly. "The people that used to live here, the
family
… what happened to them?"

He didn't answer right away, his attention on the car still.

"I mean, I know it's none of my business," she continued. "But I've been living here in their house, surrounded by their stuff, and really, let's be real… there isn't shit to do out here except
think
. So I was just thinking, you know…"

"About what kind of people would live in his hellhole?"

She hesitated as his eyes shifted to her. "Basically."

"Long story short, they're dead, for the most part."

He didn't elaborate.

"Is this like an Amityville Horror type deal? You know, one goes nutso and kills the rest?"

"Not quite."

"Well, can you maybe make that short story version a bit longer here?"

He walked around the car, coming closer, and leaned against the side of it. "The woman was psychotic. The man thought isolating her here would help, but isolation doesn't solve problems. It just narrowed the pool on which she could prey. She drank herself to death, alone and miserable, long after driving everyone else away. The man didn't live long enough to see that happen."

"What happened to him?"

"He got himself killed."

Whoa
. "And the kids?"

"Girl grew up to be just like her mother. Got herself killed, too. Man didn't live long enough to see that, either."

"And the little boy?"

"He suffered the worst fate of them all."

"What happened?"

"He gets to stand here and entertain your questions."

She gaped at him. "You?"

He extended his hand. "Corrado Moretti."

"Genevieve Galante," she said, shaking his hand. "Call me Genna… or well, I guess it's actually Jen? I don't know what I'm going by these days, so call me whatever."

Corrado let go to turn back to the car. "The Lincoln was my father's pride and joy. He never let anyone else touch it."

Shit
. "I didn't know."

Reaching into his pocket, Corrado pulled out a set of keys, unwinding one off the ring. He held it out to her, the sunlight gleaming off of the old metal. "I know he'd prefer you use the key if you're going to be driving it."

She took the key from him, eyes wide. "Are you sure?"

"I have no use for it, and like you said, it's a shame to let it rot."

Genna started to thank him when Matty's voice shouted her name from inside the house, his panic palpable.

"I should, uh, you know..." Genna motioned toward the back door. "You're welcome to come in or whatever, considering it's yours and all."

She didn't wait for his response before ducking into the house, running right into Matty in the living room. He grabbed her, pulling her to him. Her gaze flickered past him, catching sight of Gavin, gun drawn and firmly in his grip, wearing the most serious expression she'd ever seen him wear.