Sweetest Sorrow (Forbidden Book 2) (6 page)

"I do," she whispered.

"Then calm down and let me handle it," he said, a slight smile touching his lips. "I got this."

Genna didn't believe he had it for a second, but she didn't object as he pulled away and pushed the driver's side door open to step out.

"Y'all all right?" the officer asked, approaching Matty, his accent so thick Genna struggled to understand the words. "Car ain't leave you stranded, has it? Need me to call you some help?"

"No, sir," Matty said, mimicking the officer's voice, a fake southern accent framing the words. "My wife's just got a bit of morning sickness, that's all. We were about to be on our way again."

"Ah, okay, just checking on y'all." The officer peeked into the car at Genna, tipping his hat. "Ma'am."

"Officer."

Matty exchanged some more pleasantries with the man before the officer walked away, heading back to his police cruiser. Matty climbed back in the car, his expression serious as he motioned her way. "Let's get out of here."

She barely got the door closed and her seatbelt on before Matty pulled back out onto the highway, leaving the cop along the side of the road. Genna watched in the side mirror, heart beating rapidly, not calming down until the officer took off in the opposite direction.

"So your wife's pregnant, huh? Tough break."

"Would you have preferred
baby mama
?"

"Probably would've made more sense with the Larry the Cable Guy accent you were rocking."

"The
who
?"

"Larry the Cable Guy," she repeated. "You know, the 'get 'er done' dude?"

"The
what
?"

Genna waved him off. "The point is, you sounded ridiculous."

"Yeah, well, considering the North Carolina license plate on the car, I figured it best to try to blend in. You know, so not to raise any suspicion and give the man a reason to run the tag."

Genna gazed at him, surprised by how much thought he put into that, although she shouldn't have been. He'd always seemed in control of situations, even way back in the defunct elevator that first day. Maybe he
did
have it handled, after all.

Sighing, Genna snatched up the map again, smoothing the crinkles out of it. "Paris, Texas. You think it's anything like the real Paris?"

"Maybe," Matty said. "I wouldn't put any money on it, though."

"Shame," she said. "I've always wanted to see Paris."

"You've never gone?"

She cut her eyes at him. "This is furthest away from home I've ever been."

That seemed to surprise Matty. "Your whole life you've had the world at your fingertips, but you've never seen any of it?"

"I wouldn't exactly say I had the world at my fingertips, you know, since my father had me under his thumb. I was only supposed to go where he had eyes, where he could watch me, just in case, and even when I went there, he sent Dante."

Her voice cracked as she whispered his name.
Dante
. Man, it hurt. Would it ever not hurt? She doubted it. Even knowing he wasn't waiting for her back in Manhattan, it almost felt like a betrayal, her being on the road like this. Her pseudo-bodyguard brother… what would he think?

"I'm sorry."

Matty's voice was quiet, genuine, as he reached over to grab her hand, squeezing it. Genna gave him a soft smile, whispering, "Thank you."

She appreciated his words, even though he didn't owe her an apology. He'd been just as innocent as her in all of it. She wasn't the only one who lost somebody. He'd lost a brother, too.

"We should do something," Matty said. "Whenever we stop, we should do something for him. I know it won't be the same as having a funeral, but you deserve to be able to say goodbye to your brother."

"What, like tip a forty for the homies or something?"

Matty laughed. "Sure, why not?"

"Dante would find that funny," Genna said. "Well, I mean, he
would've
, you know…"

"I know."

Paris, Texas, it turned out, wasn't like the city in France. It was a quaint little town with not too many people and pretty much nothing to do. In less than an hour, they'd seen all there was to see. Genna stood in a parking lot beside the Honda, in front of the small replica Eiffel Tower, and stared up at the massive red cowboy hat on top of it. She hadn't expected glitz and glamor, but she was less than impressed.

She felt Matty's eyes on her. He stood just a few feet away, watching her as she stared at the tower. Slowly, her gaze shifted his direction.

"Do you think the real one is as underwhelming?" she asked.

He shook his head, not breaking eye contact. "I think it's impossible not to be in awe of something so magnificent. From the top, everything looks so small, like any problems you might have are trivial, because
you're
trivial, compared to what's around you. That's beautiful, I think... even almost a thousand feet in the air, it has a way of making you feel grounded."

"You speak like you've seen it."

"I've seen most of the world. It kept me out of the way, out of New York."

Sighing, Genna once more surveyed the fake Eiffel tower.

"I'll take you someday," he said, "if you want to see the real thing."

She did, but she didn't want him to make promises she wasn't sure he could keep. He was trying, though. He was
really
trying. And that, to her, meant everything.

"Okay, let's do this," she said, waving at Matty.

"
Here
?"

"Sure, why not?" she said. "I mean, come on… can you think of a better makeshift headstone than a tower wearing a cowboy hat? That's some Billy the Kid
Regulators
type shit."

"Uh, okay."

He grabbed her hand as they approached the tower, walking along the brick path, and stopping a few feet away.

"Oh, Dante," Genna said, staring up at the thing. "I don't even know what to say."

"You tell him how you feel," Matty suggested. "You tell him how much he means to you."

"He was my best friend." She paused before laughing lightly. "He is my best friend, I mean. You
are
my best friend. You always will be. I don't know what happened to you… I don't know where you went after you dropped me off that day, what happened those hours before you didn't show back up. I just… I don't know. I wish I did, though. No matter what it was, no matter what happened or what you went through, I just really wish I knew."

Tears stung her eyes, and she tried to hold them in, but they streamed down her cheeks.

"I wish I knew. I wish I could've done something. I wish I could
still
do something. I wish you were here, so I could tell you how sorry I am for everything that's happened to you. You spent your whole life taking care of me, but who was taking care of you? Who made sure you were okay? Who was making
you
happy? Somebody should've been, because you deserved it. You deserved so much you didn't get. And I know you did bad stuff, and I know you hurt people, but you were a good person. You were the
best
person. You spent every minute of every day trying to make things okay, and maybe you just made it all worse, but the point is you tried to make the world better for us. So thank you, for that, because I don't know if I ever thanked you. I don't know if anyone ever thanked you, but they should've. I should’ve.
Thank you
."

Matty grabbed ahold of her, pulling her to him as she sobbed, choking on those words.
Thank you
. God, how she wished she could've thanked him in person.

"I'm not supposed to give some eulogy for my brother," she said. "This is…
bullshit
. This isn't supposed to happen. And I know you'd say it was stupid and tell me to suck it up, but I miss you, okay? I really, really miss you, and I have no idea where you went. I have no idea where you might be. So here I am… here's
me
… accepting that I'll probably never know, but telling you that wherever you are, it's okay. You can be in peace. You deserve peace. Nobody ever gave it to you, so I really want you to take it anyway."

Genna felt stupid, standing there, doing that, but what the hell? What else could she do? It wasn't as if she could bury him.

She leaned her head against Matty. "Your turn."

He tensed. "
My
turn?"

"Say something."

Matty hesitated. "What can I say? You were, uh… I heard you were good at pool. Sucks we never got to play."

"That was weak."

"That's all I got."

"Come on, I'm sure you can think of something else."

"Uh, Dante Galante… your name kind of rhymes. Always thought that was neat."

Genna laughed. "Seriously?"

Before either could say another word, a faint ringing sound interrupted them. Genna tensed while Matty reached into his pocket and pulled out the cell phone he'd bought and shook it at her. "Sorry, gotta take this, baby."

He walked over, strolling a few steps away as he answered the phone. Genna watched him before glancing back at the tower, scanning it in silence.

"So, uh…" Matty hesitated as he returned, slipping the phone back into his pocket. "How do you feel about Nevada?"

"Nevada?"

"Yeah, there's a place there… somewhere we can go. Maybe somewhere we can call home."

Home
. Genna liked the sound of that word.

"Isn't there an Eiffel Tower there?" she asked. "In Las Vegas?"

"Actually, yeah… it's about half the size of the real one. A lot bigger than this one."

"Well then, I'd say Nevada feels like it just might be right."

T
he bumpy dirt
path cut through the overgrown land, barely wide enough for a vehicle to pass. Not far off the deserted highway stood an old two-story house. Genna stared at it in the darkness, taking in the chipped paint and splintered wood, railings torn apart and missing, leaving jagged spikes along the massive porch. Her stomach twisted in knots. She'd seen enough horror movies in her life to know when a place just wasn't right.

And this place seemed about as wrong as it got.

"I know we're not exactly on vacation here," Genna said, "but do we really have to reenact
Cabin in The Woods
?"

Matty laughed quietly, although it wasn't exactly a happy sound. Exhaustion weighed down every part of him. Genna noticed it in his face and heard it in his voice. They'd been traveling for days, having to stop frequently thanks to Genna's morning sickness and incessant need to pee.
Pregnancy, whee!

"We're in the desert, so I wouldn't call this the woods," Matty said. "Besides, it's more of a ranch."

"A ranch."

"Yeah, or you know…" He waved toward it. "A plantation home or something."

"Plantation home."

"Yeah, so I wouldn't call it a cabin."

Definitely not in Manhattan anymore
.

"Well, then, my mistake." Genna eyed the house in the dim moonlight. "Nothing horror movie-esque about a ranch, huh? Should've invested in some cattle when we were in Texas. Maybe get some horses. You know, you might look good in skin-tight Wranglers."

Matty laughed again, this time lighter, as he reached over and cupped the back of her neck with his hand. His thumb stroked the skin absent-mindedly as he shook his head. "I don't think it's
that
kind of ranch."

"What kind of ranch is it?"

"The kind that keeps you isolated," he explained. "The kind that people hide out on."

“It’s kind of sounding like
Cabin in The Woods
again."

He smiled in her direction. "We'll be safe here."

"Are you sure about that?"

"Safer than we would be back in New York."

It wasn't a 'yes', but it was close enough to it. She motioned toward the shabby house. "Well, then, what are we waiting for? Our ranch awaits."

The place was already unlocked. Matty shoved against the wooden door, forcing it open, a blast of stuffy air hitting Genna right away. Her nose twitched at the stale odor, dust tickling her nostrils. She reached along the wall for a light switch, her stomach dropping when she found one and flicked it up.

Nothing.

She wasn't surprised by the lack of electricity, but damn if it wasn't disheartening. All she wanted was a long bath and some kind of air conditioning, but the odds of either option happening were slim to none.

"Tomorrow," Matty said, lingering in the foyer of the house beside her, moonlight peeking in the open door behind them. "I'll make sure the power gets running then, I promise. I just have to make a few calls."

"What even is this place?" Genna asked, looking around at what little she could decipher in the darkness. A clunky rotary phone sat on a wooden stand not far from her.

"A safe house, I guess."

She tensed. "One of the Barsantis?"

"No," he said. "Not the Galantes, either."

"So... neutral ground."

He nodded. "Neutral ground."

She didn't press him on that. He'd kept her safe before on neutral ground, and she had no choice but to trust him again. Besides, they were twenty-five hundred miles away from New York City, in the stifling desert in the middle of nowhere. Primo's reach was undoubtedly long, but Genna wasn't sure it was
that
long.

"I'm going to look around," she said. "See what's here, you know… if there's anything."

"I'll unload the car," Matty responded, lingering as he stared at her. "Make yourself at home."

Once he finally turned, walking back out the front door, Genna set off through the house. Her footsteps were hesitant in the darkness, not wanting to trip over anything lying around. Old belongings were strewn throughout the place, hastily discarded, broken glass shoved along the sides of the hallways. No one had bothered cleaning up, but they'd cleared a path, which Genna was grateful for.

In the kitchen, she opened a few drawers, shifting through the leftover contents. She found a heavy black-handled flashlight shoved in a cabinet and clicked the button to turn it on.

Nothing happened.

Scowling, she unscrewed the bottom of it, grimacing when a set of corroded batteries dropped out, hitting the floor by her feet.
Gross
.

"Jesus, how old is this shit?" she grumbled, continuing her search. She found a matchbook in a drawer and snatched it up, squinting to make out the logo in the dim moonlight.
The Flamingo Hotel & Casino
. She held her breath, ripping a match out and striking it against the worn out strip on the back. It ignited, the flame sparking. "Ha!"

"Ah, she discovered fire," Matty said, stepping into the kitchen and dropping their bags on the floor. "Taking it back to the Stone-Age."

She shook the match out before it burned down too far, not wanting to singe her fingers. "Help me find some candles, Fred Flintstone. Maybe they don't have electricity, but even damn
Buddhists
have candles."

"Amish," he corrected her.

"What?"

"I'm pretty sure you mean the Amish," he said. "Buddhists aren't opposed to candles, but a lot of monasteries use electricity and technology, so…"

"Buddhist… Amish… really, what's the difference?"

"Not touching that one."

Genna scoured the kitchen some more as Matty disappeared, returning with a tall white candle in a glass jar, a religious votive with some faded Catholic painting on the front of it.

"Mother Mary to the rescue," he said, playfully shaking it in her direction.

Genna took it from him, blowing inside of it, gagging at the amount of dust that flew back out at her. She lit another match, holding it down into the candle, grateful it was just long enough to touch the wick, igniting it. The spark snap, crackle, and popped around the lingering dust, but the thing stayed lit, giving off enough light for her to see.

"We should stick to the downstairs for tonight," Matty suggested.

Genna had no plans to argue with him on that.

Carrying the candle, she made her way through the downstairs. A dining room was adjacent to the kitchen, a splintered wooden table in the center of it, reminiscent of the one Genna's family sat at every night for dinner. Past that was the living room, more furniture there—a couch and two chairs, an old television that looked like it might've been black and white.
Unbelievable
. Knick-knacks sat around, also collecting dust, long ago abandoned, left behind like everything else.

Genna had been to a few safe houses in her lifetime, places in the city her father secretly owned in obscure names, with little more than mattresses on the floor and a refrigerator in the corner, whatever they'd need to survive if they went into hiding for a few days. But this wasn't like any safe house Genna had ever encountered. Someone had once
lived
there. Someone had once called the place home.

What happened to them? Where did they go?

Who the hell were they?

Matty plopped down on the end of the couch, sending dust flying that had settled into the cushions. Genna laughed as the cloud of it lingered around him. Smiling, Matty opened his arms to her as he stretched out, motioning for her to join him.

She set the candle down on a small end table beside him before tucking in at his side. The couch wasn't the most comfortable, springs poking her as she sunk into it, but she felt content as she settle into his embrace, her head against his chest. Even though it was sweltering, the air stuffy, her skin covered in sweat, she found comfort in Matty's warm.

"We'll make the best of it," Matty said, kissing the top of her head. "You'll see… it'll all be okay."

She wanted to believe that. She wanted to believe that as long as she had Matty, as long as they were together, they'd be happy. The world wouldn't be perfect, but they'd make the best of it, and it would be okay.

Okay, because they had each other.

Okay, because of the baby.

Genna's hand drifted, resting against her stomach.

No matter how terrified she was, she had to hold it together. She'd lost her family. Her brother was gone, but even without him, she had to go on. As painful as each breath was, as agonizing as each what-if seemed in her mind, she had to keep taking steps forward, one foot after the other. She couldn't stumble and fall. Because soon, there would be another little Galante in the world, one that would need her the way she always needed her brother. One that would depend on her for protection; one that would need her to keep them from harm. And protection was vital, just as harm was possible, because this new little Galante wouldn't be like the others. No, this new little Galante would be mixed with Barsanti, and nothing was more dangerous than
that
.

"It'll be okay," she agreed, closing her eyes. "We'll be just fine."

* * *

T
he moment Dante's
ventilator was removed days later, the questions started, pelting him like machine gun fire.
Rat-ta-tat-tat
.

Do you know where you are? Do you know your name? Do you know what day it is?

Do you know where the hell you've been?

Dante remained silent in the uncomfortable hospital bed, not answering a single thing thrown at him. He was groggy, in pain, and just plain annoyed by all of the damn questions. Tests were run. Drugs were pumped into his body before being taken back away. Just in case it was causing some reaction, some kind of dissociated response, in case it was making him mute, when they couldn't have that. No, not when they wanted their questions answered. Not when they needed something from him.

First, it was the slew of medical doctors before finally, they sent a psychiatrist. A fucking
shrink
. He'd been off the ventilator for forty-eight hours, breathing steadily on his own, his vitals strong, when the guy in the white lab coat took up residence across the room, tossing out a brand new question:
how are you feeling
?

How was he feeling?
Dead
.

Inside of him was rotting, decomposing, every second that passed making rigor mortis set into his chest, seizing whatever had been left. Despite his head riddling out the truth, his heart had held on, waiting for a miracle. Every time the sliding door to his hospital room opened, hope flooded him. Maybe it was Genna. Maybe she'd shown up. Maybe she'd survived whatever had happened.

What the hell
had
happened?

He hadn't been brave enough to ask that question, not when everyone around him was pressuring him for their own answers. So many faces popping up in front of him, not a single one pleasant.

No friends. No family.

Even Nurse Russo had been off-duty.

Or maybe she begged to be reassigned to get away from me
.

So he endured the interrogations in silence, not uttering a word, staring down at his hands folded in his lap.

His eyes rose toward the psychiatrist, who sat there with a pen and a pad, ready to jot down whatever Dante said and assess whether or not he was out of his fucking mind.

"How are you feeling?" the man repeated, eye contact making him think some sort of progress was being had, but it would be a cold day in Hell when Dante played this game with those people.

Besides, it wouldn't have been smart to answer that.

He felt like ripping someone apart, piece-by-piece.

His gaze drifted back down to his hands.

"If you don't want to start there, we can start elsewhere," the psychiatrist said. "How about you acknowledge you at least understand what I'm saying? All I need is a nod of the head."

Dirt and dried blood was still caked beneath some of Dante's nails. He picked at it, wishing he could get out of that bed and shower, to wash off the filth, to purge some of the memories of what they'd done to him. Yeah, the doctors had let him breathe on his own, but everything else? Out of the question.

He couldn't even get up to go take a piss.

Fucking catheter rammed up his dick.

Granted, getting up in itself seemed impossible, considering he couldn't feel his legs. They still worked, though. He knew, because he could wiggle his toes.

Groaning, the shrink stood and stomped off. "This is pointless."

Dante closed his eyes, relief washing over him once the door slid open. Peace surrounded him for a moment. He relished being alone—alone to wallow in grief—until a soft sigh echoed from nearby, startling him. His heart stalled a beat. He heard the hesitation on the machine. That ignorant hope flowed through him again.

When he opened his eyes, it wasn't his sister's icy blue gaze that greeted him, though. It was Nurse Russo.

She didn't stare at him like everyone else, with the revulsion he'd gotten from so many since waking up. No, her eyes were kind, albeit a little hesitant as they regarded him for the first time in two days. Last time she'd stepped in his room, he'd been indisposed, intubated. Now, he was just a stubborn asshole.