Sweetest Sorrow (Forbidden Book 2) (30 page)

* * *

G
abriella stood
in front of the hospital, sunshine streaming down on her through a part in the clouds. Despite that, the air was cold, winter coming on fast. It seeped through her scrubs, goose bumps springing up everywhere the air touched.

Most of the
city that never sleeps
still snoozed at that hour on a Saturday: a quarter after seven in the morning. Cars lined the curb, light frost covering windshields, but not a single one the car Gabriella expected to find.

She sighed.

Pulling her MetroCard out of her bag, she took the subway, almost falling asleep as she waited on the platform. By the time she made it to Little Italy, by the time her building came into view, she wanted to collapse right on the sidewalk face first, close her eyes and succumb to exhaustion, giving up.

Stupid
.
Stupid
.
Stupid
.

She felt
stupid
.

She knew better than to get her hopes up, to expect something from somebody, somebody who owed her nothing. Not their time. Not their attention. Not even their word. Disappointment flowed through her, a bitter pill to swallow. And it didn't help her self-loathing when she spotted the blue car parked across the street, in the same spot it had been in when she left the night before.

It hadn't moved an inch.

"Idiot," she muttered to herself after trudging up the stairs and unlocking her apartment. "You know better than this crap."

After relocking the door, she stripped and headed to her bedroom, sliding the room door closed and falling into her bed wearing nothing but a pair of tube socks and her white cotton underwear. Cuddling up with her pillow, she closed her eyes.
Stupid
.

She'd almost dozed off when buzzing echoed through her apartment. Gabriella pulled her pillow overtop of her head, covering her ears with it, diluting the intrusive sound.

It buzzed half a dozen times before stopping. When silence took over, sleep stole Gabriella away.

It lasted only a few minutes, though, before another noise jarred her awake. She tore the pillow away with a groan and sat up, her gaze darting to the bedroom door. Through the hazy glass, she saw movement, her heart stalling for a beat before wildly kicking in.

Someone was there. In the apartment.
Oh crap
.

Jumping out of bed, Gabriella opened the drawer in the bedside stand, pulling out a small .22 caliber pistol stashed there. Creeping to the door, she took a deep breath, counting to three in her head before shoving it open. "Don't move!"

The person froze.

Gabriella's hands were steady, her finger on the trigger, her racing heart battering her insides. It took a few seconds for her adrenaline to wane enough for her to make sense of things.

Dante stood in front of her, dressed in a suit, gaping at her from the living room. "Jesus fuck, Gabriella, what are you doing?"

"Me? What are
you
doing?" Her eyes darted to the door, seeing the locks dangling. "Did you… did you just break into my apartment?
Seriously
?"

"You didn't answer when I buzzed you," he said. "Didn't answer when I knocked, either."

"So you just force your way in? You default to breaking and entering? I could shoot you for that!"

"You could," he agreed, taking a careful step toward her. Gabriella smelled it then.
Liquor
. The odor clung to him.

"I'd do it, too," she warned. "I swear I would shoot you right in the face."

"I believe it." Dante raised his hands. "Look, can you just… put down the gun?"

"Why should I?"

"Because it's really fucking with my head," he said. "Not to mention your tits are distracting. I don't know where to look. I don't know what to
think
. I don't know whether I'm supposed to be turned on or terrified, and Jesus, the fact that I'm terrified right now is kind of turning me on. So can you just… take your finger off the trigger?
Please
? Before I come in my pants here?"

Gabriella lowered the gun and crossed her arms over her chest.
Ugh
. Turning, she stalked back into her bedroom, grabbing a shirt from her closet to cover herself. She put the gun back into the drawer and went to close it when Dante called out from the doorway. "Can I see it?"

She hesitated before stepping to him, holding out the gun. "Just don't shoot me."

"You know I wouldn't," he said, taking the gun and checking it out. "Son of a bitch, it's actually
loaded."

"Of course it is," she said. "What's the point of having a gun if it doesn't have any bullets in it?"

"Damn good question," he said, handing it back. "Here, put it away, wherever you keep it."

She took it as she stared into his bloodshot eyes. "You're drunk."

"A little bit," he admitted.

She shook her head, looking away. "Well, then, it's a good thing you weren't planning to drive anywhere. If you drink and drive, you might kill somebody, and we wouldn't want that, would we?"

He sighed as she returned the gun to the drawer. "Gabriella…"

"What do you want from me, Dante?" she asked. "I'm not in the mood, so just tell me why you're here so we can get this over with and you can go on your way and do whatever it is you do."

"I thought I had an open invitation."

She walked back into the living room. "You do. You
did
."

"Did," he repeated, his expression hardening. "Meaning not anymore?"

"I don't know," she said honestly. "I don't know what you expect from me."

"I don't expect anything."

"Maybe that's the problem," she said, sitting down on the couch. "Because today, I actually expected something from you."

He frowned. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be." She dropped her head down and covered her face, her eyes burning. "You owe me nothing."

"I owe you my life."

"No, you don't," she said. "I did my job, Dante. That's it. I went to work every day, and I took care of you. I was happy to do it. You lived, not because of me, but because you refused to die. And I'm glad for it. I'm glad you're alive. But you owe me nothing for that. So it was my fault, because I should've known better than to have expectations."

"Please don't do this, Gabriella."

"Don't do what?"

"Don't
regret
me," he said. "Don't say I'm just some mistake you made."

"You're not a mistake, Dante." Sighing, she peeked up at him as he stared at her, his eyes
pleading
. What did he want? "My mom told me never to fall for a man like my father, because when they don't come home, it's going to hurt.
It's going to break your heart
, she said. And they're bound to not come home sometimes. They're bound to not show up. Because they might've made a promise to you, but they made another promise, too, they swore an oath, and that other oath will always come first.
Always
. So other guys might break your heart once or twice, but mobsters? They'll break your heart every single night."

Dante stood in silence, like he had no defense to that.

After a moment, he walked over to sit down beside her. "I just had one of the worst nights of my life, but realizing I've hurt you? Well, that takes the cake."

"I'm fine."

"You're not."

"You shouldn't feel bad."

"But I do."

"Well,
phooey
."

He laughed, gazing her way, his eyes burrowing through her.

"True or false," he said. "You're in love with me."

Gabriella's insides coiled at that word.
Love
. "Maybe."

He nodded, like that was answer enough for him.

"I know I shouldn't," she explained. "I don't even really know if I do. But I feel
something
. When I think about you. When I'm around you. I can't shake you. And I know it's probably too soon to have those feelings, and maybe I shouldn't ever have them at all, but I feel it. Can you understand that?"

"Absolutely," he said. "I felt it the first time I heard your voice."

"You did?"

"And again the first time I saw your face," he said. "I felt it the first time I kissed you. The first time I was inside of you. Jesus, I felt it when you pointed a fucking gun at my face. So yeah, I can understand that. I know what you mean."

"You're in love with me?"

"I am."

Whoa
.

Gabriella blinked rapidly, absorbing those words.

"I'm poison, though," Dante said. "I told you that, and I think I might've proved it to you today. I'm going to break your heart. I'll probably break it
a lot
. I won't want to, but I will, and you deserve better than that. You deserve better than
me
. But if you want me anyway, all you have to do is say so. We'll slap a title on this thing."

Slap a title on this thing
.

While so much in her yearned to take him up on that, to throw caution to the wind, she knew they needed to talk about what
titling
it would mean. "That's kind of a big decision to make when you're drunk and I've had like three minutes of sleep."

"True," he said. "You should go back to bed."

She stood up. "I'm going to."

"I should leave."

"No, actually, the
last
thing drunk Dante should do is wander the streets of Manhattan without supervision," she said. "So I'd rather you just come to bed with me."

"Okay."

"No hanky-panky, though," she warned. "If we even tried, I'd just fall asleep on you, and I don't know if you'd recover from that."

"Doubtful," he said. "My ego has taken a real beating lately."

Dante kicked his shoes off and removed his coat before climbing into the bed with her. Gabriella snuggled into his arms. She wanted to tell him to get comfortable, but she suspected those words would fall on deaf ears.

"What made your day so bad?" she asked, stifling a yawn.

"Long story," Dante mumbled. "Maybe I'll tell you later."

Before sleep took Gabriella, Dante's soft snores filled the room. He was out like a light, just like that, while Gabriella's exhausted mind ran circles, repeatedly drifting to a particular thought.

"I love you, Dante," she whispered. "There's no
maybe
about it."

"
D
inner
."

The lone word sprung from Dante's lips the second Gavin Amaro stepped out from his father's café around nightfall. Saturday evening, and Gabriella had just left for another long shift at work. A headache plagued Dante, the makings of a hangover, but despite it, he
really
wanted a drink.

And he really didn't want to drink alone.

Gavin stalled there. "Dinner."

"But you're buying," Dante said, "because I'm broke as shit. I haven't been working much."

"Understandable."

"And no touchy-feely bullshit, either. If you get handsy or ask how everything makes me
feel
, I'm out."

"Anything else?"

"Yeah," Dante said. "I don't fuck on the first date."

"
Bullshit
." Gavin laughed. "The Dante I knew would've stuck it in a girl he met five minutes ago."

"Yeah, well,
that
Dante didn't have a girlfriend."

Girlfriend
. That word was like a foreign language to him. But Gabriella had looked at him an hour earlier, before heading off to work, and said the magical phrase:
I want to be your girlfriend
.

And, well, like he'd said before, turning down a woman like her was impossible.

"A girlfriend, huh? Color me surprised. Always figured that word was too big for you, too complicated for you to ever figure out."

"Your cousin taught it to me."

"Is that right? Gotta be honest… I'm not sure if I want to congratulate you or punch you for that."

"You can congratulate me over dinner," Dante said. "I'll give you plenty of reasons to punch me later."

"I don't doubt it."

They went to the bar a few buildings down. Nothing special. Nothing unusual. Some place they both often visited on Saturday nights. Dante sat at an empty booth in the corner with Gavin across from him.

"Hey, guys," a waitress said, eyeing them curiously as she approached, carrying menus. "What can I get for you?"

"Heineken," Dante said, handing the menu right back when she set it down, not needing to look. "And a cheeseburger, rare, with everything on it."

She smiled, nodding, as she turned to Gavin.

"Roman Coke," he said. "And I'll just take the grilled avocado and chicken sandwich."

"Awesome, I'll have that right out."

"Avocado," Dante said when the waitress left. "Seriously?"

"It's good."

"It's fruit. On a sandwich."

"So is tomato."

"But tomato makes sense."

"Only because you're used to it," Gavin said. "You always question what's new. It's human nature. While everything else, you know, no matter how strange, feels normal because you're trained to see it that way. You're
brainwashed
."

"That sounds a lot like something the jackass in the lab coat at the hospital would say," Dante said. "I'm not here to be psychoanalyzed."

"Why
are
you here?"

"It was your idea," Dante pointed out. "You wanted to hang out, so here we are, hanging out like friends."

The waitress approached again, slipping their drinks in front of them before scurrying away. Dante picked his up, taking a sip of the beer.

"Friends," Gavin mused.

"Sorry, G, but like I said, I've got a girlfriend now. '
Friends'
is all we can ever be."

"Funny," Gavin said. "Not long ago you were telling everyone you didn't have any friends."

"Yeah, well, don't take it personal. I spent a week being tortured in a basement and nobody even looked for me. That kind of shit makes you question things."

Gavin stared at him. "What makes you think nobody looked?"

Dante took another sip. "The fact that my father said they didn't bother to look because there was
'no point'
."

Something flashed across Gavin's face then, something that looked way too much like pity. Dante swallowed more of his beer, trying to dull the swell of shame that caused.

"I hate to break it to you, because you seem to be happy settling into this
'woe is me'
persona, but we looked for you," Gavin said. "My family called for a meeting, trying to get information out of Barsanti about where he might've dumped you. We thought you were dead, yeah, but we
looked
. My father wasn't going to rest until you returned."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously," Gavin said. "Even Matty-B dug around. Barsanti was preoccupied with Enzo's funeral arrangements, but Matty wanted to make it so Genna could bury
her
brother, too. She took it all pretty damn hard."

Dante was quiet for a moment, his gaze on his beer bottle as he mulled over those words. "The whole time I was in that basement, I kept thinking about her. Seven o'clock. I was supposed to pick her up at
seven o'clock
. And I just kept hoping, you know, that she made it home all right. They tortured me, but I didn't care. I knew I wasn't making it out of there. I figured they'd get tired and end it, but still, I wondered, did
she
fucking make it?"‬ ‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬

Weight pressed on Dante's chest. The air felt heavy as he breathed it in. He guzzled his beer, trying to wash down the lump in his throat.

"Come on, you knew she did," Gavin said. "The Ice Princess was resilient. She probably learned that shit from
you
."

"I tried to tell myself that," Dante said. "I know she made it home that night, and the next night, and a few nights after that, but a lot of good that was, because she's not home
now
. I was supposed to die. I should be dead. And I can't help feeling like something got fucked up and we somehow switched places. Why am I home and she isn't?"

Gavin frowned, sitting in silence. Dante didn't expect a response. He wasn't even sure why he'd said that. But it was in him, nagging, and he needed to let it
out
.

"Dante? I think this might constitute touchy-feely bullshit."

Dante laughed. "You might be right."

The waitress swung by then, dropping off their food, before grabbing Dante another beer and refreshing Gavin's drink.

They chatted about nothing of importance as they ate, everyone leaving them alone. Dante was finishing up his third beer when Umberto walked into the bar. Dante watched, on guard, as the guy looked around, not moving from the entrance.

His gaze settled on Dante.
Fuck.

"Well, this was nice, but I think duty calls." Dante took the last little swallow of his beer before standing up, setting the bottle on the table. "Thank you, Amaro."

Gavin shrugged it off. "It was just a burger."

"For looking for me," Dante clarified. "Thank you for
trying
."

Dante strolled to the door where Umberto lingered, dressed in all black. He paused, nodding in greeting.

Umberto didn't nod back. "Your father's trying to reach you."

"I told him I lost my phone."

Dante refrained from mentioning that he'd gotten a new one, having no plans to share the number with them.

"Well, we've got another job to do, and your father wants you involved."

"Jersey?"

"No," Umberto said. "Soho."

Soho
.

"He told me to stay out of Soho."

"He figured he'd make an exception for tonight," Umberto said, "since you've got a vested interest in the place."

"What place?" Dante knew the answer the second he asked. "
The Place
."

"Bingo," Umberto said, pulling his keys from his pocket. "This one's personal."

Dante went along, not putting up a fight, riding in the passenger seat and watching out the window as the streets flew by. Darkness infiltrated the city and swarmed the car, the windows rolled down, an icy chill in the air that made Dante's blood run cold.

Something twisted inside of Dante as they approached The Place, parking in an underground garage, out of sight of the street. Umberto popped his trunk, again pulling out his backpack, perching a ski mask on top of his head.

"Here, put this on."

Umberto tossed a black duffle bag to Dante. Black hoodie. Black ski mask. Black leather gloves. Dante slipped it all on as Umberto tinkered around in the trunk, resurfacing with a gun.

A
big
gun.

Umberto held up the AR-15, sliding the fresh clip in. Dante's chest tightened at the sight of it. "What are we doing here, Bert?"

"Making waves," he said, glancing at him. "Do you have your gun on you?"

"No."

He didn't
have
a gun. Barsanti had taken it.

"Do you want one?"

"Do I
need
one?"

Umberto reached into his waistband, pulling out his Colt .45 to hand it to Dante.
Guess that's my answer.
He gripped it, getting a feel for it, although he hoped like hell he wouldn't use it for anything.

The darkness made it easy for them to move undetected, to slip into the stairwell beside The Place and head up to the apartment above it. Umberto tried the door.
Locked
. Before Dante could volunteer to do something, Umberto whipped out his tools and broke right in.

"You're getting better at that," Dante said as he stepped into the dark apartment behind Umberto.

"Guess I learned from watching the best."

Umberto pulled out a flashlight to hand to Dante before setting off through the apartment.

"What are we looking for?" Dante asked.

"Whatever we find."

Whatever we find
.

A kitchen. A living room. Two bedrooms. Two bathrooms. Umberto headed straight to the left, walking with purpose, while Dante veered right, curious. He stalled in the doorway, the beam of his flashlight bouncing around a room he riddled out right away as having belonged to Enzo. It was a mess, things strewn everywhere, a
Scarface
poster on the wall.
Typical
.

Dante couldn't bring himself to step inside the room. Enzo was smart enough to know not to keep anything where someone could find it. There was no point rifling through his things.

Strolling away, he noticed a pool table off to the back, prominently displayed in the living room. Dante ran his hand along the blue felt, picking up the black eight ball, holding it in his palm. He wondered if his sister had ever played on it.

"Anything?" Umberto asked, reappearing, still carrying around the massive gun. The sight of it made Dante nervous.

"Nothing," Dante said. "You?"

Umberto shrugged, heading for the door to leave already. Dante dropped the eight ball back onto the table before following, locking the door as Umberto headed down the stairwell.

"Guess that was a bust," Dante said, joining him.

"Oh no." Umberto stalled at the bottom and peeked out. "We're just getting started."

Umberto yanked his ski mask down, covering his face. Dante's heart raced.
Shit
. Not having much of a choice, Dante covered his face and pulled the hood up over his head, cloaking him.

Chaos erupted. Cars pulled up outside, double parking, blocking the road around the entrance. Men stormed the bar.

"Let's go," Umberto said, stepping out of the stairwell and heading right for the bar. Dante followed Umberto, slipping in the door, but he paused there, not wanting to go any further.

It was a coordinated attack, every meticulous detail worked out. They'd planned it in advance, leaving nothing to chance.

Nothing except Dante
.

Barsanti's men went for guns, panicked by the intrusion, but they could do nothing to stop the invasion.

"Drop your weapons! Get on the ground!" Umberto yelled, cutting through the crowd, his gun pointed at the ceiling as he fired off a few rounds in quick succession. "Cooperate and we
might
let you go home tonight."

Men dropped to the ground, surrendering their guns. Galante soldiers dressed in black swarmed them, securing their weapons, as others robbed the place.
Always take the weapons
. It was a Galante family rule.
You never know when someone else's gun might come in handy for a frame-up job
. They raided pockets and rifled through the cash register, stealing anything of value, smashing whatever they planned to leave behind. Glass shattered, liquor bottles exploding as bullets haphazardly ripped into the mirror behind the bar.

Dante watched it all unfold in slow motion.

Thirty seconds. A minute. Maybe two. It wasn't long at all, but it dragged on forever.

Umberto climbed up on top of the bar, walking along it, surveying the scene. Liquor soaked the floor, running along the tile in puddles, carrying shards of glass along with it.

Umberto aimed his gun at the bartender's head. "Where's your boss tonight?"

"I, uh… he, uh…"

Umberto fired some shots right past the guy, close enough he could've hit him. The guy collapsed behind the bar, crying.

"I'll ask you once more," Umberto said, aiming at him again. "Where is your boss?"

"He's, uh… he's somewhere with Johnny Amaro! A meeting or something. I don't know! Don't shoot!"

Dante wasn't sure what happened after that. It all moved too fast. Umberto jumped down from the bar, satisfied, as he announced, "Thank you, assholes, for your cooperation. Primo Galante sends his regards."

As soon as those words were out of his mouth, someone moved, lunging for Umberto.
For the AR-15
. Gunshots went off. People started shooting as others viciously fought, fighting for survival like caged animals. Blood spilled, splattering along the bar, running into the puddles of liquor.

"Light it up," Umberto hissed, his voice scathing as he slammed the AR-15 into somebody's face before running for the door. "Leave nothing."

Dante ran out behind Umberto, his vision blurry, ears ringing, his hands fucking
shaking
. They hurried around the corner, into the garage, heading for the car.

Three minutes. That was it.

It felt so much longer.

Sirens wailed in the distance as Umberto drove out of the garage. People ran, getting into the cars to flee. Umberto turned, speeding away, as Dante ripped his mask off and watched the side mirror.