Sweetest Sorrow (Forbidden Book 2) (31 page)

Thick smoke rolled out of the side of the bar. They barely made it half a block when an explosion rocked the street, loud enough to make Dante flinch, strong enough to rock the car they rode in. Flames jutted from every crevice of the building. Dante tried to steady his breathing, but panic crept through his veins when police cars flew by them.

Neither of them said a word. They drove straight to Westchester County, to the Galante house, where Primo sat in the dining room, eating alone.

Umberto walked right in the room, pausing beside his boss as he shed his heavy black clothing. "Nothing."

"Nothing," Primo repeated. "There has to be something
,
somewhere. It's impossible for there to be
nothing
."

"I know," Umberto said. "We'll keep looking."

"I know you will," Primo said. "How'd it go otherwise?"

"Got a bit messy at the end, but we didn't lose anyone. Wrecked the place and left. Took the guns."

"Good," Primo said. "And Barsanti?"

"At a meeting with Amaro."

Primo shook his head. "Amaro, you say?"

"Seems that way."

"You did good, son." Primo waved his wand dismissively. "You can go."

Dante was about to chime in, to say he'd done not a goddamn thing, when Umberto nodded and responded. "Thank you, sir."

Umberto walked away, slipping past Dante.
Son
.

"Take a seat, Dante," Primo said. "Have dinner with me."

Dante didn't budge from the doorway. "I've already eaten."

"Take a seat, anyway."

That was twice.

The man wouldn't say it a third time.

Dante pulled out the chair, the same one he'd sat in every night for over two decades, and sat down, staring at the empty plates, ones his father set out every night.

Just in case.

The man said nothing for a few minutes, eating in silence, meticulously cutting his steak into bite-size pieces and drinking copious amounts of red wine before he acknowledged Dante's presence again. "Are you happy?"

Dante wasn't sure how to answer that so he didn't, instead tossing it back at him. "Are
you
?"

"I will be," Primo said, "once I get what I want."

"What do you want? What are you looking for?"

"What belongs to me."

"And what's
that
?"

Primo turned his head, regarding Dante, scrutinizing him. After a moment, he turned away again, picking up his glass of wine and taking a sip. "You always had too much heart, even as a little boy.
Softhearted
. I tried to pull that out of you. I tried to toughen you up. I thought I succeeded. Some days, I would look at you and see
me
, and I would be proud. But even now, looking at you, I still see those pieces of her that I failed to erase."

Dante's gaze shifted to the empty plate diagonal from him, where his mother used to sit. "Why?"

"She betrayed me," Primo said. "The GWB only leads one place."

New Jersey
.

"She was acting strange, so I had her followed. I loved your mother, but I questioned if I could trust her. I found out she'd gone to Brazzi territory. I found out she was visiting Savina Barsanti behind my back. She thought crossing state lines would keep me from finding out. I confronted her, told her if she did it again, I wouldn't allow her to come back, and she had the audacity to tell me it didn't matter, that she was done being a Galante because she wasn't happy." He shook his head, looking at his son again. "So tell me, Dante, are you
happy
?"

He stared his father right in the eyes and said, "No."

Primo looked away, sipping his wine. "Guess it's true what they say… you can't fight your DNA."

* * *

N
ine o'clock Sunday morning
. A twelve-hour shift had turned into more like thirteen and a half.

To call Gabriella exhausted would've been offensively understating the fatigue she felt. Every inch of her, from the top of her frizzy head to the tip of her unpainted toes, was beat. Her eyes burned, her muscles ached, and her brain was seconds away from calling for a mental break. She wanted to soak in a hot bathtub, to soothe her body and unwind, but she was pretty sure if she tried she'd just fall asleep in the water and drown.

Sighing, she approached her apartment door, cursing the fact that she'd moved into a walk-up.
Elevators are the true unsung heroes
. Sticking her key in the lock, she twisted it, the knob turning smoothly. Unlocked.

Uh
…

Pushing open the door, she stepped inside, so dead tired that self-preservation had vacated premises. If it was a home invader, she was screwed, because running down those stairs was out of the question.

The television in the living room played, some middle-aged blonde reporter on the screen.

"...that masked gunmen, one reportedly armed with a semi-automatic rifle, barged into the small neighborhood bar at around eight o'clock Saturday evening and opened fire on patrons inside..."

Gabriella's gaze shifted to her couch. Dante sat there, staring at the news, so still she'd think he were asleep if his eyes weren't open.
Uh, catatonic, much?

"Did you break into the apartment? 
Again
?"

Dante turned her way, looking about as fresh-faced as she felt. He obviously hadn't slept any of those hours she'd been gone. "I waited around, but you were late, and I kind of just wanted to sit down."

"It's okay," she said, shutting the door behind her. "Well, I mean, it's not really
okay
. It's kind of scary how easily you get in here. I'm seriously questioning the point of locks."

"They keep most people out," he said. "The ones who can get in, well, nothing short of pulling the trigger on your .22 will stop them."

"Good thing I know how to do that," she said, plopping down beside him on the couch. Kicking her shoes off, she lay back, throwing her legs across him, her feet in his lap.

He didn't flinch at all, yanking off her socks and tossing them aside, his nose twitching. "Your feet stink."

"Hold your breath."

He laughed as he rubbed her feet, kneading the soles.
Holy crap
.  Sighing, she closed her eyes, her toes curling as tingles flowed up her legs.

"...
authorities say it's too early to speak of a motive, but the business in question, known to those in the neighborhood as
The Place
, is owned by alleged mob boss Roberto Barsanti
..."

Gabriella's eyes reopened when she heard that, her gaze going straight to Dante. She'd learned about the incident at work. They'd treated a couple of the patients at her hospital. Gunshot wounds, burns, and a bit of smoke inhalation, for the most part. Nothing yet fatal, but one or two were critical. It had made for a long night in the ICU.

Dante stared at the screen, listening intently, rubbing
expertly
. The man had a way with his hands.

"Are you, uh...?" She paused, not sure how to ask, her voice tentative when she continued. "You're okay, right? You don't have any injuries or anything?"

His brow furrowed as he turned to her, like he didn't quite understand the question, but it seemed to click. His expression went slack, trepidation in his eyes as they scanned her face. He licked his lips, opening and closing his mouth. He was trying to find a way to explain something, like she'd asked him questions he was afraid to answer.

Her heart sank.
Oh God
.

"I'm not asking," she said before he forced out any words he might regret. "I'm just making sure
you're
not hurt."

"I'm fine."

"No boo-boos that need bandages?"

"None."

"Good." Her eyes closed again as he continued to rub her feet. "If you keep this up, I'm going to fall asleep."

"Go ahead."

"Are you tired?"

"Very."

"Have you eaten?"

"I had dinner last night with Amaro."

Her eyes popped back open.
Whoa
. "Really?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

Dante reached over and picked up the remote, pressing the button to turn the television off. "You ask a lot of questions."

"Sue me," she said. "I'm curious."

"Something to do." He shrugged. "We ate, had a few drinks, and that was that."

"So... like a date? I'm kind of jealous."

"Don't worry, I didn't even kiss him." Dante made a face as he shuddered. "Oh,
ugh, 
just the thought of that makes me want to drink cyanide."

"Kissing Gavin?"

He shuddered.
Again
.

Laughing, Gabriella sat up, pulling her feet away from him. "Anyway, I should probably do that."

She went to stand, but Dante grabbed her arm, pulling her back onto the couch with him. "Do
what
?"

"Eat something," she said.

"Jesus fuck, Gabriella, I thought you meant kissing Amaro."

"What? Oh God, no! He's my cousin!" Now
she
shuddered, shoving him. "That's gross!"

"Tell me about it." He ran his hand down his face as he stood. "Just relax and I'll find you something to eat. It's the least I can do after breaking in again."

"You're going to cook?"

"Maybe."

"Do you know
how
to cook?"

"Not really."

He headed into the kitchen, and Gabriella sat there, listening as he banged around. He talked to himself, words she couldn't decipher, as something slammed against the counter.

Just a few minutes later, he walked back in, and Gabriella laughed at the blue plastic container he carried.
Easy-Mac
. She took it from him, not even mad. Macaroni was
always
a good choice, as far as she was concerned.

"I'll take you out," he said, sitting down beside her as she ate. "On a date, I mean. Whenever you get some time off. I'll do it right. I won't even break in. I'll
knock
."

"Yeah, please stop breaking in," she said. "The neighbors might catch you and call the police."

"I promise to wait until you open the door for now on."

"Or," she said, blowing into the bowl, "I could give you a key."

"You don't have to do that."

"I know, but really, be honest, when you're not here, where do you go?"

He didn't answer. He couldn't. Where did he go? Everywhere.
Nowhere
. He was homeless.

"It's a benefit," she said. "A friendship benefit. A
boyfriend
benefit. I mean, you're here, and I'm here, and there's no reason you shouldn't have a key so when I'm
not
here you can still be here."

He stared at her. "Do you realize what you're suggesting sounds a hell of a lot like me moving in?"

"Does it?"

"Yep."

"Huh."

She continued to eat her macaroni in silence.

Dante leaned back on the couch, draping his arm around her, pulling her closer. She rested her head on his shoulder, finishing her last few bites.

"If you want to give me a key," he said, "I'll happily use it."

"Good." She smiled, trying to ignore those butterflies flapping away in her stomach.
Lovesick fool
. "So do I get any say on where we go on our date?"

"Of course," he said. "If you've got ideas, I'm listening."

"Well, how does a family wedding at my grandfather's estate sound?"

"Like trouble."

"So I can count on you to take me?"

"You know it."

D
ante fiddled
with his blood red tie in the mirror of the small bathroom, his reflection hazy from the lingering steam of his hot shower. His hair was damp, a messy mop curling on top of his head, but otherwise, he was all put together. A fresh shave seemed to do wonders for his face. He looked younger, he thought—refreshed, almost—like his system had been rebooted.

It's about fucking time.

"You sure about this?" Dante called out to Gabriella, who was off in the bedroom, doing whatever it was she'd been in there doing for over an hour with the door closed. Putting on makeup. Getting dressed. Doing other feminine shit. Not playing with her pussy, though, like she was in Dante's imagination.
Pity
. It was the only reason someone should be locked in a room alone for so long. "It's not too late to change your mind, you know. I could just drop you off or something. Wait by the highway."

The door to the bedroom slid open, the clink of high heels echoing through the apartment as her voice chimed in. "Why? Getting cold feet?"

"Not a chance," he scoffed, glancing out of the bathroom and stalling when he caught sight of her.
Jesus
. Blood red dress, not too tight, but clingy enough to show off her curves, falling just above the knees, exposing more skin than was probably appropriate. The woman looked like pure
sin
. Dante's eyes scanned her, from top to bottom, greedily drinking her in. "Maybe we
both
should just stay home."

"Not a chance," she said, mimicking him.

He met her eyes, smiling at the twinkle that greeted him. Damn, she was beautiful. He would never get over it, nor would he ever understand what he'd done to deserve her in his life.
Goddamn Christmas miracle
. "You look like something I'd love to eat."

She laughed. "It's good seeing you with an appetite."

"You say that now." He stepped out of the bathroom and shut the light off behind him as he approached her. Grasping her hip, he pulled her to him, feeling her warmth. "We'll see how you feel after I'm done ravishing you."

He nuzzled into her neck, running his tongue along her skin, tracing her jawline. Gabriella wrapped her arms around his neck, cocking her head to give him more space, despite her words of protest. "We can't do this right now. There's not enough time."

"My car's fast," he said. "It buys us a few minutes."

"But—"

Dante pressed his pointer finger to her lips, silencing her, as he kissed back up her jawline before looking her dead in the eyes. "Shh, no talking. There's not enough time, remember? So unless what you're trying to say is
'fuck me, Dante'
, it needs to wait for later."

She clamped her lips closed, giving him a curious look, one that he didn’t dwell on. She was right, after all. Time was scarce. Dropping to his knees, right then and there, he pushed her dress up to her waist, exposing her matching red lacy underwear. He kissed her through the fabric, a few small pecks, before he grasped the side of the lace and tugged them down her legs. She stepped out of them, kicking them aside, as Dante forced her legs apart just enough for him to come up between them. His tongue grazed across the slit, tasting her as she whimpered. Fuck, she was
sweet
, a bit tangy with a pinch of saltiness. He couldn't describe it, not really, but he'd bake a fucking pie of that pussy and eat it all day long.

"Dante," she moaned, the sound of his name in that low, gritty tone enough to make his dick stand up and notice what was happening. It grew hard, throbbing, but he tried to ignore the son of a bitch, focusing all of his attention on Gabriella. He licked, sucking her clit, as his fingers worked magic, sliding inside of her, pumping in and out. He curved his fingertips, seeking out that sweet spot. The second he found it, her knees nearly buckled, her breath hitching.

He took it easy on her, savoring the moment, before time started ticking away too fast.
Tick-tock, motherfucker
. If he didn't wrap it up, STAT, they'd never make it. And as much as Dante might not have minded, because he could've stayed like that forever, he was pretty damn sure her family would be furious.

Sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Russo, your daughter didn't come because I was busy
 making
her come… my bad.

That would earn him castration, no doubt.

Pulling back, he pumped his fingers deeper, rubbing hard circles around her clit with his thumb, as he kissed along her thigh. She was getting close. He could tell. He was becoming in tune with her signals. She always tilted her head back, her jaw going slack, her throat flexing as she held in a cry.

It hit her at once, her body jolting, her knees locking to keep her upright as her legs tried to close. She held onto his shoulders, fisting his suit coat as whimpers escaped her throat. The second the pleasure ran through her, Dante sunk his teeth into her upper thigh. She screeched, her body quivering, and Dante smiled to himself, kissing the red mark he'd left on her skin, before his mouth moved back to her pussy. He kissed it, his tongue swiping along it a few times, before he stood up.

No hesitation at all, he pulled her to him, smashing his mouth to hers. He kissed her, nipping at her bottom lip, before whispering, "I could keep going, but we've really gotta leave."

He grabbed Gabriella's hand. She staggered, stammering, tugging her dress down as Dante pulled her to the door.

"Wait, hold on, let me lock up," she growled at him, her face flushed, when he tried to lead her down the stairs. He gave her a few seconds before tugging on her arm, dragging her away.

He glanced at his watch.
Noon
. "What time does this thing start again?"

"One o'clock," she said.

Shit
. "We might make it if we take the Holland Tunnel."

"We
better
make it," she said. "This whole thing is going to be crazy enough. The last thing we need is to get off on the wrong foot."

He hated to break it to her, but getting off on the
right
foot was impossible. Because
any
foot he used to waltz into New Jersey under these circumstances ran the real risk of a gory amputation. Dante should've courted Gabriella, schmoozing with her father the same time he wooed her, but it was too late for that.

No, instead he was crashing a Brazzi wedding, in Brazzi territory, to let them know he was dating one of their Brazzi girls.

Maybe he
did
have a death wish.

The hour drive to Alpine, New Jersey, was cut down to damn near forty-five minutes, thanks to a heavy foot on the gas pedal and a healthy dose of luck for a change. The massive metal gate blocking off the sprawling estate hung wide open. Men dressed in all black stood guard beside the entrance, looking like the Secret Service, and waved them through, the McLaren sticking out in the sea of black sedans that swarmed the area.

"Last chance to change your mind," Dante warned her, pulling onto the property past the men, following the paved path toward one of the biggest mansions Dante had ever laid eyes on. He'd always heard Victor Brazzi lived in style, but he hadn't expected a fucking stone
castle
.

"Not changing my mind," she said. "Not a chance."

Brave, brave soul.

Maybe she has a death wish, also
.

Dante followed a few other cars, driving right up to the front of the house. The moment he put it in park, both doors swung open. Dante climbed out, coming face-to-face with the Valet, a young guy in a red vest, wearing a bowtie. He couldn't have been more than twenty-one.

"Try not to fuck up the car," Dante told him, taking the yellow numbered ticket and slipping it in his pocket to pick his car up later. "It's still kind of new."

Dante waited for Gabriella to join him. She slid her arm into his, wrapping herself around him as they headed for the door. Staff covered the property, an older bald man with a clipboard standing on the front step, greeting guests, a smile on his face.

Until he caught sight of Dante.

"Name?" he asked as they approached, his eyes narrowed.
Uh-oh
. There might've been some recognition there, but his suspicion was blatant.

"Russo," Gabriella chimed in. "Gabriella Russo."

The guy's eyes flickered to the clipboard, scanning for her name, before he again looked right at Dante. "And
your
name?"

"He's my plus one," Gabriella said as an orchestra started playing off in the distance. "So he won't be on the list. But if you'll excuse us, we
really
need to go grab our seats before this thing starts without us."

She tugged Dante's arm, pulling him into the house. Dante glanced back, watching as the guy with the clipboard pulled out a walkie-talkie, radioing something to someone, his gaze trailing the two of them. "Pretty sure I've been made."

"Not surprised," Gabriella said. "I'm just hoping they won't make it some big
thing
."

More men, dressed in black, were positioned around the house, every set of eyes on Dante, watching like a hawk.
Too late
, he thought.
It's a big thing
.

Her high heels clicked along the shiny black and white marble, echoing in the vast foyer. A massive Christmas tree stood in front of them, decorated in gold and white, a crystal chandelier hanging above it, sparkling in the lights. It looked like the lobby of a five-star hotel.

The wedding took place in the back, the yard converted into a makeshift chapel with a massive heated tent creating an aisle.
Who the fuck throws an outdoor wedding on Christmas Eve
? Rows of stark white chairs filled it, most of them already claimed. Dante surveyed their surroundings, spotting men perched in the top windows of the house, giving them an open view of everyone in the backyard. He caught a gleam of something on one of the men, the sunlight hitting metal at just the right angle, giving away the assault rifle.

Snipers.

"Who did you say was getting married?" Dante asked as they headed through an open set of doors, going inside the tent, passing even more security. Gabriella darted for the back row, slipping into the first empty chair she came to.

"A cousin," she answered as Dante sat beside her. Gone was that cool confidence she'd exuded on the drive. Despite the frigid winter air, she was sweating
. Hard.

"The bride or groom?"

"Groom, I think."

"You
think
?"

"Yeah, I don't know. I think the invitation said he was a Brazzi."

"Are we talking literally or figuratively here?" Dante asked. "Is he an actual Brazzi, or is he a member of the Brazzi
family
?"

Dante wasn't sure if she'd get the distinction, but she grasped the meaning quickly. "I'm pretty sure he's both. Last name Brazzi while also being one of those guys."

Those guys
.

The wedding of a made man.

The firepower made sense, as did the excessive security. Weddings were notorious targets. Guards went down. Powerful men turned vulnerable. And there he was, in the thick of it, the exact thing all those men with guns were told to watch out for: the uninvited
rival
.

Dante slouched in his seat, draping his arm over the back of Gabriella's chair, pulling her to him as he rubbed her arm, warming her up. "Are you close to your grandparents?"

"Yeah."

"How close?"

"Well, my grandmother acts more like my fairy godmother, always trying to fix me so she can, uh,
fix me up
, but I can do no wrong in my grandfather's eyes. He always said I was his little princess and I'd never need a king in order to rule."

"So he likes you."

"Of course," she said. "Why are you asking?"

"I'm just gauging my chances here," he said, watching as the man from the front porch marched straight down the aisle, aiming for someone sitting in the front row. Dante didn't have to see him to know it would be Gabriella's grandfather.

"Chances of what?"

"Chances of living." Dante watched as the man leaned down, whispering something to Victor. "These guys tend to be the 'shoot first, ask questions never' kind, but seeing how Victor likes you, he might not shoot your plus one on sight."

Gabriella laughed, like he was joking, but Dante meant it. The man raised the clipboard, showing something to Victor as he continued speaking. Dante was nowhere near close enough to hear anything, but he pretty much guessed how that conversation went.

Got a wedding crasher. Think it's one of those Galante pricks. He came with Gabriella Russo, but he wouldn't tell us his name. You want us to put a bullet in him now or wait until they cut the cake
?

Victor waved him off, and the man stalked back down the aisle, stopping beside Dante's chair. He leaned down, his voice low as he said, "Mr. Brazzi would like to speak with you after the ceremony," before continuing on.

Cake, it is
.

"Maybe we should've stayed home," Gabriella whispered.

"Ah, don't get cold feet
now
," Dante said, his thumb stroking her shoulder. "Besides, you look beautiful. It would've been a pity not to get to show you off."

"I just... I
really
hope I don't have to do any running or jumping or army-crawling or scaling walls to help get you out of here," she said, tilting her head his way to whisper, "I forgot to put on my underwear."

Dante choked on thin air, coughing as her cheeks flushed, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

Weddings were one of Dante's
least
favorite things. He would've rather been water-boarded than have to sit through long, drawn-out vows ever again. He zoned out, damn near falling asleep, until a hand slipped into his lap. He dropped his head, watching Gabriella stroke his thigh, coming dangerously close to his dick.

Relief flowed through him when the guy kissed his bride, but that relief was short-lived.
Very
short-lived. Guests filtered into the house, the party shifting to a ballroom on the second floor. Gabriella slipped her hand in his, entwining their fingers.

Judgment time
.