By Any Other Name

  Enzo hadn't spoken to him in days. The strain, annoying at first, had grown concerning, to the point where Matty could physically feel it pressing upon him.

  "You get all of last week's payments collected?" Matty asked, attempting conversation. The silence was too damn much.

  "Don't I always by now?" Enzo asked, his tone clipped. He still didn't look at him. "I'll pay you when we get done today."

  "I'm not concerned about the money."

  "Then why are you asking about it?"

  It was a great question, one that Matty couldn't answer. Because you won't talk to me sounded really fucking petulant, and he figured Enzo was being childish enough for the both of them. Strained silence infiltrated the car as he continued on, driving over to Mulberry Street. He swung his car in along the curb, parking in front of the old music store. Before he could even cut the engine, Enzo had opened the door and stepped out.

  Turning off the car, Matty sighed and joined his brother on the sidewalk. He had resisted... and resisted... and resisted some more... but it was inevitable that he would eventually end up here, dragged into one of his father's many schemes.

  Extortion.

  Little Italy was notorious for being volatile, a fact that Roberto Barsanti decided to capitalize on. For a hundred dollars a week, he offered protection to the local businesses—an offer most of them were too terrified to refuse. It wasn't a new scheme, but they had never skirted in such a gray area with it, tiptoeing around the unwritten rules and pushing invisible boundaries, advancing on territory that had never quite been claimed.

  But the Barsanti family wanted it.

  Enzo, always first to step up, agreed to set it all in motion, but Matty couldn't just sit back while his brother took all the risk. So stupidly, he volunteered to play chaperone, a fact he was regretting as he stood there. The neighborhood was far from threatening, but this was outside of their box.

  Sooner or later, he knew it would come back to haunt them.

  Wordlessly he followed Enzo around the neighborhood, standing back silently while his brother did his thing. People hardly even looked at Matty, much less acknowledged him, a fact he had grown used to. Most had figured out who he was, but the unknowns terrified them. His absence had turned him into a legend of sorts, a scary bedtime story about the boy who may or may not be dead.

  After a while he slipped away while Enzo chatted with an old friend. Matty made his way to Casato, the bell above the door jingling as he stepped inside the cafe. Instantly the man behind the counter looked up, grinning when he spotted him. "Matteo!"

  "Uncle Johnny," he said, nodding in greeting.

  Johnny propped himself up on his walking cane as he gazed at him. "What can I get for you, kid?"

  "Nothing," he said. "I was just in the neighborhood and thought I'd drop by."

  Johnny Amaro still oversaw business at his family's old cafe, despite being the head of the notorious and wealthy Amaro crime family. It was a matter of pride, he'd always told Matty. Of having something legitimate that had been built with hard work.

  "Come, sit, eat something," Johnny insisted. "It's been too long."

  Matty obliged and sat at a table, drinking espresso and picking apart a muffin. Enzo appeared a little while later, greeting their uncle coolly before motioning toward the door. "I'm done, so we can go."

  Standing up, Matty tried to pay but Johnny refused his money, instead waving him away. "Don't be a stranger."

  "I won't."

  They walked out, and Enzo shot him daggers as soon as they were back on the street. "You're awfully friendly with the Amaros."

  Matty's brow furrowed. "They're our family."

  "Barely," Enzo said. "Besides, you know, when it comes to family, blood doesn't matter as much as loyalty."

  Matty ignored that, his head down as they strolled around the block, heading to where the Lotus was parked.

  As soon as they turned the corner, Enzo's footsteps faltered and he cursed under his breath. "Fuck."

  Matty glanced at him peculiarly, seeing the look of hatred on his face. He followed his brother's gaze, his stomach dropping. Down the street, lurking in front of the music store, were two guys, the nearby streetlight illuminating their shadowy figures and giving Matty flashes of one of their faces.

  Dante Galante stood dead center of the sidewalk, blocking their path, his hands casually in his pockets, posture relaxed as he chatted with a guy in front of him. The other was short, five-feet-nothing with the build of the Pillsbury Dough Boy.

  Enzo hardly balked, his footsteps picking back up as he strolled down the street right toward them.

  "Well, well, well," Enzo drawled. "If it isn't the scum of the streets, clogging the sidewalk and being about as useless as a Galante is known for being."

  Dante's shoulders stiffened but he kept his stance nonchalant. "Barsanti."

  Matty skirted around them, stepping off the curb as he headed for the Lotus, but Enzo strode forward, right toward the men. He stepped between them, purposely walking slow, brushing against Dante as he glared at him, his expression imploring the boy to react. Dante maintained his stance, not backing down, feet cemented to the sidewalk.

  Shaking his head, Enzo laughed bitterly under his breath as he stepped toward the car. Slowly, Dante turned around to watch, eyes narrowed at Enzo before drifting along the Lotus. His gaze caught Matty's after a moment. "Nice car."

  Matty hesitated. A compliment? "Thanks."

  "A Lotus, huh? What is it, an Elise?"

  "Evora."

  "Lotus Evora," Dante said. "Can't be too many of them around, huh? Thought I saw one in East Harlem one afternoon. Looked damn near identical to yours."

  Shit. He knew he had seen him—Genna had confirmed it—but he had hoped it never went beyond that. He had tried to avoid lingering in the area since.

  Before Matty could think of some response that didn't make him look so damn guilty or defensive, Enzo chimed in. "You accusing my brother of something, Galante?"

  "Of course not," Dante said. "I'm just saying..."

  "I know what you're saying," Enzo said. "And you can stop right where you started with that shit."

  "Yeah, well, just remember," Dante quipped. "You stay on your side and we'll stay on ours."

  "I don't need you to tell me what to do," Enzo said. "There isn't a damn thing we want in East Harlem."

  Dante said nothing, but his suspicious expression told Matty he didn't believe that. His sister was in East Harlem, and that clearly worried Dante.

  "We got better things to do than deal with you," Enzo muttered, turning away from Dante to get in the car. "Come on, Matty. Let's get the hell out of here."

  Matty started to get in the car when Dante's voice rang out again, calling his name. "Matty."

  He glanced at Dante, raising his eyebrows curiously. "What?"

  "That's what they call you?" Dante asked. "Matty?"

  Something about his tone stalled Matty from answering, but Enzo was quick to chime in. "That's his fucking name, isn't it?"

  Dante ignored the hostile question, his eyes focused straight on Matty. "Just remember what we said here… stay out of our territory and away from what's ours. Ain't nothing there for you. At all."

  Matty didn't acknowledge the statement, getting right in the car and starting it up, revving the engine and speeding away from the curb before Enzo could even put his seatbelt on. Matty could feel his brother's gaze on him as he drove toward Soho, the judgment like daggers piercing through him.

  "Never thought you'd do it, Matteo."

  He glanced at his brother cautiously, knowing he was uncharacteristically furious. "Do what?"

  "Be the one to catch pussy blindness," Enzo said, shaking his head. "Guess she fucked the common sense right out of you. Is it that good, brother?"

  "En?"

  "What?"

  "I'm still not talking to you about my sex life."

  "Yeah, well, you ought to," Enzo muttered, "considering I'm probably going to
get fucked by all of this, too."

  Genna leaned against the counter in the kitchen, watching the frozen dinner as it spun in circles on the tray in the microwave, the time on the clock steadily counting down.

  Thirty seconds.

  Twenty-nine.

  Twenty-eight.

  Twenty-seven.

  Ugh, hurry the fuck up already.

  "What are you doing?"

  Genna glanced toward the doorway, seeing her brother standing there, staring at her incredulously. He was freshly showered and dressed impeccably in all black from head-to-toe. Someone has plans tonight…

  "Trying to kill myself by overdosing on radiation," she said, motioning toward the microwave just as it beeped. About damn time. Five minutes felt like an eternity with your stomach growling. "Seriously, what does it look like I'm doing?"

  "It looks like you're making food," Dante replied. "Genevieve Galante, in the kitchen, cooking something. One of these things just doesn't belong here."

  She rolled her eyes, popping open the microwave door and pulling the container out—Salisbury steak, gravy, mashed potatoes, and corn. "It's a microwave meal thingy. I'd hardly call it cooking."

  "Well, I'd still call it a miracle."

  Genna removed the sheet of plastic from the flimsy white tray and grabbed a fork to poke at the food. She cut off a piece of meat and popped it in her mouth.

  "Is it good?" Dante asked, expression laced with morbid amusement as he watched her struggle to chew.

  "About as good as that shit I served everyone yesterday at the soup kitchen," she said. Mystery Meatloaf.

  "So why are you eating it?"

  "Because I'm hungry," she said, taking another bite. "Because Dad's off God-knows-where, so there's no dinner tonight, so a bitch has gotta eat something."

  Dante laughed, shaking his head. "You should come with me tonight."

  Genna took a bite of corn. It had no taste at all, like she was chewing little yellow rubbery bits. "Where?"

  "Out," he said, shrugging. "It's Saturday night."

  She gazed at her brother skeptically, slowly taking a bite of potatoes and grimacing at the thin, grainy texture. Gross. Swallowing, she waved her fork at him. "This isn't, like, work, is it? You're not saying that because you wanna go out but Dad ordered you to stick around and watch me instead?"

  "Nope," he said, shaking his head. "I'm off-duty."

  "So it's guilt and not obligation."

  "More like pity." Dante laughed at her when she forced down another mouthful of food. "Come on, I'll even buy you dinner."

  Genna dropped her fork and shoved the tray of food aside before starting toward her brother. "I'll get changed."

  "You look fine," he said, grabbing her arm to stop her when she tried to scoot past him.

  Glancing down, she sighed—oversized gray shirt falling off her shoulder, ripped jeans, and a pair of black flats was certainly not going-out-on-Saturday-night fine in her world. "Seriously?"

  "Yes, seriously."

  Dante veered her straight out the door. Genna shrugged it off, climbing in the passenger seat of his car. She was only going for the food, anyway. She pulled her hair back, trying to tame the wild mess that she wasn't sure she had even brushed, as her brother set off toward Manhattan. "Where are we going? Wait... can we go to that steakhouse again? Oh, no, how about the café down in Little Italy?"

  "Negative," he said as he headed south. "We're going to a sport’s bar tonight."

  Her brow furrowed. "The Place?"

  The words were from her lips, resonating in the air of the car before she had enough sense to restrain them or even realize what she was saying. She tensed when Dante cast her a curious look. Shit.

  "What place?"

  "The place you always go to," she said, trying to backtrack. "You know, whenever you go out. Your usual place."

  "Oh, yeah, sure."

  Genna blew out a breath, turning to look out the window. Maybe it was a genius name, after all. She said nothing else as they drove through the city, to a place riding the border between Little Italy and Nolita. Dante parked his car in an underground garage and led her into the bar from a back entrance. It looked similar to The Place but not quite as upscale, the interior worn and lighting dim. People packed the area, chatting and laughing, drinks covering tables as music blasted from speakers positioned in the corners. Above the sound of the rock song, Genna heard balls cracking from a game of pool in the back.

  Dante headed straight to a booth and motioned for a waiter, who abandoned the customer he was helping to immediately attend to her brother. Genna involuntarily smiled at that, thinking of Matty. It was how they had treated him at The Place.

  "Get me a beer—a Heineken," he said. "And get my sister a Coke."

  "Just Coke?"

  "Rum," Genna chimed in. "Rum and Coke."

  "Rum and Coke, just without the liquor." Dante's voice had a hard edge to it, to stress his point. "You hear me?"

  The waiter nodded. "Just Coke."

  "Oh, and you got a menu?" Dante asked. "She's hungry."

  "Absolutely." The waiter grabbed a menu, handing it over to Dante, before setting off to get their drinks.

  Genna settled into the booth as she glanced at the menu, scanning through it for something to eat. The waiter returned with their drinks and stood there, patiently waiting to take their order.

  "I'll have a burger," Dante said. "Rare, with everything on it."

  "I'll have the same," Genna said, shrugging as she closed her menu. "Except I want mine actually cooked."

  It didn't take long for their food to arrive, a few minutes at most. Genna scowled, picking the onions and pickles off of her burger, before diving in. Dante drank his beer as he ate before pushing his plate aside and motioning toward the back of the place. "You mind if I go hit a few balls?"

  She shook her head. "Go ahead."

  Dante smirked, tapping his fist against the table as he stood up to walk away. Genna finished her food in silence. She could see the pool tables from where she was sitting and watched as her brother slapped some money down on the nearest table. Hustling. Laughing, she glanced down at her plate and grabbed a fry, popping it in her mouth as she looked back up. Her expression fell instantly and she paused chewing, caught off guard when someone slipped into the booth across from her, blocking her view of the game.

  He was no one she knew personally, although his face struck her as familiar, like she should know him from somewhere. Regardless, his sudden presence, uninvited at her table, made her hair bristle. She took stock of his chiseled jaw and clean-cut face… classically handsome, not the rough and tumble type, but his eyes told a deeper story. They were the color of steel, accentuated by his stark gray suit.

  "Excuse me," she said defensively as she sat back in the booth, instinctively moving away from him. "But I was just trying to—"

  "Genevieve, right?" He raised his eyebrows as he cut her off. "Genevieve Galante?"

  That silenced her mid-thought. He knew her name. Her expression hardened as she stared at him, her thoughts already turning defensive. Who the fuck? "Depends on who's asking."

  "You can call me Gavin."

  "I'd rather not call you at all," she said. "Now if you'll excuse me, I was trying to eat."

  He held his hands up. "Don't let me stop you."

  She expected him to get up, to get a clue, but instead he remained in spot and motioned for the waiter. The man hesitantly approached, seeming surprised to see them sitting together.

  I'm just as fucking surprised, buddy.

  "Get me my usual," Gavin said. "And get Miss Galante a refill of whatever she's drinking."

  "Rum and Coke," Genna muttered, picking up her glass as she laughed dryly. "Sans rum."

  "Roman Coke," Gavin ordered, surprising Genna when he used that name. "With the rum this time."

  "But…" The waiter slowly shook his head. "Mr. Galante said not to."

  "Well, I say give the girl some rum," Gavin argued. "So I
guess what you do now depends on what outcome scares you more."

  The waiter seemed torn, genuinely frightened, as he backed away from the table. Genna's eyes narrowed suspiciously as she gazed at the guy sitting across from her. "Gavin, you said? Do you have a last name?"

  He nodded. "Amaro."

  Amaro. Now that name she knew. The waiter's fearful expression made sense now. She relaxed back in the booth, waiting silently until their drinks were brought to them. She took a sip, grimacing at the bitterness of the liquor. It was strong.

  "Nice to know I haven't lost my touch," Gavin said, noticing her expression.

  "Well, thanks for the drink," she said, motioning toward him with the glass. "But really, I'm here with my brother, and I'm not so sure he'll be happy to see you talking to me, so you might want to… you know…"

  "Go away?" he guessed.

  Bingo.

  "Your brother won't mind," Gavin said. "Besides, we're just talking."

  "What do we have to talk about?"

  Gavin picked up his drink and took a sip, not answering for a moment, his eyes leaving hers to scan the bar around them. "I'm surprised to see you here, Genevieve."

  "Genna," she corrected him, "with a G."

  "Genna with a G," he echoed. "Like I said, I'm surprised to see you here. I thought The Place in Soho was more your scene."

  Panic bubbled up inside of Genna. His voice was nonchalant, but there was a deeper meaning in those words that twisted her stomach in knots. "I don't know what you're talking about."

  "Don't you?" he asked, meeting her eyes again.

  "No," she said. "Not at all."

  He leaned across the table closer to her. "Liar."

  Genna sat still, her gaze darting over Gavin's shoulder to where her brother played pool, oblivious to her visitor. She turned back to Gavin, trying to swallow back the alarm. "Look, I don't know what you want from me, but if you think you can intimidate me—"

  Before she could finish, Gavin cut her off with an amused laugh. "You think I'm trying to threaten you?"

  "I don't know what you're trying to do."