"I'll print some pictures and you can be on your way," she said, standing up. "I'll be right back."
As soon as the woman left, Genna sat back up. "Holy fuck."
Her hands went right to her stomach, the panic returning.
Oh shit.
"You okay, Genna?"
"No."
"What's wrong?"
"There's a person in there."
"There is."
"It's got to come out somehow," she said. "A person is going to come out of me."
"It will."
"That's not normal."
He laughed. "It's probably the most normal thing there is."
"It's weird," she said. "We made a baby."
"We did."
"How the hell did we do that?"
"Well, when two people love each other…"
"Shut up." She laughed. "I know how we did it, but wow. It's weird. I let you stick it in and part of you just stayed there, and it's growing. It's, like, attached to me. And then it's going to come out and be this person we're responsible for. We'll have to feed it, and water it, and keep it alive, when we can barely keep ourselves alive. Wow."
"Wow is right."
The door opened again, the woman returning, clutching a couple pictures and a small envelope. Genna took them from her, thanking her quietly, and the two of them left. Matty stopped by the front desk, paying some cash for the visit, as Genna flipped through the stack of photos, in a trance.
She said nothing as they left the clinic, nothing in the car on the way back home. She was still staring at the photos when they headed in the house.
"I'm going to shower for real this time," Genna said, handing the stack over to Matty. She held the envelope out also, hesitant to let go when he grabbed it. "I don't want to know yet. The fact that it's a baby is enough. Any more information might make my brain explode. But you can look, if you want. Really, you should. But don't tell me. Not yet. Okay?"
"Okay," he said.
She disappeared upstairs as Matty strolled to the living room, propping the ultrasound photos up against the broken picture frame beside the couch, the one of the peculiar family that Genna refused to let him throw out. He stared at the envelope before slipping his finger beneath the flap, tearing it open.
He pulled out the slip of paper, seeing the simple word scribbled on it in pen.
Boy.
"You sure you don't want me to drive you?"
Dante stepped out of the apartment building, holding the door open for Gabriella to follow. She offered him a small smile of gratitude at the gesture before shrugging off his question. "I'm sure. Besides, I kind of like taking the subway."
"Weirdo."
She laughed, stopping right in front of him. She had on her usual hospital get-up, her dark hair pulled back with some loose strands falling around her face. Wrapping her coat tighter around her, she shivered a bit, the air borderline frigid. The glow from the setting sun made her lip gloss shine, drawing Dante's eyes to her lips.
Damn, he wanted to kiss them.
"Are you going to be around when I get off?" she asked.
"I sure as hell hope so," he said, staring at her mouth, "because I plan to be the one getting you off."
She laughed again, shoving him. "I'm being serious."
"Fine, fine…" He held up his hands, forcing his eyes to meet hers. "I'll be around."
"Here?"
"Somewhere."
She groaned. "Ugh, you're impossible."
"Wait." He caught her arm before she could leave. Of course he'd be there. Wasn't he always? For weeks, he'd done nothing but linger around, spending every minute possible with her. She should've known he'd be around. "Why don't you let me pick you up from work? That way I'm around when you get off, then maybe we can, you know, talk about getting off."
She rolled her eyes, but the smile returned to her lips. "My shift ends at seven."
"I know. I'll be there."
He kissed her then, her lip-gloss sticky, smearing across his lips. Her cheeks flushed when she pulled away, and she dipped her head shyly, biting her bottom lip. "Have a good night, Dante."
"You, too, baby."
His tongue darted out, sweeping across his lips, tasting the strawberry stickiness. He watched her as she headed down the block, smiling to himself when he caught her peeking back at him.
"She's cute."
That voice, right behind Dante, made the hair on his arms bristle, his back straightening. He turned his head, finding Umberto lurking. "Bert."
Umberto raised his eyebrows. "Girlfriend?"
"Friend."
"Does she have a name?"
"Of course she does."
Umberto stared at him, like he expected more. In the past, Dante would've offered it. Girls used to come in and out of his life, weekend flings that he'd flippantly talk about, because they never meant much. They knew they didn't mean much, although he was sure a few hoped he'd have a change of heart, but he never did, because his heart had nothing to do with it. Too much scar tissue covered his chest for any of them to break through.
But her?
She was different.
She'd gotten in.
There was no getting her back out.
"Wow," Umberto breathed, realizing Dante had no intention of sharing with him. "Okay, well, your father wants to see you."
"I'm busy," Dante said.
"It's not a request," Umberto said, nodding toward a black sedan parked along the curb a few spots down, all the windows tinted so he couldn't see inside. "So let's not make a thing out of this, okay?"
"And if I choose to make this a thing? If I don't get in that car?"
"You don't want to play it that way."
"What are you going to do, Bert? Drag me over to it? Throw me in the back? Hold me down? Put a fucking knife in my side?"
"Come on, man…"
"Because that's what Barsanti did," Dante continued, "so it wouldn't be the first time."
"Just get in the car, Dante." Umberto ran his hands down his face. "It'll be over before you know it and you'll be back to whatever-her-name-is, doing whatever the hell you've been up to all this time."
Dante considered it. He wanted to refuse. He wanted Umberto to try to force him. He knew the guy's weaknesses, where he was most vulnerable. There was no way in hell Umberto would get him in that car without adding some serious firepower to the equation. But Dante also knew his father. If the man was calling him in, he wouldn't take no for an answer. If Umberto failed, he'd just send others.
Frankly, Dante was surprised it had taken the man so long to come for him. Time passed. He'd missed Thanksgiving. December had snuck up on them, Christmas right around the corner. He hadn't been back to the house, hadn't had a damn thing to do with the Galante family since the trip they'd taken to Jersey.
He sure as hell didn't want to go then, but his options were limited.
Sighing, Dante shoved past him, strolling over to the car. Umberto followed, opening the back door and nodding for him to get in.
One of Primo's usual drivers sat behind the wheel, not acknowledging Dante. Umberto slid in beside him, the car pulling into traffic. The forty-five minute drive felt like hours, the sun setting along the way. Dante stared out the side window, anger stirring, mixing with a bit of trepidation. That obedient soldier inside of him was sweating.
The tension in Dante's muscles grew when they reached the house. Cars surrounded the property, a sea of black sedans. Dante's eyes scanned the place in the darkness, on edge.
"Inductions," Umberto said, answering his unasked question. "Party started twenty minutes ago."
Shit.
Dante got out and hesitated. Twice a year, they opened up the books, inviting a few select guys to join the organization. The night always involved a lot of ass kissing, and Dante didn't have it in him. The last time they'd had one of these, he'd found a Barsanti hiding in his sister's closet, a Barsanti he almost killed that night. One he probably should've killed
that night. Had he pulled the trigger, had he told his father, his sister would've never forgiven him, but at least she would've still been around.
Had it already been six months?
Umberto approached the house, and Dante followed, seeing his father standing on the front step, waiting.
The man wore a straight black three-piece suit, while Dante had on jeans and a sweatshirt.
"He give you any trouble?" Primo asked, his eyes on Dante, but that question was meant for Umberto.
"No," Umberto said. "He got right in the car."
"Good." Primo motioned for Umberto to go inside, waiting until they were alone before addressing Dante. "You haven't been answering my calls."
"I lost my phone."
Primo's eyes studied Dante's face, looking for signs of deception, but he stood still, stoic, his expression betraying nothing.
"Go upstairs and shower, change your clothes, pull yourself together," Primo ordered. "Come back down when you're ready to play your part."
Dante moved past him. "Yes, sir."
Eyes trailed him inside, following him as he made his way upstairs. He went straight to his room, seeing everything as he'd left it.
He took twenty minutes, showering and shaving, before dressing in the best suit in his closet. He stood in front of the mirror, staring at his reflection as he knotted the blue tie, straightening it. Noise filtered up the stairs from the floor below, rambunctious chatter and drunken laughter, music melding with it. Classical. It was a five-star black-tie event for the scum of the earth. Myself, included. He had more blood on his hands than some of those men.
Heading out, he paused in the dark hallway, curious when he noticed his sister's bedroom door cracked open. Stepping across the hall, he pushed on it, shock running through him.
Empty.
Everything was gone. Everything. No belongings. No furniture. Nothing. The room had been stripped, scrubbed and sanitized, like it wasn't enough that they'd erased her name from their vocabulary—they needed to wipe her DNA from inside the house, too.
Gone.
Dante made his way downstairs then, knowing the longer he lingered upstairs, the longer he dwelled, the worse the night would get. Eyes trailed him through the foyer as he headed to his father's office, where he knew the man would be.
Primo looked up, a smile lighting his face, like he appreciated the obedience, considering Dante had done what the man demanded. "Son, come in, have a seat! We were just talking about you."
Dante stepped into the room. "Oh?"
"I was telling them how you've been on a bit of a sabbatical," Primo said. "You've had a tough year."
"I have," Dante agreed.
"But it was a well-deserved break, I'd say. You earned it. You protected the family. You fought for us in the trenches. You even killed the Barsanti kid. That, alone, earned you one hell of a vacation."
Primo grinned, and others laughed, while Dante's stomach clenched. He felt sick. He looked away from his father, catching sight of Umberto standing off to the side. He wasn't laughing, his gaze on the floor. He'd been there that day, when Dante pulled the trigger. A knee-jerk reaction, a split second decision. Enzo had pointed a gun at him, and Dante panicked out of fear.
He'd fired once.
Just once.
He took a life with a single bullet.
"But it's good to have you back now," his father continued. "Good to have you all refreshed. You feeling better?"
"Of course." Dante turned back to him. "More than happy to be here."
The conversation shifted off of him then. Dante was grateful. He sat there as they chatted, gossiping, talking business and making plans. Card games. Strip clubs. Doubling up on bookies. They were pushing harder into Little Italy, most of the neighborhood under their thumb, the way they told it, although Dante doubted it. He'd seen Barsanti guys on those streets, watching them from the windows in Gabriella's apartment.
They stood on the corners.
They went inside the buildings.
They still considered it open territory.
Dante stood after a while to roam the room, pausing beside Umberto. He poured a bunch of whiskey in a glass before leaning back against the bar.
"You lie to him so easily," Umberto said.
"I'm not lying to him." Dante took a drink of the warm liquor and shuddered at the burn. "He knows the truth. I'm just saying what he wants me to say. He wants them all to believe everything is normal, so for tonight, I'm the perfect son."
"What happens after tonight? After the party's over?"
Dante gulped down the rest of the liquor before pouring more. "I guess he gets rid of all of my shit, too."
Dante walked away, leaving the office, strolling through the downstairs. Mingling. He fucking mingled. Smile plastered to his face, alcohol buzzing through his veins, he played the role he'd been dragged there to play, a role worthy of an Oscar. Yep, I survived. Nope, I don't blame my father. You're absolutely right; we can't grieve for a traitor. Hours passed in a haze, as he drank and mingled. He drank so much his vision grew blurry, and he mingled to the point that he was tired of hearing his own voice.
He returned to the office eventually, the room cleared out as people made their way through the house, a card game going on in the dining room, others in the den with cigars. It was late. Too late. The sun was starting to rise. Dante sensed it through the windows, despite the shades being drawn. He poured himself one last bit of whiskey, barely a swallow, standing there as he swirled it around in his glass.
"You did good."
His father's voice came from behind him. Dante threw the alcohol back, swallowing it, and set the empty glass down. "I did what I had to."
"You were always good at that," Primo said. "Never questioned orders. Never questioned me. I was proud. Proud to call you my son. Proud to call you my heir. And I'm still proud, Dante. Proud of the man you were. You could still be that man, you know."
Dante stared at him, those words running through him. "The day Genna—"
"I don't want to talk about it," Primo cut in. "I don't want to think about what she did."
"Just answer one question," Dante said, "and I'll never bring it up again."
Primo glared at him. "What's your question?"
"Why didn't you stop it?"
"Why didn't I stop it?"
"It takes forty-five minutes to drive from here to Little Italy. Forty-five. I've clocked that drive hundreds of times. If Genna ran out of here, heading for that car, for that bomb, why didn't you stop it? Why didn't you call it off? You had forty-five minutes."
Primo stood quietly as he thought that over. "I guess I didn't care enough to."
Those words were a punch to the gut.
"Collateral damage," he continued. "It happens."
Dante took a shaky breath. "She was your daughter."
"And Matteo was my godson," Primo said, "but it doesn't matter. Daughter. Godson. They're words. Genevieve, she was a lot like your mother. Too much like your mother. Bad judgment. They crossed lines that couldn't be uncrossed. Never wanted it to happen, but neither gave me a choice."
Neither gave me a choice.
Dread ran through Dante, turning his blood ice cold. "Mom died in a car accident."
"Funny how that happens, huh?" Primo turned away from him. "Since I answered your question, Dante, I expect you to live up to your end of the deal. Don't bring up your sister ever again. She's dead to us."
She's dead to us.
Dante just stood there after his father walked out, staring at the vacant doorway. His knees wobbled beneath him. His head was fuzzy. He damn near passed out. He'd always thought his father an imperfect man, but one who made mistakes out of love. He did what he did to protect the family, and Dante thought he'd inherited those flaws. But as much as Dante had woken up different, realizing the man he'd been had only been a facade, he knew wasn't the only one wearing a mask. He saw now that his father wasn't just flawed.
The man was cold and
callous.
The man was selfish.
The man was dangerous.
The man needed to be stopped.
Gabriella 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.