Sweetest Sorrow

  "Thank you," Dante said.

  "But you better treat her right," Victor said. "Because that squirrel she brought home? It bit her, you know. It got scared, and it bit her, so I snapped it's fucking neck, because no one and nothing hurts my family. Remember that."

  Music played through the ballroom from the small orchestra. Tables took up a significant portion of the vast room, while the wedding party was propped up on a stage near the front, along a wall of spacious windows, soft sunlight streaming in on them, making the bride glow. The rest of the space was made up of a dance floor, empty at the moment, as everyone ate.

  Gabriella pushed the food around on her plate, not taking any bites of the veal they'd forced upon her. The plate beside hers remained untouched, growing cold, the chair empty. Her plus-one.

  Across from her sat her parents, also not eating. No, they were too busy staring. Staring at her, although neither had spoken a single word since she'd plopped down at the table. Their silence, though, said enough.

  They were surprised, also not of the pleasant variety.

  How long had it been? Ten minutes? A friggin year? She was growing antsy, tapping her foot, eyes scanning the room at the dozens—maybe hundreds—of faces, some of them familiar but none of them the one she hoped to see.

  They wouldn't actually kill him, would they?

  She grew impatient, about to go hunt Dante down, when she caught sight of her grandfather. Victor strolled into the room, smiling wide, his typical chipper self. He headed to the front of the ballroom and picked up a microphone.

  Gabriella studied him, searching for some clue about what might've gone down, and startled when the chair beside her moved. She jumped, coming face-to-face with Dante.

  He'd aged ten years in the blink of an eye. His suit was unkempt, the tie barely knotted. But the rest of him… well, he wasn't bleeding. There was no bruising that she could see, so he wasn't physically wounded. They'd just torn apart his soul, it seemed.

  The moment his rear end hit the seat, Gabriella's father dropped his fork, the metal clanking against the plate as he gave up the pretense of attempting to eat.

  Gabriella cringed.

  "I'd like a word," Alfie said, finding his voice. "Now."

  Dante stood back up.

  "Wait," Gabriella interjected.

  Dante placed his hand on her shoulder, rubbing it. "It's fine."

  Alfie stalked through the ballroom, heading for the door, as Dante followed. Gabriella watched them as they stopped outside, well out of earshot but still within view. Right away, Alfie laid into him, going on and on, while Dante just stood there, listening.

  In the ballroom, Victor spoke, giving some speech about love and loyalty, but Gabriella wasn't paying attention. Ugh, what the heck is my father saying? She started to stand up, to go out there, her father's expression murderous as he got right in Dante's face, spewing words Gabriella suspected she didn't even have in her vocabulary, when a hand darted across the table, catching her wrist.

  "Don't dare, Gabriella Michele!" Her mother glared at her from across the table. "What are you thinking?"

  Gabriella turned as she was forced back into her chair, looking at her mother. Victoria looked quite a bit like her father, those Brazzi genes strong. She also inherited the notorious temper.

  "I don't know," Gabriella said. "Maybe that you guys are overreacting like I knew you would."

  "Overreacting?" Victoria raised her eyebrows, still gripping her wrist, manicured fingernails pressing into the skin. "Overreacting, Gabriella? Do you know who that boy is?"

  "Of course I know who he is."

  "He's a Galante."

  "So?" Gabriella pulled on her arm, but her mother wasn't letting go, acting like a leash tethering her there. "I mean, okay, I get it, but I don't know why you're so upset about it."

  "He's a Galante," she repeated.

  "I know he is, Mom. But Aunt Savina married a Barsanti. Aunt Lena married an Amaro. Heck, you married a Russo."

  "That's different."

  "How?"

  "We were idiots," Victoria said, that answer making Gabriella laugh, despite the circumstances. "I raised you to be so much smarter than this. We were lovesick young girls, marrying men we hardly knew. And you, Oh God, you… don't tell me you're thinking about marrying that boy!"

  "What? No!" Gabriella scrunched up her nose, yanking her arm free. "We're not, I mean… ugh, it's way too soon to be breaking out that word."

  "But some day? Is that what you're telling me? You might someday think about marrying him? A Galante?"

  "Maybe. Ugh, I don't know! I don't even want to think about that right now. I'm a little busy trying to survive this wedding to be planning my own. We're just dating."

  "Dating?"

  "Yeah," Gabriella said, knowing she was underplaying it. The guy had already moved into her apartment. "I like him."

  "You like him?"

  She smiled. "I more than like him, Mom."

  Victoria covered her face with her hands, shaking her head. "He's going to break your heart."

  Gabriella's eyes shifted back out the ballroom, at Dante, as he still stood there, taking the verbal lashing in stride. "I know he is."

  "That's it!" Victoria dramatically threw her hands up, disrupting people around them. "It's official. You inherited it."

  "What?"

  "The idiot gene."

  Gabriella laughed again, a bit of relief washing through her as her grandfather's speech ended, the orchestra again playing as the bride and groom moved to the dance floor. Alfie walked back into the ballroom, his expression softening more with each step, his anger melted by the time he reached the table.

  Dante followed, another ten years gone from his life.

  "Dance with me, woman," Alfie said, holding his hand out to Victoria. "Make me the luckiest man in the room all over again."

  Victoria rolled her eyes but took his hand, the two of them setting off for the dance floor, gone by the time Dante made it to the table.

  He slid down into his seat, sighing.

  "What did he say to you?" Gabriella asked.

  "The same thing your grandfather said."

  "Which was…?"

  "When I break your heart, they're going to rip mine right out of my chest."

  "Wow," she whispered.

  "Wow," he agreed, grazing his fingertips along her cheek before running them down her neck, right to her chest. He pressed his palm flat against it over her heart. "Guess I need to be careful with this thing."

  "Guess so, unless you don't need your heart anymore."

  "What heart?"

  "This one." Gabriella pressed her palm against his chest. "It's still in there."

  "You sure about that?"

  "Positive," she said. "In case you forgot, I spent weeks listening to it. I heard it every day. So yeah, it's still in there. I know it is."

  Dante leaned over to kiss her. Gabriella's eyes fluttered closed, tingles engulfing her at the public display of affection, right there in front of all of those eyes, so many of them suspiciously watching him. She got lost in it, just enjoying it, when a chair pulled out at their table, scraping against the floor. "Fools."

  Dante pulled away with a sigh. Gabriella scowled, not having to open her eyes to know who it was.

  Gavin.

  "And here I actually thought I might go a whole day without hearing that voice," Dante said.

  "For the record," Gavin said, "you're not the only one who gets tired of hearing shit. You know what I'm tired of hearing? Your name. My father asked me to come here, you know, to represent the Amaros, since he works so early in the mornings and didn't want to make the trip out, so I said, sure, why not? I figured a wedding in Jersey would be a safe zone, a chance for me to get away from the stress hearing your name causes me, but nope. Dante Galante walks in, and it's all I hear. Dante, Dante, Dante…"

  "I happen to like hearing that name," Gabriella chimed in.

  "You would," Gavin said. "It's mostl
y your fault I hear it."

  She smiled. "You're welcome."

  "Seriously, though," Gavin said, looking between them. "Did it never cross either of your minds that this might not be the ideal time and place for your coming out party?"

  "It crossed my mind," Dante said, "but I kind of figured there was no ideal time or place, so go big or go home, right?"

  "Wrong," Gavin said, pointing at Dante. "When you go big, you don't get to go home. When you go big, you end up tortured in basements."

  Dante's cheek twitched. "I went home."

  "That time," he said, "but you're running out of lives, pussy-cat. You wasted the first eight. Playing fast and loose with number nine isn't smart."

  Dante's eyes narrowed, and he started to counter that, when Gabriella laughed. "You two argue like an old married couple."

  Gavin shot her a look, while Dante scoffed. "He wishes we were."

  "Fuck you." Gavin flipped his middle finger at Dante before glancing at Gabriella, who again laughed. "You know what? Fuck you, too. Fuck both of you."

  "Not interested," Dante said. "I told you I had a girlfriend."

  "He does," Gabriella said, grinning.

  "You," Gavin said, pointing at Gabriella. "You need your head checked. And you…" He pointed at Dante as he stood up. "I can't wait until somebody finally gets the balls to shoot you, because you know what I'm going to do when that happens?"

  "Cry?"

  "Laugh," he said. "I'm going to stand back and laugh, because your dumb ass will deserve it."

  Gavin walked away, shaking his head.

  "Is it sad that I think that jackass might be my best friend?" Dante asked, turning to Gabriella.

  That declaration surprised her. "Really?"

  He nodded. "These days, well, Gavin's pretty much the only one I trust… except for you."

  Guilt. Gabriella never thought of it as a tangible sensation, but she felt it swelling like a wave, threatening to break and crash into her. "You trust him? You trust me?"

  Dante's brow furrowed. "Why wouldn't I trust you?"

  "You said you didn't trust anybody," she said. "You said you could only depend on yourself."

  "Yeah, well, I said a lot of shit," Dante said. "I was angry. I'm still angry. But if I've learned anything, it's that maybe I just trusted the wrong ones."

  Gabriella frowned. The two people he let himself trust were keeping a secret from him. A life-altering kind of secret. It was lying by omission, as far as she was concerned, and she was tired of lying. Would she ever be able to stop?

  "Anyway." Dante motioned to the dance floor. "Did you want to dance?"

  "Dance? To Beethoven? How?"

  "Looks like you kind of just spin in circles."

  She grimaced. "I'd rather just go home. I think we've been here long enough."

  "Are we allowed to leave?"

  "I'm grown. I don't need permission."

  "Says the woman who didn't want to come in the first place but had to because her mother said so."

  Gabriella scowled, close to taking a move out of Gavin's playbook by flipping him off for that. "Come on, let's make our escape while they're preoccupied."

  Dante stood, and Gabriella took his hand, spinning around to head for the exit, when she almost smacked into somebody walking by. Seriously? Dante yanked on her hand, pulling her to him so hard she stumbled, her back flush against his chest. Everything inside of her froze when she came face-to-face with Bobby.

  Whoa.

  "Alfie's little girl, right?" he asked, eyes studying her. "Nice to see you again."

  "Uh, hello," she said, smiling awkwardly through her panic. This was not how their great escape was supposed to go. "I was just, you know... psheeeww."

  It wasn't even a word.

  What the heck was coming out of her mouth?

  He nodded, like he understood, and stepped aside for her to pass. She kept a grip on Dante's hand, pleading with the universe under her breath. "Please don't do it. Please don't do it. Please—"

  "Barsanti."

  Gabriella closed her eyes at the sound of Dante's voice, sighing the rest of the words. "—don't do it."

  Why did he have to acknowledge him?

  "Galante," Bobby responded. "I see you're well."

  "Still breathing," Dante said. "My heart is still beating, too."

  "Your heart? Wasn't aware you ever had one. Congratulations. Must be a big deal in your family, a Galante that isn't hollow."

  Gabriella braced herself, expecting Dante to whip out a snide comment, but instead, he shrugged it off. "Who would've imagined?"

  "Certainly not me."

  "Yeah, well, if you'll excuse us, you've got to vroom, or whatever the hell she said."

  "Psheeeww," she mumbled.

  Dante pushed against Gabriella, and she was more than happy to start walking again, leading him out of the ballroom, jogging in her high heels to get away. The man with the clipboard stood outside, radioing something into his walkie-talkie the second he spotted Dante.

  Letting go of her hand, Dante felt around in his pockets. "Shit."

  "What's wrong?"

  "Your grandfather practically had me strip-searched. They took the fucking Valet ticket."

  "Crap, I'm going to have to go back in."

  "Fuck that," Dante said, heading straight to one of the lingering Valet boys. "Hey, do you remember me? You parked my car."

  The guy shrugged. "I parked a lot of cars."

  "It was the McLaren," Dante said. "12C. Bright blue. Hard to forget."

  "Not ringing a bell."

  "Can you go look for it?"

  "Do you have your ticket?"

  "If I had my ticket, do you think I would've bothered describing the fucking thing to you?"

  "No ticket, no car."

  Gabriella saw the frustration rising up in Dante, his expression hardening. She took a step down, to approach them, to try to calm the situation because it was obviously intentional, when someone stepped out of the house, placing a hand on her shoulder to stall her. "I've got this, sweetheart."

  Her father walked past her. "Get Mr. Galante's car, Alonzo. It's parked in the main garage. I'm sure you remember it."

  "Yes, sir," the guy said, saluting him before jogging away.

  Dante's narrowed eyes trailed the guy.

  "Thanks, Daddy," Gabriella mumbled, stepping beside him.

  "Don't mention it." Alfie reached over, snatching her into a hug. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, and she smiled. He smelled like the inside of a car. "I figure, you know, he had enough balls to come here and face us, so the least I can do is let him drive my little girl home when she's ready to go."

  "He's good to me, you know."

  "He better be."

  "He is," she said. "He rubs my feet and makes me macaroni."

  Dante shot her a look that made her laugh.

  "Well, then," Alfie said. "What more do you need? Other than safety and security, that is."

  "He gives me that, too," she said. "Although, I can take care of myself."

  "I know you can."

  The blue supercar came rolling up to the front of the house. Dante approached it, opening the passenger door and waiting. Alfie walked Gabriella over to the car, letting go of her once they reached it. She climbed in and Dante closed the door, pausing there, turning to her father as the man started to leave. "Mr. Russo."

  Alfie stalled.

  "A while back, my father figured out that your family harbored Matteo Barsanti, that you let him hide out in your territory."

  Alfie stared at him, not apologetic at all. "He was just a child."

  "Yeah, well, my father…" Dante looked away, like he was struggling to find words. "He figures if you're not his ally, you must be his enemy. This whole thing was always supposed to be about protecting the people we love, and my father… I don't think there's a person alive that he loves anymore. Nobody but himself. But the people I love, well…" He glanced back through the window of the car. "
He doesn't call them allies anymore."

  Alfie stood there, stewing over that, before he asked, "Are you living with him?"

  "Not anymore."

  "Where are you living?"

  "An apartment in Little Italy."

  Alfie's eyes narrowed. Uh-oh. "You living with my daughter?"

  Lie, Gabriella thought, bracing herself as she stared out the car window at them. Whatever you do, don't tell him the friggin truth.

  "Yes, sir."

  Ugh.

  Alfie let out a sound, like a strangled growl, as he ran his hands down his face. "You have gotta be fucking kidding me. My daughter let you move in?"

  Gabriella pressed buttons in the car, tinkering with the knobs on the door, trying to figure out how to put down the window so she could join the conversation.

  "Yes, sir," Dante said again.

  "I'm telling you right now, if this comes down on her, I'm coming down on you." Alfie pinched the bridge of his nose as he muttered to himself, "Already shacking up. She's trying to give me a fucking heart attack."

  Giving up on the window, Gabriella grabbed the door handle, lifting it to push the door open. She protested, demanding she could take care of herself, when Dante reached back, slamming the door shut again and leaning back against it, so she couldn't open it anymore. Rude.

  "She won't get hurt," Dante said. "I'll make sure of it."

  "You better," Alfie said. "Because my Gabby, she's quick to pull the trigger, and I mean that in every way imaginable. She makes decisions in a snap. She jumps in headfirst but doesn't always look at what she's diving into, and that can get her in trouble. Big trouble."

  "I can hear you guys, you know," she yelled, banging against the window with her fist, but the men ignored her, continuing with their conversation.

  "She doesn't scare easily these days," Alfie said, "but she isn't bulletproof. I don't think she realizes that."

  "Yes, I do," she grumbled, swinging her legs over the center console, careful not to jab any buttons or kick any knobs, and climbed over onto the driver's side, that door still open.