Sweetest Sorrow by J. M. Darhower

The man stared at him, his gun still pointed at Genna. "Matty?"

  "Uh… yeah."

  The man regarded Genna again. "I'm guessing that makes you the Bonnie to my nephew's Clyde?"

  "Nephew?"

  Matty took a few steps their direction, holding his hands up in front of him, like he wasn’t sure whether it was safe. "He's my mother's sister's husband, Alfie Russo."

  "So… your uncle."

  "Yeah."

  "That's nice." Genna stared at the man. "Do you think your uncle can, like, not point his gun at me anymore?"

  Alfie lowered the gun. "Sorry about that. Can never be too sure these days."

  As soon as the gun was tucked away, Matty approached.

  Alfie turned his way, a full-blown grinning taking over his face. "Jesus, Matty, talk about a sight for sore eyes."

  He yanked Matty into a hug, beating him on the back before grasping his face, patting his cheek so hard he practically slapped him. Genna leaned against the bumper of the car, watching.

  "You don't look surprised to see me alive," Matty said.

  "Come on, you think we'd write you off? Knew it was only a matter of time before you popped up again. But this?" Alfie motioned toward Genna. "This is a surprise. What the hell, kid? Don't you know to wrap it before you tap it?"

  Matty's cheeks turned pink. "Had a little slip up."

  "I see that." Alfie squeezed his shoulder. "Your mother, God rest her soul, would be thrilled. A grandbaby."

  "That makes one parent," Genna said. "The others, not so much."

  Alfie cut his eyes at her, his expression falling. "Come on, let's go inside. Got a lot of catching up to do."

  "We're actually hoping to find Genna's brother," Matty said. "We know he's alive."

  "Yeah, we'll get to him," Alfie said. "There's something else we should talk about, though. Something important. You'll want to sit down."

  Genna didn't like the sound of that.

  What was more important than her brother?

  She followed them inside, plopping down on the dusty brown couch. Matty perched on the arm of it beside her, while Alfie sat in a chair, stretching his legs out, clasping his hands together in his lap. "You know the expression 'don’t shoot the messenger'?"

  "Of course," Matty said.

  "Well, I'm only the messenger here, so don't shoot."

  Words came flowing out of the man, a wild story that started with a meeting and ended with three people dead: Roberto Barsanti, Primo Galante, and one of Primo's men. Genna stared at him in shock, trying to keep up with it all, her stomach churning. She swallowed thickly, tears burning her eyes. Don't cry. Don't cry. Holy fuck, don't cry. He tried to blow up the man you love. He wrote you off. He would've hated your baby. He would've probably killed you all. He might be your father, but he wasn't a good man. He wasn't a nice man. He was just a man… a man who used to tuck you in at night… a man who used to hug you tight. Oh God, don't fucking cry…

  Matty rubbed her back, his touch breaking her reserve. Silent tears streamed down her cheeks.

  "Wish I was surprised," Matty said. "We knew a long time ago it would come to this."

  "Yeah," Alfie said. "Despite everything, you know, they were powerful men, important men, so we figured they deserved a proper send-off. I'll spare you the details, but we made sure they'd be found."

  "Thank you," Matty said. "We had our problems, but my mother always wanted to be buried with him."

  "I figured," Alfie said. "And you know, Primo has his kids… Dante told us to shove the old man in a car and light it up, for all he cared, but you know, burying him is the right thing to do."

  "My brother said that?" Genna asked, surprised.

  "Your brother says a lot," Alfie said. "Don't know about that kid some days."

  "So you know him?"

  "You could say that."

  "Where is he?"

  "Hard to say," Alfie said. "My daughter should able to tell you, though."

  Matty cleared his throat. "I heard about that."

  "Yeah, can't say I was thrilled," Alfie said, "but he's not so bad, I guess. Could be worse."

  "What are you talking about?" Genna asked, looking between them.

  "Your brother's dating my cousin," Matty said.

  "Dating?" Genna asked. "Are we talking every other weekend and the occasional Wednesday kind of dating?"

  Matty cracked a smile. "She's his girlfriend."

  "Girlfriend?" she asked. "Like a real live girlfriend?"

  "They're living together," Alfie said. "They say they're in love."

  "Whoa, whoa, whoa…" Genna sat up, holding her hands up to stop them from saying anything else. "Out of everything you've said, that is the craziest. Are you sure we're talking about my brother here?"

  "Unfortunately," Alfie said. "They're living in an apartment in Little Italy. Neighborhood's wrecked, but it's safe, for the most part. Everyone's been quiet. You should be fine over there."

  The loud buzz echoed through the apartment from the box affixed to the wall by the front door. Gabriella's back stiffened when she heard it, standing in the kitchen, stirring macaroni on the stove. It went off a few times, back-to-back, but she ignored it. The only person she cared to see was Dante, and he still had his key to get in, despite walking out and offering no sort of answer for when he might return.

  If he even returns…

  She had nobody to blame but herself. Okay, and Gavin… she blamed Gavin. And Primo Galante, and Bobby Barsanti… she blamed them, too—blamed them for starting the whole war that created the entire mess.

  Ugh, she blamed the world.

  She blamed all of her neighbors.

  She blamed the friggin mayor.

  She could throw blame around all day long, but it wouldn't change anything.

  The buzzing stopped. Gabriella drained her macaroni and mixed it all together, scooping it in a bowl as she headed for the living room. Meredith Grey stood on her television screen, blabbing about being dark and twisty, her mess of a life seeming to pale in comparison to Gabriella's currently, but it still managed to make her feel better.

  At least she wasn't the only screw up.

  Gabriella had barely made it a few steps when knocking echoed from the door. She stalled and turned toward it, considering ignoring it, too, hoping they'd leave her alone to wallow, but curiosity was a strong contender. She crept over, not wanting to be heard, and glanced out the peephole.

  The moment she did, her muscles declared mutiny.

  Her knees almost buckled, the bowl of macaroni slipping right from her hand, hitting the floor with a clatter. Oh my God. Fumbling with the locks, her hands shaking, she yanked the door open, giving no regard to the fact that she wasn't wearing pants. Luckily, her shirt was long enough to cover everything, because nothing mattered beyond what was in front of her. "Matty?"

  Matteo Barsanti stood there, in the hallway in front of her apartment.

  "Gabby." He smiled. "Long time, no see."

  "I, uh… wow. What are you…? Why are you here?"

  "She's not really surprised, either," a female voice called out from behind him. "Man, we did a shitty job at this whole faking-death thing. I think the only one that got fooled was me."

  Gabriella pulled the door open further, her eyes widening. "Genna? You're, uh… oh my god. You're…"

  "Alive?" Genna bumped Matty with her hip, nudging him out of the way. "Here?"

  "I was going to say pregnant," Gabriella said. "You're pregnant."

  "Oh, yeah." Genna grasped her stomach. "I'm that, too."

  Gabriella had no idea what to say. In all of their conversations, Gavin had never once mentioned that fact, despite acknowledging seeing her. "I had no idea. Gavin didn't say anything."

  "My brother didn't, either?"

  "Your brother?"

  Genna eyed her warily. "Yeah, Dante?"

  "How would he…?"

  "He was the first one to know," Genna said. "He figured it out before I did."

&nbs
p; Gabriella was stunned. "He never mentioned it."

  "Oh... well, then. That sucks. Did he mention me at all?"

  Gabriella sensed the apprehension in that question. "All the time."

  Genna smiled, her relief palpable.

  "I'm guessing he's not here," Matty said. "If he was, he probably would've taken a swing at me by now."

  "Oh, no, Dante's not here."

  "Do you know where he is?" Genna asked.

  Gabriella hesitated, not sure how much Genna knew, not wanting to have to be the one to tell her. "He mentioned something about going home."

  Genna pursed her lips as she looked at Matty. "And you said you weren't taking me to my father's house."

  "I'm not." Matty pulled out a set of keys. "You can take yourself, though."

  Genna took the keys, scowling. "I was kidding about the going our separate ways thing."

  "I know." He nudged her chin before kissing her, pressing his palm flat against her stomach. "I just figure, knowing your brother, it might go over better if I'm not around when you see him."

  "What are you going to do?" Genna asked.

  "He can hang out here," Gabriella suggested. "I have macaroni… or well, I had some." She grimaced at the mess on the floor, shoved behind the door. "We can order a pizza."

  "There you go," Matty said, slipping around Genna as he backed up into the apartment. "You go do what you gotta do, while I eat pizza… real pizza… without pickles."

  Genevieve scrunched up her nose, lingering in the hallway. "That sounds terrible."

  "I bet." Matty grasped her face, cradling it between his hands. "Go. See your brother."

  Genna bit her bottom lip. "But what if—?"

  "Don't do that," he said. "We just drove the entire way across this country for you to see him. The time for second-guessing was two thousand miles ago."

  "Fine," she grumbled, shoving away from him. "I'll go, but you better save me some damn pizza, Matteo. With pickles."

  "Whatever you want."

  Genna pressed a quick peck to his lips and stalked away, grumbling. Gabriella couldn't make out most of the words, something about bossy Barsantis. Her footsteps echoed through the building as she stomped down the stairs.

  "Does she not want to see Dante?"

  "Oh, no, she does." Matty stepped into the apartment. "She just gets mean when she's scared. Galante family trait."

  "Ah, right." Gabriella shut the door, bending down to pick up her bowl and clean up the macaroni. "I've seen her brother do that."

  "So have I," Matty said. "It's what killed Enzo."

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Soft, fluffy flakes fell from the night sky, a splattering of white in the stark darkness. Dante sat on the damp railing of the second-story balcony, his legs dangling over the side. His laces hung loose, swaying, his shoes on the verge of falling off.

  Coldness seeped through his dark sweats and the NY Mets shirt he wore, but the liquor running through his veins, radiating out through his pores, proved enough to keep him warm. He was probably dying from fucking hypothermia, but he sure didn't feel it.

  His nerves were numb.

  The doors to the balcony stood wide open, letting cold air burst through, into the quiet house. Behind him, Genna's bedroom. She'd always loved the balcony. How many times had he found her sitting out there? It's too suffocating inside, she'd say. I can't breathe.

  Although true, Dante always told her she was being dramatic. Their father had her on lockdown, yes, but Dante never minded keeping her company. But man, what a pain in the ass, not being able to take a breath without somebody monitoring each inhale.

  So he got it, why she found it suffocating.

  He understood the feeling.

  He wished he could tell her that.

  "Christ, please tell me you're not planning to jump."

  The incredulous voice echoed through the vacant room, striking him. Genna. Dante tensed, his muscles rigid as he clutched tight to the oversized bottle of whiskey, already half drank despite cracking it open just an hour earlier.

  Did hypothermia cause hallucinations?

  Drunken delusions?

  Was he already fucking dead?

  "Seriously," she continued, "because at most you'll probably just break your leg, and I am in no condition to try to carry your dumb ass anywhere."

  Dante's eyes closed, his head lowering. "Am I dreaming again?"

  "Again? Have you been dreaming about me? That's kind of weird."

  He lazily shrugged a shoulder, hearing her approach, every footstep making his chest ache more. "I watch you die sometimes in my sleep."

  "Okay, that's not weird. That's morbid."

  "Better than it happening while awake."

  Dante took another swig of the liquor as he reopened his eyes. Shifting on the railing, he swung around, dropping his feet flat on the balcony to stand up. He swayed from the sudden head rush, his vision briefly blacking out.

  As soon as it came back to him, he saw her. Dark hair, longer than he remembered. Bright, pale blue eyes. Fair skin, like porcelain. Pregnant.

  Jesus fuck, she was pregnant…

  Her black shirt stretched tight over her round stomach, like she'd shoved a basketball underneath. Dante blinked a few times, his gaze fixed on it, dumbfounded. A shuddering breath escaped him as he let go of the whiskey bottle, letting it drop.

  CLUNK

  "Genna," he whispered, his voice strained.

  Going right for her, he yanked her into a hug, holding her tightly to his chest. One hand fisted the back of her shirt, the other grasping her hair, as he rested his cheek against the top of her head.

  "Dante," she grumbled. "You're smothering me."

  "Suck it up," he said. "I'm not letting go yet."

  She didn't argue, hugging him back. Dante waited. For what, he didn't know. Waited for the moment to come to an end. Waited for the world to stop turning. Waited for life to be over.

  Waited to wake the fuck up.

  But nothing happened.

  He stood there, unsteady, holding on to her, until she pulled from his grasp. The blurry image of her remained in front of him, her nose red and cheeks flushed pink, teeth chattering.

  She was freezing.

  But she was breathing.

  She was standing right in front of him.

  Tears filled her eyes, her voice cracking as she whispered, "I thought you were dead."

  "I could say the same to you."

  She hugged him again, smiling as she cried, those tears breaking loose. She burrowed into his shirt, wiping her face, wiping her nose. Her body shook, so Dante pulled her into the house and out of the cold.

  "What happened to my stuff?" she asked right away, looking around the empty room as Dante shut the balcony doors.

  "It's all gone."

  "Why?"

  "Someone crosses you, you erase them from your life."

  "I, uh… wow." She spun in a circle. "Guess I pissed him off."

  "He was already mad. He was mad for a long time. You just gave him a reason to show you his anger," Dante said. "But if it's any consolation, I discovered my shit's gone, too."

  "Really? Yours? What did you do that was so wrong?"

  "I wouldn't even know where to start."

  "I've got all the time in the world to listen." Genna rubbed her hands over her swollen stomach. "Well, okay, I've got more like three weeks, tops, until this one barges in, but you know what I'm saying."

  Less than a month. Where the hell had time gone? It had all passed in a blur, a succession of blinks, flashing images that propelled him through time. It still felt like just yesterday that he'd stood in that same room, damn near in that very spot, and stared at his sister as she clutched that plastic stick with two pink lines, the world as he knew it crashing down. Until that moment, nothing had been irreparable. Nothing had been permanent. Nothing had happened that they couldn't have come back from. He'd ignorantly believed that it would all work itself out, that she would've
come to her senses, like the smart girl she was, and their father would've forgiven her, like the rational man he was, and they would've been a family again, like Galantes were supposed to be. But then she popped up pregnant and Dante made himself a murderer, swearing he'd clean up her mess when in reality all he did was make everything worse.

  "I'm guessing, since you're here, you know about Dad."

  "Yeah," she whispered. "I know he's dead."

  Dead. The word felt strange. They'd all been dead a time or two, it seemed, but there was no coming back from death for Primo. Death, in Dante's life, never felt so permanent.

  "Barsanti, too," Dante said.

  "I heard," she said, toeing the carpet. "Feels weird."

  "Them being dead?"

  "Yeah." She made a face, cutting her eyes at him. "This is going to sound stupid…"

  "What?"

  "And it's probably insensitive, too," she continued. "Like, really insensitive. I'm talking worst person in the world kind of insensitive. Dad-level insensitive…"

  "I'm listening."

  "This war between them was basically our whole lives. I don't remember a single day where it wasn't a factor. It dictated what we did, where we went, what we could say… it dictated everything. And now it's just over and I can't help but feel…"

  "Free?" Dante guessed.

  "Robbed."

  "Robbed?"

  "They're both dead, and it's over, but like… who won?"

  "Who won?"

  "We just played a game of Monopoly that was almost twenty years long and nobody got the damn monopoly. Nobody put a hotel on Boardwalk. They just threw in all their cards."

  Dante ran his hands down his face. "I'm pretty sure we won, Genna."

  "Us?"

  "Yeah, we're alive, aren't we? I'm calling that a win."

  "I guess so," she muttered. "And it's freeing, too, but damn… worst game of all time."

  "You're funny."

  "And you're drunk. When's the last time you ate? You're looking kind of… like shit."

  "I'm fine."

  "Uh, no, you're not. You're rocking the 'I'll suck a dick for a cheeseburger' look." She waved her finger around at him. "And a Mets shirt? Really? Worst Yankees fan of all time."

  He looked down at his shirt. "Yeah, it's… somebody's."