Dante stumbled, his vision blacking out, coming back hazy as pain vibrated his skull. Shit, he hits hard. Blood pooled in Dante's mouth as his teeth bit down on his lip. Before he could react, others around them jumped in. Umberto leapt right out of his stool, dropping his conversation mid-sentence. Gavin swung a few more times, defensively hitting a couple Galante soldiers before someone managed to subdue him. They grabbed him from behind, pinning his arms down at his sides, as Umberto swung, hitting him hard in the chest, forcing the air from his lungs.
Gavin gasped.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Dante shoved Umberto away, nearly knocking him to the floor. "Fuck, guys, it's not that serious! I don't need your goddamn help. Let him go."
They released Gavin, backing away as he inhaled sharply. They'd knocked the wind out of him.
"Come on," Dante said, grabbing his arm. "Let's take a walk."
Gavin yanked away from him, shoving around Dante to head for the exit. The second he was outside, he hunched over, hands gripping his thighs as he caught his breath. Dante stood in silence, waiting for Gavin to pull himself together, knowing he'd have something to say once he did.
As usual, he didn't disappoint.
"You," he said, standing up straight, pointing at Dante, "are an asshole."
"Not the first one to tell me that."
"Seriously, what's going on with you? This isn't you. You were always a bit cocky, a whole lot hardheaded, but you weren't this reckless. You didn't pick fights for no reason."
"You hit me," Dante pointed out. "I didn't fight at all."
"But you knew exactly what you were doing."
"You fell for it."
"You called my cousin a piece of pussy."
"Yeah, I shouldn't have said that." Dante wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, smearing blood from his busted lip. "I didn't mean it. I'm not even fucking her."
"Yeah, right…"
"I'm serious. She treated me in the hospital. I've seen her a couple times since then, but none of it involved fucking. So I'm not sure where you got that impression, but it hasn't happened."
"Yet?" Gavin guessed. "I sense a 'yet' there."
Dante spit blood onto the sidewalk. Disgusting. "I'm not going to lie, I thought about it. She's, uh…"
"She's what?"
"She's beautiful."
"Yeah, well, Manhattan is full of beautiful women you can fuck with. Leave Gabby alone."
"Thought you weren't telling me what to do?"
"I changed my mind," Gavin said, waving at him. "You keep this up and I might really end up shooting you. Can't do that if you're seeing my cousin. Need to keep my options open."
"Noted."
Gavin took a step back, mumbling something about 'death wishes' as he turned to leave.
"For the record," Dante called out, "when I called her beautiful, I didn't mean her looks. Because yeah, she's gorgeous, but she's a beautiful person, too. She kept me breathing long after I wanted to stop."
Gavin glanced over his shoulder at him. "Dear Diary, today Dante Galante became what he dreaded most: a sentimental fuck. Just a pity it took him too long."
"True or false."
Gabriella stalled, key in the front door of her apartment building, as the quiet voice registered behind her. True or false. She turned, seeing Dante standing along the curb. His hands were shoved in his pants pockets, his shoulders slouched, his head lowered. It was nearing eight o'clock in the morning, the sun still rising along the horizon, bathing the city in orange light that gave his tanned skin a healthy glow. It was an illusion, she knew. Healthy was the last word she'd use to describe him.
"Okay," she said, pulling her key back out to take a few steps in his direction. People strolled along, heading to work, their days just starting, while hers had been extraordinarily long.
And she knew, when Dante met her gaze, that her day was about to get even longer.
"You're a Brazzi."
No emotion registered in his voice. No anger. No sadness. No shock. Nothing. It reminded her a heck of a lot like Gavin's reaction when she'd approached him at the cafe before work.
His poker face was strong.
His battered poker face, as it was. His bottom lip was split and swollen. It hadn't been like that the last time she saw him, an added wound to the bruise along his jawline. It made him appear harsh, almost savage, like there was nothing soft about him.
Brazzi. She knew it was only a matter of time before he connected those dots, being who he was... only a matter of time before that name came up. It wasn't that she'd tried to keep it from him. As far as she was concerned, there was no reason to hide it. But at the same time, she didn't make a habit of shouting it from the rooftops.
"True or false, Gabriella," he said, voice still flat.
"True," she said, "although I'm pretty sure you didn't need me to answer that."
"I didn't," he admitted. "But I wanted to see if you could look me in the eyes when you said it."
"Why wouldn't I?"
"Maybe because I'm me and you're one of them."
"False," she countered. "I'm not one of anything."
His eyes narrowed. "You just said—"
"I know what I said." She glanced behind her at the building. "Look, do you want to come upstairs? I'd really like to change my clothes."
Dante didn't answer.
Gabriella looked back at him.
He stared at her. Hard.
He wasn't budging.
Okay.
"True or false," she said, staring right back. "The fact that I'm a Brazzi is a problem for you."
She expected him to say the word. True. His lips twitched, like it wanted to come out, but he kept his mouth shut, breaking eye contact to look past her. She stood there for a minute or so as people streamed past them, going about their business, before she realized he was refusing to answer that question. The silent treatment. She'd seen him do that before.
"You don't play fair," she said, "so I'm done playing."
She walked back over to the building, leaving him along the curb. He must not have liked that, because before she could stick the key in the lock, she heard his voice, louder, coming closer. "I don't play fair? You're a part of that and you didn't even tell me!"
"First of all, I'm not a part of anything. You don't seem to be grasping that. And seriously, Dante, why would I have told you? What would the point be?"
"Maybe because it's relevant."
"Not to me."
"Oh, bullshit." He stopped beside her. "Don't act like my last name wasn't just as much of a problem for you."
"True, then. Me being a Brazzi is a problem."
"Well, it sure as shit doesn't make things easy."
"Good to know." She shoved her key back in the lock. "Are you coming up or not? Because I just worked a twelve-hour shift and I'd like to get off my feet. Maybe this conversation will be more tolerable when I'm not wearing scrubs."
She was sweaty, and exhausted, and more than a little annoyed. She worked hard to make her own way, to make her own name, and the second Brazzi came into the picture she was boxed back into the label, like nothing else mattered.
Dante said nothing, sharply nodding toward the door. As soon as Gabriella had it unlocked, Dante yanked it open, nodding again for her to go ahead of him. He muttered something as he held the door, irritation grating every incoherent syllable, like a caveman torn between chivalry and savagery.
That about sums him up.
Gabriella made the trek up to her apartment, her footsteps heavy against the old stairs. Every groan and creek of wood was exaggerated to her ears as strained silence followed them, an unwelcome companion.
Once she got the apartment unlocked, Dante grabbed the door, again holding it for her. She should've thanked him, but the dead air wafting off the man was so maddening she forgot her manners. Inside, she dropped her things before going straight for her bedroom, kicking her shoes off along the way, leaving them lying on the living room floor.
Grasping the sliding bedroom door, she shoved it halfway closed and pulled her top over her head, tossing it on a pile of filthy clothes. A mountain of laundry begged for her attention but she ignored it, as she had for days, her mind preoccupied. She yanked the pants down, wiggling her hips and kicking them off, leaving them wherever they landed. She was about to pull off the white tank top she wore beneath her scrubs when something struck her.
Her feet changed direction, and she kicked her pants out of her path before pushing the sliding door open again and stomping out into the living room. Dante sat on the couch, still utterly silent, his gaze lifting to meet hers. His eyebrows rose as he regarded her, as if he might have something to finally say, but it was too late, because it was her turn to talk.
"You know, how dare you…"
He blinked at her. "How dare me?"
"Yes! How dare you come at me like this, confronting me, acting like I've wronged you, like I'm the a-hole here, when never once—never once—did you ask me about my family! If you're so concerned about avoiding those families, about making sure you don't get involved with those people in any way, if you want to be sure the woman who cleans your wounds and keeps you from dying isn't in any way connected to them—if that's such a big problem in your life, Dante—then maybe, just maybe, you should've friggin asked!"
His jaw hung slack, his eyes everywhere but on her face. If it weren't for his obvious shock, she would've wondered if he'd even listened to a word of her rant.
"So, yeah, true," she continued. "My mother's Victoria Russo, maiden name Brazzi, daughter of Victor Brazzi. I'm sure I don't have to tell you who that is. And true, my father Alfie Russo is part of that family. So true, I've got that blood in my body. True, I grew up knowing the Barsantis. And true, that also makes Johnny Amaro my uncle through marriage, but none of that makes me one of them. Because also true is the fact that I took care of you, the fact that I didn't judge you, the fact that I spoke up for you when nobody else would. I let you into my apartment and welcomed you into my life, even though I'm a Brazzi, which is apparently a problem for some reason, but whatever. Any more questions?"
Dante's gaze drifted to her face. "Where are your clothes?"
"My what?"
"Clothes," he said again, waving her direction."It's kind of hard to pay attention to what you're saying when you're standing in front of me not wearing any clothes."
She glanced down at herself, rolling her eyes when she got a look at herself. Cheeky black panties. Threadbare tank top. Plain black bra. Hideous white tube socks that almost reached her knees. Ugh. Ridiculous, maybe, but she was far from naked. "You see people wearing a lot less than this at the beach."
"I don't go to the beach."
"Strip club, then. Is that more your speed?"
A small smirk cracked his expression. His whole face lit up when he smiled, no matter how slightly. He hadn't done it often since barreling into her life, usually surrounded by dark storms, but those rare moments he smiled, it felt like the sun coming out, peeking through the rain clouds. It warmed her.
"Been to a few of those," he said. "Never seen a woman this beautiful working the pole, though."
His gaze unabashedly scanned her, tingles trailing wherever his eyes went. Her face heated, her stupid heart doing some crazy pitter-patter in her chest.
"Stop flirting with me," she said. "I'm trying to be mad at you."
"Why?"
Why?
Why?
"Seriously? Did you just ask me why?"
His eyes met hers, his eyebrows raised. "What?"
What?
What?
"Are you seriously not listening to me? Like, no bullcrap… you legitimately haven't heard a word I've said."
"Oh, I heard you," he said. "Something about strip clubs and beaches and Brazzis. It just doesn't seem that important when you're not wearing any pants."
"Oh my God."
"Is that a birthmark on your inner thigh?" he asked, cocking his head, his gaze trailing her body again, going to her legs. "Looks like one, but I can't really see it unless you, well, spread your legs for me."
Oh. My. God.
"I swear, you…" She shook her head, flustered by his gaze as her words trailed off. She'd always considered herself confident, but he looked at her like he was memorizing every inch of exposed skin, and that made her nervous. Self-conscious. More than a little turned on, too. "You're the reason stupid dress codes exist these days, you know. Guys like you, blowing loads over seeing collar bones."
His gaze darted up to her shoulders and along her chest. "Those are nice, too."
"Stop. Seriously. Stop checking out my bones and stuff. I mean it, Dante."
Leaning back on the couch, he crossed his arms over his chest, his face alight with amusement. That smirk was still on his lips, not helping her predicament. The blush from her cheeks was spreading all through her body, and she knew there was no way he hadn't noticed.
"Fine," he said. "You were saying?"
"I was saying, you know…" Ugh, what the heck was I saying? "I'm a Brazzi."
"I know," he said. "We established that outside."
"And whatever, if that's a problem, I guess it's just a problem. There's nothing I can do about it. I can't change my DNA."
"Wouldn't dream of asking you to," he said. "Genetics gave you those collar bones and that birthmark. Would be a pity to never see them again."
"Well… good."
"Good," he repeated. "Are you done being mad now? Can I flirt some more?"
"Yes. Wait. No. I'm not, I mean… ugh!"
He laughed. Genuinely laughed. The sound was so light and carefree that it drained away most of her irritation. Had she ever heard him laugh like that? She didn't think so. A soft chuckle here and there, always restrained, weighed down. But this laughter came from somewhere deep down, like some of those clouds parted, letting the real him shine through.
Standing, Dante strolled over to where she stood. The closer he got, the more her heart acted up, her body reacting to him. Butterflies. She had butterflies. They battered her stomach from the inside.
She felt like a lovesick teenage girl. What the heck?
Stopping in front of her, still keeping eye contact, Dante cupped her cheek, the skin of his palm rough. A hint of alcohol clung to him, noticeable only because he stood mere inches away, so close she could run her nose along his scruffy jawline and breathe him in if she wanted to.
God, how she wanted to.
"You smell like a bar," she told him.
"You smell like the hospital," he said in return.
She cringed. Gross. "Is that a problem for you, too? We can add it to the list."
"Oh, we're making a list now?"
"We might as well," she said. "Things that are a problem for Dante Galante."
"Ah, if I have to name everything that bothers me, we'll be here for days, so maybe we ought to focus on what doesn't bother me… like you not wearing any pants."
Rolling her eyes, Gabriella pushed him. "You're ridiculous."
"Am not," he said. "Baby, you've got the kind of legs that men would go to war for. That'll never be a problem for me."
Baby.
Her stupid heart almost leaped right out of her chest.
"Everyone tells me I got my mother's legs," she said. "They look great in a pair of heels."
"I bet they do."
"Yeah, it's those Brazzi genes… you know, because I'm a Brazzi, in case you've forgotten."
The humor in his eyes died at those words, the reminder sobering him up, his expression turning serious. He pressed his lips tightly together, regarding her in silence. She wondered if that was it, if he had nothing more to say, but he sighed after a moment.
"I have no problem with your family," he said. "We get along well enough. So it's nothing personal, you know... I'm not that kind of man. Or maybe I am, but I don't want to be that kind of man. I watched my sister get caught up in it all over a guy she was better off s
taying away from, and some things are just too close for comfort. I don't like it."
I don't like it.
Those words made her stomach sink, drowning those butterflies.
"But I like you, Gabriella. I do. I like you a lot, although I probably shouldn't."
"You totally shouldn't."
"I shouldn't have even come here."
"You're right."
"And you probably shouldn't be standing in front of me in just your underwear."
"Well, I mean, I've got my shirt on, but I get what you're saying."
"But still, I like you, and here I stand, and you're right there…"
"So now what?"
He reached for her, his hands grasping her hips, pulling her closer to him, his voice gravelly as he whispered, "Now I jump."
His lips smashed against hers, catching her off guard. She gasped, as Dante winced from his split lip, but it didn't deter him. He kissed her hard, backing her up toward the sliding door leading to her bedroom.
He stalled in the doorway, like he was waiting for an invitation, but Gabriella dragged him inside the room with her. It was too late to second-guess it now. They were already free falling.
Breaking the kiss, Dante grasped the bottom of her tank top, pulling it over her head. He dropped it to the floor right where they stood, discarding it, his eyes glossing over her chest and trailing along her stomach. His hands snaked around her, reaching for the clasp of her bra, unhooking it with just the flick of his fingertips.
He was better at that than even she was.
"Do you do that often?" she asked, curious.
"Do you really want me to answer that right now?"
She hesitated before shaking her head.
No, she didn't want to know.
The bra straps slid down Gabriella's arms, and she let it drop to the floor. Dante palmed her breasts, thumbs grazing over her nipples. They perked up at his touch, goose bumps trailing from them, radiating across her skin. It had been a long time since anyone had touched her like that… way too long. Warmth spread down her torso, settling in that spot between her thighs. She let out a soft moan as she wrapped her arms around his neck, drawing him even closer, absorbing his warmth.
Sweetest Sorrow Page 20
