Sweetest Sorrow

by J. M. Darhower

  "Actually, any woman, period," Gavin admitted, "but you're right. And I meant no offense."

  Genna scowled. "Yeah, right."

  "Seriously. You look good. And I'm not hitting on you with that. I just mean getting away from all that seems like it was good for you. You look good."

  "Don't do that," Genna said.

  "Don't do what?"

  "Don't be nice to me," she said, pulling out of Matty's arms. "It weirds me out."

  Gavin laughed. "What can I do?"

  "You can tell me what you're doing here."

  Gavin's eyes subtly shifted to Matty, just a fleeting, questioning glance.

  Matty shook his head. He didn't think about it. He couldn't let himself. Instinct kicked in, the fierce protectiveness taking over.

  He shook his fucking head.

  "Truthfully?" Gavin sighed. "I missed you crazy kids."

  "How did you find us?"

  "Easy," he said. "I never lost you."

  Genna seemed confused by that.

  "Gavin's the friend who got the house for us," Matty explained. "Got everything for us. We wouldn't be here without his help."

  "Seriously?" Genna glanced at Matty as she scrunched up her nose. "I've gotta be grateful to this fucknut?"

  "I'm afraid so."

  "Just when I think things are looking up, I find out I'm indebted to him." She turned back to Gavin, who grinned with amusement. "What do you get out of this arrangement? Because I'm not giving you my firstborn. That's off the table."

  "What do I look like, Rumplestiltskin?" Gavin glanced at his watch. "Look, this has been a blast… no pun intended… but I've got a flight to catch. Just wanted to see your faces before leaving, to make sure you're settled and see if you need anything."

  Genna plopped down on the hood of the Honda, parked behind the sleek BMW.

  Gavin's gaze trailed her, his eyes surveying the car as he approached it. "This is what you're driving?"

  "For now," Matty said.

  Gavin did a circle around it. "Seriously, Matty-B? Out of state plates, screwdriver in the ignition… I bet your fingerprints are all through it, too."

  Guilty.

  Shaking his head, Gavin reached into his pocket, pulling out a set of keys. He dropped them onto Genna's lap.

  "Take the BMW," Gavin said. "I'll extend the rental on it, make it a lease, and get rid of this thing."

  Genna hopped back off the Honda, grinning as she clutched the keys. She didn't hesitate before practically skipping over to the BMW.

  "Thank you," Matty said. "I wish there was a way I could pay you back for everything."

  "Don't sweat it," Gavin said. "You owe me so much at this point that I fully expect you to name that baby after me."

  The city of Elizabeth was one of the biggest in New Jersey, but compared to Manhattan, where Dante typically roamed, it almost had a small-town vibe. Even with his recognizable face, Dante felt like he could blend in if he needed to back in New York. But over there, he was an outsider and it showed.

  The moment he stepped out of his car, he felt eyes all over him, studying his every move. Curiosity. Suspicion. Even a bit of hostility. He didn't blame them for it, but it made him hyperaware of his surroundings.

  Fall had settled in, the summer heat long gone, giving way to cool days and cold nights. October. Despite a slight chill in the air, Dante's white button down felt stifling, even with the sleeves rolled up. He hadn't dressed up in a while. He hadn't had reason to. But considering he stood in someone else's territory, he figured it wise to put his best foot forward.

  The car lot was small, only a few dozen high-end cars strategically parked in a pattern, arranged more for coveting than actually shopping. Dante looked around as those eyes watched him from inside the building.

  It took damn near five minutes for someone to approach him.

  "Mr. Galante," a voice said, coming up behind him. "What can we do for you this afternoon?"

  Damn good question.

  Dante turned, finding a tall guy with wavy brown hair parted to the side. Fifty or so, wearing an expensive gray suit tailored to his slim frame. His expression was relaxed, an air of friendliness around him, but his brown eyes were guarded.

  "I'm looking for a car," Dante told him.

  "Anything in particular?"

  Dante glanced at his Mercedes parked by the entrance. "Just something different."

  "And you couldn't find your something different in New York?"

  "Didn't look there," Dante admitted.

  The man seemed to consider that, pursing his lips, before holding out his hand. "Alfie Russo."

  Russo.

  He was the Russo Dante had encountered while scoping out the house with Umberto, which a bit of research told him was the same Russo that had blessed them all with Gabriella. Her father.

  Dante took his hand, firmly shaking it. "Call me Dante."

  "Dante." Alfie pulled his hand away. "Lucky for you, we tend to specialize in different. Whatever you want, we can get. If it isn't on the lot, we can have it within a week—guaranteed."

  "Good to know." Dante scanned the cars. Lamborghini. Porsche. Audi. Maserati. "Got any suggestions?"

  "I'm a Ferrari fan, myself, but I suppose it depends on what you're hoping to get out of it. Safety? Discretion? Attention? I'm a big believer that what you drive sends a message, so what kind of message are you looking to send?"

  Dante considered that. "That nobody owns me."

  "Then I'd probably recommend the McLaren 12C. Unique, maybe not as popular, but it holds its own. Not black, which is cautious, or red, which tends to be antagonistic… maybe blue. It shows up, it's strong, but it doesn't necessarily disrupt the order, yet there's character to it, not subdued."

  Dante looked in the direction Alfie pointed, at a bright blue supercar off to the side. The second his eyes landed on it, he wanted it. "Sold."

  Alfie looked at him with surprise. "Seriously?"

  "Sure, why not?"

  "Well, then, why don't we head to my office and talk specifics?"

  Dante followed the man inside, those eyes still trailing him the entire way to a back office. He took a seat in a black leather chair as Alfie settled in behind his oversized desk.

  "Cigar?" he offered.

  "I don't smoke," Dante said.

  "You mind if I do?"

  "Not at all."

  Alfie lit up, puffing away, before lounging back in his office chair. "You got any special requests? Any particular needs? Armor, maybe bulletproof glass? Shock sensors and remote starters tend to be popular these days. They come together in a, uh… bomb-proofing package, if you're interested."

  "I think it'll be fine just how it is."

  "A man with simple tastes. I can respect that."

  Alfie sorted through paperwork, cigar wedged between his lips, while curiosity got the best of Dante. "What do you drive?"

  "What do I drive?"

  Answering a question by repeating the question was the first rule in the 'how-to' of stalling. "I'm just curious, given your profession."

  Alfie turned back to the paperwork. Dante figured he wouldn't answer, but he eventually muttered, "Crown Vic."

  Same kind of car the police often drove. "And what message does that send about you?"

  "Step out of line, I'll take your ass down," he said, no hesitation. "It pays to look like the good guy, no matter how bad you really are."

  It took about thirty minutes for Alfie to get all the paperwork together, asking questions but refraining from getting too personal. A simple sale, cash exchange. It would take Dante a night to get the money together.

  "Go ahead, take the car home with you," Alfie suggested once they finished. "I trust you'll come up with the money."

  Trust.

  That word felt heavy.

  "And if I don't?" Dante asked.

  Alfie smiled, a genuine smile, as he handed him the keys. "I guess we'll see if it happens."

  They walked outside to the McL
aren. Dante ran his hand along the sparkling paint, unlocking the car and lifting the vertical butterfly door. It was definitely something different.

  "I was sorry to hear about your sister," Alfie said, the sudden serious topic catching Dante by surprise. So few people had said those words to him that they felt raw against his skin. Grating. "Never met her, but I heard good things. What happened, you know, it shouldn't have."

  "It shouldn't have," Dante agreed.

  "I sold that car to him. Matty. Told him red was antagonistic but he disagreed. Said it had heart. Boy was naive." Alfie laughed, but there was no humor to it—bitterness, maybe even some sadness, oozed out with that laughter. "I asked him the same question I ask everybody: what message are you trying to send? He said, 'that I'm not like the rest of them'. So I recommended the Lotus, but black, because that little shit should've hid. Should've had bulletproof glass and armored panels, while he was at it, but all he wanted was a remote starter so he didn't have to turn the fucking key."

  Dante stared at the man. A remote starter.

  Alfie motioned to the black Mercedes. "Anyway, what do you want us to do with that one?"

  "Burn it," Dante suggested. "Light it on fire, invite the family over, make a thing of it."

  "That's a good idea," Alfie said. "Kids might enjoy making s'mores."

  "While the adults get their rocks off pretending I'm still inside of it."

  "Contrary to popular belief, there's no bad blood over here, not as long as you keep your war on that side of the bridge."

  "It's not my war," Dante said. "I didn't start it."

  "No, but you inherited it, so that makes it yours."

  Dante wanted to refute that, but he figured it was in his best interest to keep his mouth shut regarding family business. He nodded, jingling the car key. "You'll get your money tomorrow."

  "I trust I will."

  Trust. There went that word again.

  The guy dished it out way too easily.

  Dante climbed behind the wheel and shut the door, adjusting himself in the seat before pressing the button to start the engine. The moment it came to life, a smile lit his face.

  It felt good, he thought, to throw caution to the wind. To not be so damn careful all the time. To let his paranoia subside as adrenaline kicked in.

  It felt good to live.

  Chapter Fourteen

  It drizzled, a sprinkling of rain falling from the overcast Manhattan sky when Gabriella stepped out of the hospital a few minutes past seven in the morning. She had the next four days off and intended to spend them pants-less inside of her apartment, drowning in take-out and rotting her brain with television.

  She couldn't wait.

  Scouring through her bag, she shifted her hoard of crap around, searching for her MetroCard, as she took a few steps away from the entrance. Hairbrush. Bag of candy. Even an extra pair of socks. Everything except what she sought.

  Where the heck is my card?

  "Good morning."

  She stalled at the sound of that voice. Dante stood along the sidewalk, dressed impeccably in the makings of a suit. The tie was missing, as was the coat, but the rest of it was accounted for, bright white and sleek black, slightly damp from the weather. "Where's your umbrella?"

  He cocked an eyebrow. "Where's yours?"

  "I didn't spend weeks in the hospital," she said, looking back into her bag. "Nor am I still recovering from a stab wound that got treated in a friggin bathroom. I didn't defy death in a basement somewhere, my organs used as punching bags, which means my immune system isn't the one that's still compromised."

  "I'm perfectly fine," Dante said. "Good as new again."

  She scoffed. "If new is like, secondhand garage sale-level shape, I might agree with that. You're a threadbare human being, barely held together with just a few strings."

  Despite her seriousness, Dante laughed at that, the genuine kind of laugh that caught her attention, forcing her eyes right to him. He glowed, lighting up the gloomy morning so much that she was surprised he didn't cause a rainbow.

  Ugh, I'm ridiculous. He's just a guy. A friggin gorgeous guy, but still... a guy. A dangerous guy, at that. A reckless idiot. If Evel Knievel and Michael Corleone made a baby, if that were in any way scientifically possible, they'd spit out Dante Galante. Guaran-friggin-teed.

  Shaking her head, she went back to searching through her bag.

  "What are you looking for?"

  "MetroCard," she said.

  "Forget about it," he said. "Let me drive you."

  "You don't have to do that."

  "I know," he said. "That's the beauty of it. I don't have to do anything. Nobody can make me do a damn thing anymore."

  Gabriella knew of a few people who would've been more than happy to prove him wrong about that.

  "But I'd like to take you home," he continued. "I promise to be a perfect gentleman. Hands to myself. Eyes on the road. Safety first and all that."

  Giving up her search, Gabriella eyed him. "I guess there's nothing wrong with letting you drive me since we're friends."

  He smirked. "The kind with benefits now?"

  "Ugh, there are no benefits to being your friend, Dante."

  "Ah, that's cruel," he said. "There are plenty of benefits."

  "Like what?"

  "Like rides home from work."

  "Fine, okay, that's a nice perk."

  He held his hand out to her. The skin was rough, his knuckles still bruised from whatever he'd last punched—likely a person. That hand seemed to frequently inflict damage, but it had also touched her, caressing her, bringing her breathtaking pleasure. Such a contradiction.

  If she thought about it too much, she might panic, so Gabriella opted to not think about it for another second. She slipped her hand into his, and he squeezed, like a silent thank you for surrendering.

  He pulled her closer, tugging on her hand, moving it around behind his back so she stood right up against him. His head tilted, his eyes darting to her lips, and the flood of panic kicked in… oh, crap!

  "So, where's your car?" she asked, twisting her own arm trying to put some space between them, as she looked all around, everywhere but at him, evading his kiss. "I don't see it."

  "What's wrong?"

  Way too much, buddy.

  "I work here." Gabriella nodded toward the hospital. "Somebody might see."

  As much as she'd insulted him over the weeks out of frustration, calling him names and questioning his common sense, he'd never actually seemed offended until that moment. Hurt flashed in his eyes. "Right. Somebody might."

  "It's not…" She paused when he let go of her hand. "Look, morally gray area, remember? It's not that I care. Well, I mean, I do care, but what I'm trying to say is you kissing me on hospital property isn't cohesive with me being Nurse Russo."

  He blinked a few times. "Not cohesive."

  "Yes."

  "Well, then." He ran the hand he'd pulled from hers through his damp hair. "To answer your question, my car's over by the parking deck."

  He motioned down the sidewalk, and Gabriella started that direction, glancing back at the hospital to catch a pair of eyes watching. The Grinch stood beside the entrance, puffing away on a cigarette. Ugh.

  She hurried her footsteps, bumping into folks as they walked in her path. Her eyes scanned the neighborhood, searching for the black car, but Dante grabbed her arm to stop her before she spotted it.

  "It's right here," Dante said.

  Gabriella's eyes fell upon a bright blue car. Dante pulled a key from his pocket, motioning to it, like that thing belonged to him.

  "Wait, what? Where's your car?"

  "This is it," he said. "Bought it yesterday. Or well, I haven't paid for it yet, but the money will be wired soon, so I'm calling it mine. What do you think?"

  He grinned, looking at her, like he wanted her opinion. Oh, boy...

  "I think it's like handing you a fully loaded gun with a very loose trigger."

  "I've been handed a
few of those," he said. "They were never this thrilling."

  Gabriella shook her head, surveying the car. She knew enough to tell a make and model, thanks to her father, but anything beyond that resided in the don't-give-a-crap portion of her brain. McLaren 12C. Crazy expensive and insanely fast and a bit flashy for a guy who pretty much had a bounty on his head.

  "It's definitely gorgeous," she admitted, not sure what to tell him. "Where'd you get it?"

  "From your father."

  Whoa. Those words nearly knocked her off her feet. She swayed, turning to him so fast she risked whiplash. "Tell me you didn't…"

  He wouldn't have. He couldn't have. He shouldn't have. He better friggin not have.

  "Relax, your name didn't come up at all."

  "Why did you even go there? What were you thinking?"

  "I was thinking it might be nice to drive a car that doesn't have my blood soaked into the seats."

  "So you buy this? And you go the whole way to Jersey to do it?"

  He shrugged. "Why not?"

  Why not? Gabriella could spout off a whole host of reasons, but ultimately, it boiled down to the fact that it terrified her. He was still her secret and she'd told lies because of that, so those worlds converging meant having to face facts.

  The biggest fact being that she was in a whatever with the Galante boy, and unless someone showed up with a DeLoreon or a Tardis, it was way too late to try to go back. And even if she could, Gabriella wasn't sure she would. Their lives were entwining, and that had been the last thing she'd set out to let happen, but now that it was happening, she couldn't imagine it not being so.

  The rain started to come down a bit harder, warm drops splashing her face, running down her cheeks like salty tears. "So, that ride? Preferably before you catch pneumonia?"

  Dante opened the passenger side door, lifting it up for her to climb in. It still had that distinct 'new car' smell, something that always reminded her of childhood. Every night, her father would come home smelling like leather and vinyl, the distinct odor clinging to him.

  This is so wrong. So, so wrong.

  Dante navigated the streets with ease. He didn't speed. He was in no hurry. When he reached Little Italy, he pulled into a spot down the street from her apartment, but he made no move to turn off the car.