Sweetest Sorrow

by J. M. Darhower

  Chaos erupted. Cars pulled up outside, double parking, blocking the road around the entrance. Men stormed the bar.

  "Let's go," Umberto said, stepping out of the stairwell and heading right for the bar. Dante followed Umberto, slipping in the door, but he paused there, not wanting to go any further.

  It was a coordinated attack, every meticulous detail worked out. They'd planned it in advance, leaving nothing to chance.

  Nothing except Dante.

  Barsanti's men went for guns, panicked by the intrusion, but they could do nothing to stop the invasion.

  "Drop your weapons! Get on the ground!" Umberto yelled, cutting through the crowd, his gun pointed at the ceiling as he fired off a few rounds in quick succession. "Cooperate and we might let you go home tonight."

  Men dropped to the ground, surrendering their guns. Galante soldiers dressed in black swarmed them, securing their weapons, as others robbed the place. Always take the weapons. It was a Galante family rule. You never know when someone else's gun might come in handy for a frame-up job. They raided pockets and rifled through the cash register, stealing anything of value, smashing whatever they planned to leave behind. Glass shattered, liquor bottles exploding as bullets haphazardly ripped into the mirror behind the bar.

  Dante watched it all unfold in slow motion.

  Thirty seconds. A minute. Maybe two. It wasn't long at all, but it dragged on forever.

  Umberto climbed up on top of the bar, walking along it, surveying the scene. Liquor soaked the floor, running along the tile in puddles, carrying shards of glass along with it.

  Umberto aimed his gun at the bartender's head. "Where's your boss tonight?"

  "I, uh… he, uh…"

  Umberto fired some shots right past the guy, close enough he could've hit him. The guy collapsed behind the bar, crying.

  "I'll ask you once more," Umberto said, aiming at him again. "Where is your boss?"

  "He's, uh… he's somewhere with Johnny Amaro! A meeting or something. I don't know! Don't shoot!"

  Dante wasn't sure what happened after that. It all moved too fast. Umberto jumped down from the bar, satisfied, as he announced, "Thank you, assholes, for your cooperation. Primo Galante sends his regards."

  As soon as those words were out of his mouth, someone moved, lunging for Umberto. For the AR-15. Gunshots went off. People started shooting as others viciously fought, fighting for survival like caged animals. Blood spilled, splattering along the bar, running into the puddles of liquor.

  "Light it up," Umberto hissed, his voice scathing as he slammed the AR-15 into somebody's face before running for the door. "Leave nothing."

  Dante ran out behind Umberto, his vision blurry, ears ringing, his hands fucking shaking. They hurried around the corner, into the garage, heading for the car.

  Three minutes. That was it.

  It felt so much longer.

  Sirens wailed in the distance as Umberto drove out of the garage. People ran, getting into the cars to flee. Umberto turned, speeding away, as Dante ripped his mask off and watched the side mirror.

  Thick smoke rolled out of the side of the bar. They barely made it half a block when an explosion rocked the street, loud enough to make Dante flinch, strong enough to rock the car they rode in. Flames jutted from every crevice of the building. Dante tried to steady his breathing, but panic crept through his veins when police cars flew by them.

  Neither of them said a word. They drove straight to Westchester County, to the Galante house, where Primo sat in the dining room, eating alone.

  Umberto walked right in the room, pausing beside his boss as he shed his heavy black clothing. "Nothing."

  "Nothing," Primo repeated. "There has to be something, somewhere. It's impossible for there to be nothing."

  "I know," Umberto said. "We'll keep looking."

  "I know you will," Primo said. "How'd it go otherwise?"

  "Got a bit messy at the end, but we didn't lose anyone. Wrecked the place and left. Took the guns."

  "Good," Primo said. "And Barsanti?"

  "At a meeting with Amaro."

  Primo shook his head. "Amaro, you say?"

  "Seems that way."

  "You did good, son." Primo waved his wand dismissively. "You can go."

  Dante was about to chime in, to say he'd done not a goddamn thing, when Umberto nodded and responded. "Thank you, sir."

  Umberto walked away, slipping past Dante. Son.

  "Take a seat, Dante," Primo said. "Have dinner with me."

  Dante didn't budge from the doorway. "I've already eaten."

  "Take a seat, anyway."

  That was twice.

  The man wouldn't say it a third time.

  Dante pulled out the chair, the same one he'd sat in every night for over two decades, and sat down, staring at the empty plates, ones his father set out every night.

  Just in case.

  The man said nothing for a few minutes, eating in silence, meticulously cutting his steak into bite-size pieces and drinking copious amounts of red wine before he acknowledged Dante's presence again. "Are you happy?"

  Dante wasn't sure how to answer that so he didn't, instead tossing it back at him. "Are you?"

  "I will be," Primo said, "once I get what I want."

  "What do you want? What are you looking for?"

  "What belongs to me."

  "And what's that?"

  Primo turned his head, regarding Dante, scrutinizing him. After a moment, he turned away again, picking up his glass of wine and taking a sip. "You always had too much heart, even as a little boy. Softhearted. I tried to pull that out of you. I tried to toughen you up. I thought I succeeded. Some days, I would look at you and see me, and I would be proud. But even now, looking at you, I still see those pieces of her that I failed to erase."

  Dante's gaze shifted to the empty plate diagonal from him, where his mother used to sit. "Why?"

  "She betrayed me," Primo said. "The GWB only leads one place."

  New Jersey.

  "She was acting strange, so I had her followed. I loved your mother, but I questioned if I could trust her. I found out she'd gone to Brazzi territory. I found out she was visiting Savina Barsanti behind my back. She thought crossing state lines would keep me from finding out. I confronted her, told her if she did it again, I wouldn't allow her to come back, and she had the audacity to tell me it didn't matter, that she was done being a Galante because she wasn't happy." He shook his head, looking at his son again. "So tell me, Dante, are you happy?"

  He stared his father right in the eyes and said, "No."

  Primo looked away, sipping his wine. "Guess it's true what they say… you can't fight your DNA."

  Nine o'clock Sunday morning. A twelve-hour shift had turned into more like thirteen and a half.

  To call Gabriella exhausted would've been offensively understating the fatigue she felt. Every inch of her, from the top of her frizzy head to the tip of her unpainted toes, was beat. Her eyes burned, her muscles ached, and her brain was seconds away from calling for a mental break. She wanted to soak in a hot bathtub, to soothe her body and unwind, but she was pretty sure if she tried she'd just fall asleep in the water and drown.

  Sighing, she approached her apartment door, cursing the fact that she'd moved into a walk-up. Elevators are the true unsung heroes. Sticking her key in the lock, she twisted it, the knob turning smoothly. Unlocked.

  Uh…

  Pushing open the door, she stepped inside, so dead tired that self-preservation had vacated premises. If it was a home invader, she was screwed, because running down those stairs was out of the question.

  The television in the living room played, some middle-aged blonde reporter on the screen.

  "...that masked gunmen, one reportedly armed with a semi-automatic rifle, barged into the small neighborhood bar at around eight o'clock Saturday evening and opened fire on patrons inside..."

  Gabriella's gaze shifted to her couch. Dante sat there, staring at the news, so still she
'd think he were asleep if his eyes weren't open. Uh, catatonic, much?

  "Did you break into the apartment? Again?"

  Dante turned her way, looking about as fresh-faced as she felt. He obviously hadn't slept any of those hours she'd been gone. "I waited around, but you were late, and I kind of just wanted to sit down."

  "It's okay," she said, shutting the door behind her. "Well, I mean, it's not really okay. It's kind of scary how easily you get in here. I'm seriously questioning the point of locks."

  "They keep most people out," he said. "The ones who can get in, well, nothing short of pulling the trigger on your .22 will stop them."

  "Good thing I know how to do that," she said, plopping down beside him on the couch. Kicking her shoes off, she lay back, throwing her legs across him, her feet in his lap.

  He didn't flinch at all, yanking off her socks and tossing them aside, his nose twitching. "Your feet stink."

  "Hold your breath."

  He laughed as he rubbed her feet, kneading the soles. Holy crap. Sighing, she closed her eyes, her toes curling as tingles flowed up her legs.

  "...authorities say it's too early to speak of a motive, but the business in question, known to those in the neighborhood as The Place, is owned by alleged mob boss Roberto Barsanti..."

  Gabriella's eyes reopened when she heard that, her gaze going straight to Dante. She'd learned about the incident at work. They'd treated a couple of the patients at her hospital. Gunshot wounds, burns, and a bit of smoke inhalation, for the most part. Nothing yet fatal, but one or two were critical. It had made for a long night in the ICU.

  Dante stared at the screen, listening intently, rubbing expertly. The man had a way with his hands.

  "Are you, uh...?" She paused, not sure how to ask, her voice tentative when she continued. "You're okay, right? You don't have any injuries or anything?"

  His brow furrowed as he turned to her, like he didn't quite understand the question, but it seemed to click. His expression went slack, trepidation in his eyes as they scanned her face. He licked his lips, opening and closing his mouth. He was trying to find a way to explain something, like she'd asked him questions he was afraid to answer.

  Her heart sank. Oh God.

  "I'm not asking," she said before he forced out any words he might regret. "I'm just making sure you're not hurt."

  "I'm fine."

  "No boo-boos that need bandages?"

  "None."

  "Good." Her eyes closed again as he continued to rub her feet. "If you keep this up, I'm going to fall asleep."

  "Go ahead."

  "Are you tired?"

  "Very."

  "Have you eaten?"

  "I had dinner last night with Amaro."

  Her eyes popped back open. Whoa. "Really?"

  "Yes."

  "Why?"

  Dante reached over and picked up the remote, pressing the button to turn the television off. "You ask a lot of questions."

  "Sue me," she said. "I'm curious."

  "Something to do." He shrugged. "We ate, had a few drinks, and that was that."

  "So... like a date? I'm kind of jealous."

  "Don't worry, I didn't even kiss him." Dante made a face as he shuddered. "Oh, ugh, just the thought of that makes me want to drink cyanide."

  "Kissing Gavin?"

  He shuddered. Again.

  Laughing, Gabriella sat up, pulling her feet away from him. "Anyway, I should probably do that."

  She went to stand, but Dante grabbed her arm, pulling her back onto the couch with him. "Do what?"

  "Eat something," she said.

  "Jesus fuck, Gabriella, I thought you meant kissing Amaro."

  "What? Oh God, no! He's my cousin!" Now she shuddered, shoving him. "That's gross!"

  "Tell me about it." He ran his hand down his face as he stood. "Just relax and I'll find you something to eat. It's the least I can do after breaking in again."

  "You're going to cook?"

  "Maybe."

  "Do you know how to cook?"

  "Not really."

  He headed into the kitchen, and Gabriella sat there, listening as he banged around. He talked to himself, words she couldn't decipher, as something slammed against the counter.

  Just a few minutes later, he walked back in, and Gabriella laughed at the blue plastic container he carried. Easy-Mac. She took it from him, not even mad. Macaroni was always a good choice, as far as she was concerned.

  "I'll take you out," he said, sitting down beside her as she ate. "On a date, I mean. Whenever you get some time off. I'll do it right. I won't even break in. I'll knock."

  "Yeah, please stop breaking in," she said. "The neighbors might catch you and call the police."

  "I promise to wait until you open the door for now on."

  "Or," she said, blowing into the bowl, "I could give you a key."

  "You don't have to do that."

  "I know, but really, be honest, when you're not here, where do you go?"

  He didn't answer. He couldn't. Where did he go? Everywhere. Nowhere. He was homeless.

  "It's a benefit," she said. "A friendship benefit. A boyfriend benefit. I mean, you're here, and I'm here, and there's no reason you shouldn't have a key so when I'm not here you can still be here."

  He stared at her. "Do you realize what you're suggesting sounds a hell of a lot like me moving in?"

  "Does it?"

  "Yep."

  "Huh."

  She continued to eat her macaroni in silence.

  Dante leaned back on the couch, draping his arm around her, pulling her closer. She rested her head on his shoulder, finishing her last few bites.

  "If you want to give me a key," he said, "I'll happily use it."

  "Good." She smiled, trying to ignore those butterflies flapping away in her stomach. Lovesick fool. "So do I get any say on where we go on our date?"

  "Of course," he said. "If you've got ideas, I'm listening."

  "Well, how does a family wedding at my grandfather's estate sound?"

  "Like trouble."

  "So I can count on you to take me?"

  "You know it."

  Chapter Seventeen

  Dante fiddled with his blood red tie in the mirror of the small bathroom, his reflection hazy from the lingering steam of his hot shower. His hair was damp, a messy mop curling on top of his head, but otherwise, he was all put together. A fresh shave seemed to do wonders for his face. He looked younger, he thought—refreshed, almost—like his system had been rebooted.

  It's about fucking time.

  "You sure about this?" Dante called out to Gabriella, who was off in the bedroom, doing whatever it was she'd been in there doing for over an hour with the door closed. Putting on makeup. Getting dressed. Doing other feminine shit. Not playing with her pussy, though, like she was in Dante's imagination. Pity. It was the only reason someone should be locked in a room alone for so long. "It's not too late to change your mind, you know. I could just drop you off or something. Wait by the highway."

  The door to the bedroom slid open, the clink of high heels echoing through the apartment as her voice chimed in. "Why? Getting cold feet?"

  "Not a chance," he scoffed, glancing out of the bathroom and stalling when he caught sight of her. Jesus. Blood red dress, not too tight, but clingy enough to show off her curves, falling just above the knees, exposing more skin than was probably appropriate. The woman looked like pure sin. Dante's eyes scanned her, from top to bottom, greedily drinking her in. "Maybe we both should just stay home."

  "Not a chance," she said, mimicking him.

  He met her eyes, smiling at the twinkle that greeted him. Damn, she was beautiful. He would never get over it, nor would he ever understand what he'd done to deserve her in his life. Goddamn Christmas miracle. "You look like something I'd love to eat."

  She laughed. "It's good seeing you with an appetite."

  "You say that now." He stepped out of the bathroom and shut the light off behind him as he approached her. G
rasping her hip, he pulled her to him, feeling her warmth. "We'll see how you feel after I'm done ravishing you."

  He nuzzled into her neck, running his tongue along her skin, tracing her jawline. Gabriella wrapped her arms around his neck, cocking her head to give him more space, despite her words of protest. "We can't do this right now. There's not enough time."

  "My car's fast," he said. "It buys us a few minutes."

  "But—"

  Dante pressed his pointer finger to her lips, silencing her, as he kissed back up her jawline before looking her dead in the eyes. "Shh, no talking. There's not enough time, remember? So unless what you're trying to say is 'fuck me, Dante', it needs to wait for later."

  She clamped her lips closed, giving him a curious look, one that he didn’t dwell on. She was right, after all. Time was scarce. Dropping to his knees, right then and there, he pushed her dress up to her waist, exposing her matching red lacy underwear. He kissed her through the fabric, a few small pecks, before he grasped the side of the lace and tugged them down her legs. She stepped out of them, kicking them aside, as Dante forced her legs apart just enough for him to come up between them. His tongue grazed across the slit, tasting her as she whimpered. Fuck, she was sweet, a bit tangy with a pinch of saltiness. He couldn't describe it, not really, but he'd bake a fucking pie of that pussy and eat it all day long.

  "Dante," she moaned, the sound of his name in that low, gritty tone enough to make his dick stand up and notice what was happening. It grew hard, throbbing, but he tried to ignore the son of a bitch, focusing all of his attention on Gabriella. He licked, sucking her clit, as his fingers worked magic, sliding inside of her, pumping in and out. He curved his fingertips, seeking out that sweet spot. The second he found it, her knees nearly buckled, her breath hitching.

  He took it easy on her, savoring the moment, before time started ticking away too fast. Tick-tock, motherfucker. If he didn't wrap it up, STAT, they'd never make it. And as much as Dante might not have minded, because he could've stayed like that forever, he was pretty damn sure her family would be furious.

  Sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Russo, your daughter didn't come because I was busy making her come… my bad.