Sweetest Sorrow (Forbidden Book 2) (23 page)

He could see
everything
.

She tried to sit up, but he grasped her hips, pinning them against the bed. Before she could object, his mouth was on her, his tongue flicking against her aching clit.

"Oh my God." She fisted his hair as she fell back flat against the bed. Every ounce of protest dissipated as her muscles turned to jelly, her body succumbing to him. He shouldn't be doing that. His face shouldn't be down there. His mouth shouldn't be on her, his tongue doing whatever it was doing, flicking and circling or something. She didn't know. But frankly, she couldn't find it in her to
care,
either
. 
Whatever he was doing was absolute perfection, and she never wanted it to end.

His mouth took her straight to Heaven.

The sensations built, layer after layer, as his mouth grew more frantic. Maybe it was a minute. Maybe it was an hour. It was an eternity wrapped up in a moment, one she wanted to exist in forever. The pressure built to the point of explosion. Her back arched, her jaw slack, noise catching in her throat.

Orgasm rocked her. Her legs shook, thigh clamping down around his head as she gasped, "
Don't stop
."

He didn't stop. He kept going until she couldn't take anymore. The sensations subsided, pleasure morphing, the ache growing painful. He seemed to know, because before she could tell him, his mouth moved, lips trailing along her inner thigh as she loosened her grip on him. Her breathing was labored, eyes closed. The jelly feeling returned to her muscles. She was floating.

"A dinosaur."

Her eyes opened at the sound of his voice. "What?"

A sharp sting shot through her inner thigh. Screeching, she shot straight up, realizing he'd
bit
her. Not hard enough to leave a lasting mark, but hard enough for her to feel it. She shoved his shoulder, and he laughed, sitting up.

"Your birthmark," he said. "It's shaped like a little dinosaur."

The fading imprint of teeth surrounded the discolored mark on her right inner thigh. She rubbed it, scowling, as he leaned toward her, kissing her lips. Soft, and chaste, and oh-so-sweet.

"Do you taste yourself on me?" he asked.

She kissed him back before pulling away. "You taste like
beer
."

"Well, you taste like sweat and sex and disinfectant."

"Ugh, gross." She grimaced. "I need to shower."

"Yeah, give me an hour and you'll
really
need a shower."

He kissed her again, rougher, pushing her back onto the bed. Hovering over her, he fumbled with his pants, unbuckling them. Gabriella's heart raced, so fast and so furious it thumped in her ears, electricity buzzing along her skin as anxiety kicked in.

Was this seriously happening?

He slowed his movements, breaking the kiss. "Shit."

"What's wrong?"

"I don't have a condom."

"There's a box in the bathroom."

Dante climbed out of the bed and disappeared from the room. It took him thirty seconds, a minute at most, but it was the longest moment of Gabriella's life. She lay there, practically naked, awaiting his return. A flood of emotions assaulted her, rattling her nerves.

When Dante walked back in, he started shedding his clothes. He pulled his shirt off but made no attempt to remove his undershirt, letting his jeans drop, leaving them in the middle of the floor.

Climbing back onto the bed, he tore open the condom and set the wrapper aside. He pulled himself from his boxers, stroking a few times, massaging the swollen head, before rolling the condom down over it. Gabriella watched his face, studying his look of sheer concentration, a smile touching her lips as her anxiety dissipated.

He was nervous, too. She could tell.

He met her gaze, returning her smile, as he climbed between her legs, hiking her knees up. Dante hesitated before lining up and slowly pushing in. Gabriella closed her eyes as he stretched her, hearing him let out a strained groan.

She certainly wasn't a virgin, but it had been a while.

"Fuck, you feel good." He pushed the whole way in before pulling back out, moving slowly, over and over. She chanced a peek at him, seeing his eyes fixed between them, watching where he disappeared inside of her. As if he sensed her gaze, he smirked. "It's a beautiful sight."

"Oh?" she whispered as he lay down on top of her, pulling her to him. She wrapped her arms around him as he increased the pace a bit, still taking it easy, his thrusts restrained.

It struck her, maybe too late, that he was still injured. He shouldn't have been exerting himself. She started to say something, worried, when he nuzzled into her neck, his husky voice wiping out all thoughts except for his words. "You've got such a beautiful pussy.
So beautiful
. I could lose myself inside of you for days, baby."

Her eyes fluttered closed. "I wish you would."

"I will, if you want. Stay right here and fuck you forever."

His teeth sunk into her neck, grazing her skin, as he sucked and licked at her flesh. She gasped, fisting the back of his shirt, wrapping her legs around his waist so he could fill her deeper.

Gabriella couldn't wrap her mind around it. It wasn't sinking in. Her world was becoming chaos because of this man. Feelings she'd never had before swirled inside of her, filling her up as he filled her to the hilt. Her chest ached as she shakily breathed, her lungs just not getting enough oxygen. Dante Galante was on top of her,
inside of her
, when just weeks earlier the world thought he was dead. But he wasn't—he was alive, and breathing, and so utterly intoxicating. She got drunk on the air around him, floating higher every time she breathed him in.

The stubborn, infuriating, reckless idiot had overtaken her carefully controlled life without even knowing it.

He rose up a bit, looking her in the eyes, shifting position to thrust harder. She moaned, leaning her head back, her voice catching every time his hips slammed into hers. Pain jabbed her insides, a beautiful ache brewing in her gut. "Oh God."

"You like that, baby?" He kissed along her collarbones. "Tell me how it feels."

"So good," she whispered. "I feel... uhh, there's so much inside of me, I'm going to explode."

As soon as she said it, she felt it—the undeniable swell of pleasure sweeping through her body. Tingles encased her as she trembled beneath him, her body convulsing around him.

"Fuck," he growled, his mouth on her throat. He bit down, yet again, as his thrusts grew erratic. He slammed into her hard a few times, groaning, before stilling on top of her, panting.

Gabriella loosened her hold on him, her hands slipping beneath his undershirt to rub his sweaty back, her fingertips grazing the bandage on his side. She tugged on the shirt, attempting to take it off, when he pulled away from her, pulling out to stand up.

He said not a word.

Dante headed straight for the bathroom and sat down on the edge of the bed beside her when he returned a minute later.

Gabriella sat up, covering herself with the sheet.

"Don't do that," Dante said, casting her a sidelong look. "You're beautiful. Don't be self-conscious."

"I'm not… usually." She frowned. "I'm kind of the only one naked here."

"Oh." He glanced down at himself. "I never bother undressing."

"
Ouch
."

"I didn't mean it that way, like you weren't worth the trouble," he said, reaching up to rub his chest. "Just not a fan of people pitying me, so I don't give them the chance."

"I don't pity you."

"I know."

"Are you okay, though? Your side, I mean…"

"It hurts like a son of a bitch."

Ugh
. "Do you want me to—?"

She started to ask if he wanted her to look at it, but he cut her off, crawling into the bed and pulling her to him. "I'll be fine. Just out of practice. Need some time to recover, but Jesus
fuck
… that pussy was worth the pain, baby."

Tingles crept through her at those words. "If that's you out of practice, full-strength might be too much for me."

Dante laughed. Sweeping her hair aside, he kissed her neck, just a light peck against her skin. "When you want me to leave, just say so. I won't take it personal."

"Stay," she whispered, "for as long as you want."

She grasped his forearms, caressing them as she savored his warmth surrounding her. Almost right away, Dante's breathing settled, a soft snore escaping.

Out cold
.

T
he barrel
of the gun viciously dug into Dante's side, twisting, tunneling into a stab wound through the gash in his filthy shirt. Dante ground his teeth together, his face twitching, a growl rumbling his chest. It felt like hot iron, like the muzzle was branding him. He wanted to scream, to curse, but he forced it down, refusing.

Refusing to react.

Refusing to give them the satisfaction.

"Tough guy, huh?" a voice said as the pain subsided, the gun pulled away, relief rushing through Dante. It didn't last long. In a matter of seconds, the gun was shoved beneath his chin, the blood-covered muzzle forcing his head up, forcing Dante to look at
him
.

Roberto Barsanti.

"This is a nice gun," Barsanti said, eyeing it as he gripped it, his finger on the trigger. The safety was off. It wouldn't take much for the guy to kill him—a simple twitch of a finger. "How many lives has it ended? Huh? Did you kill my son with it?"

Dante stared into his callous eyes. Desert Eagle Mk XIX, satin black, with a muzzle break installed. He'd had the gun for years, had pulled the trigger dozens of times, but he'd only ever taken one life.
Enzo
.

He didn't tell Barsanti that, though.

Didn't answer that question.

He could kill him if he wanted.

Wouldn't make a difference.

Barsanti snapped, shoving the gun so hard against him that it knocked the chair over, throwing it onto the ground, taking Dante with it. He cringed, smacking his head against the hard cement. He couldn't move, couldn't defend himself… couldn't
protect
himself. Duct tape surrounded him, wound tightly around his chest, pinning his arms at the sides of the old wooden chair. His feet were wrapped at the ankles, secured to the legs so he couldn't escape.

Barsanti's foot planted dead center of Dante's chest, knocking the air from his lungs and crushing his ribs, the bones cracking. He gasped, inhaling sharply. He couldn't fucking
breathe
. Barsanti stepped on him, damn near suffocating him, aiming the gun at his head.

"Did you?" he yelled, rage turning his face bright red. "Did you stand over him like
this
when you did it? Did my son look
you
in the eyes when you murdered him?"

Dante struggled against the weight on his chest, trying to stay conscious. He'd been beaten beyond black and blue. His vision was going hazy. He couldn't even answer if he wanted to.

"But this is what you did to Matteo, right? You stomped on him, knowing he couldn't fight back. Knowing he
wouldn't
. He was on the ground, defenseless, and you kicked him! So how does it feel, huh? How does it feel beneath
my
 boot? I'm guessing it doesn't feel good."

Barsanti moved, and Dante inhaled sharply, desperate to take a deep breath. It was only a few seconds of satisfaction as the air seeped into his lungs before the steel-toed black boot came back at him, aimed right for his face. He saw it before it happened. He felt it before it really registered. A kick to the face sent Dante's vision fading, his ears ringing as Barsanti said, "You're not the only one who can kick people when they're down."

BAM

Dante's eyes shot open, his gaze fixed on a dim white ceiling above him. He inhaled, a peculiar scent greeting his nostrils, musky with a hint of sweet vanilla. Not the dank basement he expected to smell. He blinked a few times, trying to pull himself together, before taking in his surroundings.

Gabriella's bedroom.

Reality came back to him in a flood of memories, like the pages of a flipbook rushing by, the picture steadily moving. He sat up, running his hands down his face. Sweat drenched him. His muscles were stiff. Outside, the sun was setting.

He was alone.
No Gabriella
.

How long had he been asleep?

Climbing out of the small bed, he snatched up his clothes, pulling them on before grabbing his phone from the back pocket of his jeans. The screen glowed brightly: 8:20pm.

Shit
.

A dozen or so missed calls showed up in his notifications. He barely paid them any attention, wiping them off the screen, not in the mood to talk to anybody. He hadn't been home in two days, maybe three… he wasn't sure. He didn't consult a calendar. Every day was the same, blending together in a blur of
whatever
. He came and went, here and there, going all over but staying nowhere, like one of the city's vagrants. The only time the world slowed enough for him take a breath was when he was near her. It was the only time he felt like a person, like he'd lived through what happened. The rest of the time, he was still just waiting to flat-line.

He was about to leave, walking through the silent apartment, when he stalled at the front door. Covering the peephole, stuck there with a strip of medical tape, was a scribbled note in messy handwriting.

He tugged it off the door, shoving it in his back pocket. He left, engaging the locks that he could, feeling guilty for leaving her apartment exposed. His head was a fog as he made the trek downstairs, groggy like he hadn't quite woken up yet.

"Are you deaf?" a voice asked when Dante stepped out onto the sidewalk. "Or do you just not listen?"

Dante turned, finding Gavin leaning against the building. "What?"

"
What
?" Gavin mimicked, shoving away from the wall near the intercom. "Twenty-four hours ago, I told you to leave Gabriella alone, but here you are, coming out of her building, still wearing the same damn clothes from yesterday. Oh, but you're not fucking her, right? That's what you said, isn't it?"

Dante slowly blinked at him, his eyes trying to adjust, but it was pointless. Shaking his head, he muttered, "I'm not awake enough for this bullshit."

He took a few steps before Gavin grabbed his shoulder. "Dante."

Dante pulled away from him but stalled. Annoyance swelled through him that he tried to keep at bay, but his patience was still asleep somewhere. "I swear to fuck, Amaro, I don't want to fight you, but if you put your hands on me
one more time
…"

Gavin raised his hands. "I'm not trying to fight you. I'm just trying to understand."

"Understand what?"

"What's wrong with you."

Dante blinked at him again. Gavin looked serious, like he was genuinely trying to understand, like he just didn't
get
it. "Do you have a girlfriend?"

Gavin's brow furrowed, his stance defensive. "No."

"Maybe you ought to get one," Dante suggested. "Someone else for you to worry about so you'll stop riding my ass. Because I'm flattered, you know, that you care, but you're starting to make me wonder if you're about to boil my bunny here, and I'm not down with that, G."

Gavin glared at him. "It's not like that and you know it. I just don't like what I'm seeing."

"Why?"

"My cousin—"

"Don't give me that
'my cousin
' bullshit. You started acting funny before you knew I was fucking her."

Surprise crossed Gavin's face. "So you
are
."

"Don't change the subject. Where I stick my dick is irrelevant to why you're acting like a sentimental bitch. Is it because of my sister? Is that it?"

Something flashed in Gavin's eyes, something Dante couldn't quite figure out. "What about your sister?"

"What about my sister? How about the fact that my father wrote her off and just went on living like she never existed? The fact that I wasn't here… the fact that I was gone… the fact that I didn't do anything to stop it. The fact that
nobody
did anything to stop it!"

Gavin frowned. "You're upset."

"
Of course
I'm fucking upset."

"It's not your fault, man. You didn't do this."

"Didn't stop it, either."

"You couldn't."

"I could," Dante countered. "I could've stopped it long ago. Could've done something the day she came home and said she'd met a guy named
Matty.
Could've done something when I ran into Matteo and realized he was the
Matty
she met. Could've done something when she started lying to my face. Because I knew. I'm not stupid. I knew, but I did nothing. I did nothing when I found him in our house—a
Barsanti
—because she begged for his life, and I couldn't bring myself to hurt her after she told me she
loved
him. I did nothing, when I could've. But instead, I waited until her fate was sealed, and even then I took out the wrong Barsanti! I fucked up
bad,
and because of that, I wasn't here to do anything when somebody needed to do
something
."

Gavin just stood there on the sidewalk, staring at Dante. People walked by, casting curious looks their direction, but Dante didn't care. It didn't matter who overheard. The facts were clear, as far as he was concerned.

After a moment, Gavin frowned.
Pity
. Dante could see it in his eyes. "When's the last time you ate, man? You're wasting away."

"Don't do that." Dante shook his head. "You pity me and I'll never fucking speak to you again."

"I don't pity you."

"Don't want your sympathy, either. I'm not a charity case. I'm not your responsibility. You don't have to look out for me, nor do you have to
worry
about me."

"You make it so easy, though," Gavin said. "Christ, just, why don't we go grab a bite to eat?"

"It sounds a lot like you're asking me on a date, G, and that's bunny boiling territory again."

"It's a friend buying a friend a slice. That's it."

"Friend? Is that what you are to me?"

"Always thought so," Gavin said, "but then again, I'm not one to judge people by their name. Barsanti, Galante, Brazzi… doesn't matter. I've met a couple of each I wouldn't mind seeing dead, but a few others I'd be happy to call my friend."

Dante considered that until his phone vibrated in his pocket. Pulling it out, he glanced at the screen.
Bert
.

He answered it, buying himself a moment. "Yeah?"

"Got something to do," Umberto said. "Where are you?"

"Little Italy. Across the street from the bar."

"Pulling onto Mulberry now," Umberto said. "Pick you up in thirty seconds."

The line went dead.

Dante waved the phone toward Gavin. "Seems duty calls, so maybe some other time."

A black BMW screeched to a stop in the middle of the street beside where they stood. Dante nodded to Gavin before heading to the waiting car.

"Don't get yourself killed," Gavin said.

Dante stepped out into the street, looking back as he grabbed the door handle on the passenger side. "Don't lose any sleep over me."

He climbed in the car, barely getting the door closed before Umberto hit the gas, the tires squealing. Dante shot him a look, not bothering to put on his seatbelt despite the constant dinging from the dashboard warning him.

"Was that
Amaro
you were with?" Umberto asked incredulously. "Did you forget that jackass punched you last night?"

"That was nothing." Dante rubbed his jaw. "You gotta admire the guy. Took balls to swing on me like that. Besides, it was my fault."

"How was it
your
fault?"

"Long story," Dante said. "So, where are we going?"

"Jersey."

Jersey
.

That hadn't been the answer Dante expected. "What's going on in Jersey?"

"We figured out where Matteo had been living before he showed up," Umberto said. "Your father wants us to go check the place out."

"Why?"

"What do you mean,
'why'
?"

"What's the point? What's he hoping to find?"

"Anything," Umberto said. "We're talking about Barsanti's kid… who the hell knows what we might find."

Dante shook his head, looking out the window as Umberto sped through the city. If they thought they'd find anything about the Barsanti family, they'd be sorely mistaken. If Matteo had possessed anything important—and Dante doubted it—Barsanti would've retrieved it long before then.

He didn't say that, though.

Who was he to argue?

No matter how senseless
…

"Where'd you go last night?" Umberto asked, giving him a brief once-over when traffic slowed them near the tunnel leading out of the city. "I know you never made it home."

"Hung around," he said. "Stayed in the city."

"With Amaro?"

Suspicion laced Umberto's voice. If Dante didn't know any better, he'd say his old friend was phishing for information. "Yeah, Amaro and I made pottery and watched the fucking sunrise."

Umberto looked at him like he actually
believed
that.

It was beneath him, but Dante rolled his eyes. "With a girl, Bert. I stayed with a girl."

"Making pottery?"

"You can call it that if you want."

Umberto whistled. "Look at you, back in the game! Was it that curvy broad, you know, the one with the big tits that you used to mess with around there? What was her name? Leslie?"

"Lisa, but no… I haven't seen her."

Not since what happened to him. He'd seen none of them, none of the women he used to occupy himself with on the weekends. Dante had never been a relationship kind of guy… it was never his style. Relationships took too much time, and he'd never met a woman he felt compelled to put in that kind of work for. Love was fleeting, a feeling akin to the sensation that rushed through his body whenever he was buried balls-deep inside a pussy. He loved women. He couldn't deny that fact. But he'd never been
in
love with a woman, not the kind of love others talked about. That kind of love was a myth, an urban legend. That kind of love didn't exist for him.

He'd always been glad for that.

Because that was the kind of love that had taken down Romeo and Juliet.

It was the kind of love that destroyed lives.

He'd watched his father grieve that kind of love, refusing to step foot in his bedroom or sleep in his bed again after losing his wife. He'd watched his sister lose herself in guys until one took her down.
'It's like my insides are too big for my body and I'm going to burst.
' Genna had told him that, how she'd described it to him sitting in the café in Little Italy. He thought she was fucking crazy.