Sweetest Sorrow (Forbidden Book 2) (32 page)

Eyes trailed Dante, security still monitoring his every move. It wouldn't have surprised him a bit if somewhere up above, a gun was trained on him.

The moment they stepped into the house, feet moving from stone courtyard to marble foyer, Victor Brazzi appeared in their path, flanked by two guards.

Victor looked the part of a typical Italian grandfather: mid-sixties, leathery skin, with thin graying hair combed back so it sort of just stood on end. He wore his age well, his smile wide and his eyes spry. The man was sharp; there was no denying it. He sat atop an empire that men both feared and envied.

"Gabriella! How's my sweet little princess?"

Dante let go of Gabriella's hand as Victor gripped her arms and kissed both of her cheeks.

"Hey,
Nonno.
" She smiled. "I'm great! How are you?"

"Surprised," Victor said.

"
Pleasantly
surprised?" Gabriella asked.

"Let's just stick with surprised for the time being." Victor's gaze turned to Dante. "Mr. Galante, welcome. We haven't had the chance to formally meet yet. I'm Victor Brazzi."

Victor held out his hand. Dante shook it, fighting off a cringe when the man squeezed.
Hard
. "Please, call me Dante."

Victor turned back to Gabriella without acknowledging that. "Sweetheart, why don't you head up to the ballroom? I know your mother is anxious to see you."

Gabriella made a face. "I, uh…"

"Don't worry," Victor said. "Everything will be fine. I'd just like to have a word with him in private."

Her eyes darted to Dante, panicked.

"Go on." Dante nodded past the men. "I'll join you soon."

Gabriella hesitated before kissing Dante's cheek. She walked away then, falling into the crowd, disappearing. As soon as she was gone, Victor's expression hardened.

"Follow me, Mr. Galante," he said, stepping past. The guards waited until Dante followed before they trailed along, staying on his heels.

Victor headed to an office on the first floor, through a set of ornamental wooden doors. The second Dante stepped into the office, hands grabbed him from behind, stopping him, pinning him in place. His heart raced as his hands rose in surrender, the guards relentlessly patting him down, clearing out all of his pockets and yanking apart his suit, roughing him up as they searched for
whatever
.

"I'm not carrying," Dante said, cringing when those rough hands went places they didn't belong. "I've got nothing on me."

"Can't ever be too careful," Victor said, taking a seat behind an imposing mahogany desk. He motioned for the men to let go of Dante, those hands leaving him at once. "Have a seat. Let's chat."

The hair on the nape of Dante's neck bristled when the doors closed, a lock clicking in place, trapping him in there. The guards remained in the room, blocking the only exit. Dante sat down in a leather chair across from Victor. He remained silent, figuring it best to let the man lead the conversation.

"Tell me," Victor said. "How do you know my granddaughter?"

"I met her at the hospital."

"She was your nurse?"

"Yes."

"And, what, she's still nursing you back to health?"

"She, uh…"

"Look, let's skip the small talk." Victor glanced at his watch. "I have a speech to give in twenty minutes. How about you tell me how long you've been seeing my granddaughter and I'll tell you what we're going to do about that?"

Dante cleared his throat, shifting around in the chair.
Uncomfortable
put it mildly. He felt incredibly small sitting there. "Officially, a few weeks. Unofficially, a few months."

"
Unofficially
," he said, "meaning not only have you been seeing her in secret, but before you were actually
seeing
her, you were, what? Just screwing around? Is that what you're telling me here?"

"No, I'm not—"

"Because it's bad enough you start seeing her without talking to us," Victor continued, raising his voice. "It's bad enough you don't go to her father and ask him how he feels about you seeing his little girl. But now you're telling me, up until a few weeks ago, she was nothing more than a body you
used
to keep warm?"

Victor slammed his hands down on the desk, the bang making Dante flinch.

This wasn't going good.

"It wasn't like that," Dante said. "She was a friend, and then something happened, things changed, and it turned into more."

"So it just happened, huh?"

"Yes."

"Nothing deliberate on your part? Not something you planned? You just happened to take up with one of ours?"

"Well, yeah." Dante laughed dryly, running his hands down his face. "I fucked up. I know I did. I did everything wrong. But I love her. I fell in love with her. And it had nothing to do with her being a Brazzi. If anything, it was
despite
her being one." His eyes shot straight to Victor. "No offense. I have utmost respect for you, and your family, but this was the
last
thing I needed in my life. I don't need more problems, but Gabriella? The way I feel about her? Let's just say she's worth the trouble to me."

Victor stared at him in silence.

Dante wasn't sure what that meant.

He didn't know Victor Brazzi well enough to judge if his silence meant he was considering being merciful or if the man was too busy envisioning his death to speak.

After a moment, the man glanced at his watch and leaned back in his chair, his posture relaxed, but it did nothing to ease Dante's tension.

"I heard something about you," Victor said, his voice quieter. "Something I didn't like to hear."

"What did you hear?"

"I heard you killed my grandson."

Every muscle inside of Dante seized up.

Victor stared at him again. He stared, and waited. Waited for Dante to find the words to respond. And Dante wished like hell he could deny it. He wished he could say it never happened. For years he hated that family, despising Enzo Barsanti with everything inside of him, but he'd give anything to be able to go back and keep that motherfucker breathing.

The moment Dante pulled the trigger, he regretted it. It was instant, guilt burning from within. Because it was the moment Dante became someone else.

When he became a murderer.

When the man became the monster.

He never expected to feel that way.

Never expected to
regret
killing a Barsanti.

He wished like hell the feeling would go away.

"You heard true."

Victor drummed his fingers against the arm of his chair, pursing his lips. "Why'd you do it?"

"He pulled a gun on me first."

"I didn't ask what
he
did. I know what he did. I asked why you killed him. And don't give me the cop-out answer. Don't say '
self-defense
'. You shot the kid in the face in his own territory."

Dante's eyes fixed on his hands in his lap. This was sounding a bit like that psychoanalytic bullshit he refused to entertain with everyone else. "Because he was a Barsanti."

"Because he was a Barsanti," Victor repeated.

"I've spent almost my entire life wishing them dead because of what they did to my family. It made it easy to give in to the anger, made it easy to go there, made it easy to pull the trigger. So yeah, you can say I killed him because he was a Barsanti."

"I bet your father hailed you a hero for that, huh? His brave boy. Bet he was proud."

Dante looked at the man, seeing he was smiling.
What the fuck
?

"Did you know your father started it? Did he tell you how he woke up one morning and decided to shoot up my grandson's birthday party?"

"Nobody died that day," Dante said. "He just wanted to send a message."

"And that message was received," Victor said. "Barsanti responded. Somebody died. There's no denying that. But just because he caused the first casualty doesn't mean he's responsible for the whole war."

Dante said nothing to that. What could he say?

"You want to hear my opinion?" Victor asked. "You want to know why
I
think you killed Enzo?"

Dante nodded, because that was the only thing he could do.

"You killed him because your father gave you no other choice."

Victor glanced at his watch yet again before standing. "Out of all my grandchildren, Gabriella was always my favorite. She's different. She has a big heart, my little princess. She's out to save the world. When she was knee-high, she found this squirrel once. Ugly thing.
Wounded
. Looked like a dog got a hold of it. She picked it up, brought it home with her. Thought she could help it. Most of my grandchildren were born with brutality in their blood, but Gabriella? She was just so
good
. Which is why I was so surprised to see her with you, but I guess I shouldn't have been. She picked up another wounded animal and brought it home."

Those words were like a punch to the gut. Dante clenched his hands into fists, stopping himself from reacting.

Victor walked around the desk, pausing beside Dante. "She can't save the world, but you know, maybe she can help bring an end to this senseless war. My kids—my daughters, especially—married into a few different families, so if my granddaughter wants to be with a Galante, I'll welcome one in. Call it a clean slate for the New Year.
Merry Christmas
, Dante."

"Thank you," Dante said.

"But you better treat her right," Victor said. "Because that squirrel she brought home? It bit her, you know. It got scared, and it bit her, so I snapped it's fucking neck, because
no one
and
nothing
hurts my family. Remember that."

* * *

M
usic played
through the ballroom from the small orchestra. Tables took up a significant portion of the vast room, while the wedding party was propped up on a stage near the front, along a wall of spacious windows, soft sunlight streaming in on them, making the bride glow. The rest of the space was made up of a dance floor, empty at the moment, as everyone ate.

Gabriella pushed the food around on her plate, not taking any bites of the veal they'd forced upon her. The plate beside hers remained untouched, growing cold, the chair empty. Her
plus-one
.

Across from her sat her parents, also not eating. No, they were too busy staring. Staring at
her
, although neither had spoken a single word since she'd plopped down at the table. Their silence, though, said enough.

They were surprised, also not of the
pleasant
variety.

How long had it been? Ten minutes? A friggin
year
? She was growing antsy, tapping her foot, eyes scanning the room at the dozens—maybe hundreds—of faces, some of them familiar but none of them the one she hoped to see.

They wouldn't actually kill him, would they?

She grew impatient, about to go hunt Dante down, when she caught sight of her grandfather. Victor strolled into the room, smiling wide, his typical chipper self. He headed to the front of the ballroom and picked up a microphone.

Gabriella studied him, searching for some clue about what might've gone down, and startled when the chair beside her moved. She jumped, coming face-to-face with Dante.

He'd aged ten years in the blink of an eye. His suit was unkempt, the tie barely knotted. But the rest of him… well, he wasn't bleeding. There was no bruising that she could see, so he wasn't
physically
wounded. They'd just torn apart his soul, it seemed.

The moment his rear end hit the seat, Gabriella's father dropped his fork, the metal clanking against the plate as he gave up the pretense of attempting to eat.

Gabriella cringed.

"I'd like a word," Alfie said, finding his voice. "
Now
."

Dante stood back up.

"Wait," Gabriella interjected.

Dante placed his hand on her shoulder, rubbing it. "It's fine."

Alfie stalked through the ballroom, heading for the door, as Dante followed. Gabriella watched them as they stopped outside, well out of earshot but still within view. Right away, Alfie laid into him, going on and on, while Dante just stood there, listening.

In the ballroom, Victor spoke, giving some speech about love and loyalty, but Gabriella wasn't paying attention.
Ugh, what the heck is my father saying
? She started to stand up, to go out there, her father's expression murderous as he got right in Dante's face, spewing words Gabriella suspected she didn't even have in her vocabulary, when a hand darted across the table, catching her wrist.

"Don't dare, Gabriella Michele!" Her mother glared at her from across the table. "What are you
thinking
?"

Gabriella turned as she was forced back into her chair, looking at her mother. Victoria looked quite a bit like her father, those Brazzi genes strong.
She also inherited the notorious temper
.

"I don't know," Gabriella said. "Maybe that you guys are overreacting like I knew you would."

"Overreacting?" Victoria raised her eyebrows, still gripping her wrist, manicured fingernails pressing into the skin. "
Overreacting,
Gabriella? Do you know who that boy is?"