Sweetest Sorrow (Forbidden Book 2) (40 page)

"Or," he said, "I might have a better way to keep you warm."

Dante backed her up to the bedroom as he yanked away the towel, dropping it. Her eyes flickered around the apartment in the darkness, ghosting across the unlocked front door, eyeing the dangling chain. "You broke in again?"

"No," he said, "I've got a key, remember?"

"Yeah, but the chain..."

He nuzzled into her neck, his tongue gliding across her cool skin as he palmed a breast. "What about it?"

"It's not latched."

"I know."

"But it was. I locked the door when I got in the bathtub."

"You sure about that?" His thumb grazed across her perky nipple, sending tingles through her. "Because it wasn't locked when I got home."

"I, uh…" She moaned when he kissed the spot right below her ear. "Maybe I forgot the chain."

He pulled away. "But you're sure you locked the door?"

"Pretty sure."

"
Pretty sure
isn't sure," he said. "Because I'm not fucking with you when I say the door was already unlocked when I got home. And by that I mean anyone could've turned the knob and walked right in. So if someone unlocked it, it wasn't
me
."

Her expression fell. "What?"

He glanced at the door before scanning the dark apartment.

"But I was here," she said, sickness churning her stomach. "I mean, I heard a noise, but then you were here, so I figured…"

"You figured it was me," he said, finishing her thought. "What kind of noise?"

"I don't know." She reached down to snatch the towel back up, wrapping it around herself again. "Like a door, maybe? The floor creaking or something closing? I fell asleep but then—" She stalled abruptly. "Oh God, do you think someone was in here?
Seriously
? Someone broke in while I was taking a friggin bath?"

"It's possible."

"Who would do that?"

Dante moved away from her to search the apartment, checking rooms and opening up drawers. "I have some ideas."

"Like?" She followed him around. "What are you looking for?"

"I'm trying to see if anything is missing," he said, pausing, "and making sure nothing was left behind."

"What would they leave behind?"

"Bombs? Bugs? I don't know. Jesus, baby, you're a fucking
Brazzi
. I need you to act like one. Can you think of anything else? Anything that'll tell me who might've broken in?"

"I, uh,
ugh
." She followed him into the bedroom, watching as he checked under the bed and rifled through the dresser. "Oh crap, there was a guy earlier today."

"What guy?"

"He wouldn't tell me his name, but I've seen him before. He asked me about you… he asked me about my
boyfriend
."

"What did he say about me?"

"He said you killed his best friend."

Dante opened the bedside stand and stood there, completely still, staring down into it. "He wasn't lying."

Gabriella closed her eyes to keep the room from spinning.

"Gabriella?"

She opened her eyes again. "Yeah?"

"Where's your gun, baby?"

"It's in the drawer, where it always is."

Dante stared into the drawer for a moment before closing it.

"Do you think it was him?" Gabriella asked, watching as Dante walked over to the door, checking out the locks. "The guy I saw?"

"I don't think so."

"Why?"

"Because your gun is missing."

* * *

G
enna's car
was gone from out front of the Galante house.

It was the first thing Dante noticed when he approached the property at one o'clock in the morning, lingering in the frigid darkness, careful not to slip on any ice or leave any distinguishable footprints in the snow. His car was parked down the block, out of sight, too noticeable to bring it any closer.

The irony of the situation wasn't lost on Dante. Months ago, Matteo Barsanti had done damn near the same thing, lurking outside the Galante house with a gun and a grudge, both aimed at Dante. And Dante had realized in that moment, when Matteo's finger hovered over the trigger, itching to squeeze it, that someday he would pay for what he'd done, but it wouldn't be with his life. No, his life wasn't worth enough. The world would want to destroy everything he loved instead.

He couldn't let that happen.

Umberto's car was right out front. After pulling his hood up over his head, Dante carefully approached it, ghosting his hand along the hood.

Still warm
.

He banged his fist against it, setting off the shock sensors, the car alarm blaring through the quiet neighborhood. Dante plopped down on the hood as it screamed, just sitting there and waiting, knowing it wouldn't be long before he surfaced.

Thirty seconds passed, maybe a minute at most, before the front door of the Galante house opened, the car alarm deactivated. Silence reigned for a few seconds before the alarm again went off when Dante shifted position.

Umberto strolled toward him, once more disabling the alarm. Again, it only lasted a few seconds before the screeching alarm echoed through the neighborhood.

"You mind getting off my car?" Umberto asked, stalling near him. "You know, before it disturbs everyone around here?"

"When did you get so neighborly?"

"About the same time you did."

Dante stood up, moving away from the car so Umberto could cut the alarm off for the third time. The neighbors would've heard it by then. Eyes would be looking, concerned about the Galante hoodlums, stalking their every move to ensure no trouble brewed. Dante purposely took a few steps to the left, away from the curb, standing beneath a glowing streetlight, visible to anyone who might've been watching. Umberto surveyed him as he came closer, knowing exactly what Dante was doing.

They'd been friends for years, after all. They knew each other's strengths and weaknesses. They knew the tactics they employed to stay safe, just as they knew what made the other one tick. The two of them had done countless jobs together, and while Umberto's crimes had seemed to escalate, a few stark details hadn't changed.

"Johnny Amaro, you know, they say he's going to be just fine," Dante said. "Probably get to come home soon. Figured you'd like to know."

Umberto nodded. "Guess we have you to thank for that, huh?"

"Guess so."

Umberto's gaze left his, scanning the darkness. "You come alone, Dante?"

"Does it make a difference?"

"Not really," Umberto said. "Just trying to figure out your end game."

"I've already told you my end game."

Umberto looked at him again. "Refresh my memory."

"To make sure the man who ruined my life pays for it."

"Ah." Umberto looked down at the asphalt, toeing a few small rocks, kicking them toward the curb. "And to think I used to believe you meant
Barsanti
when you said that."

"Who says I don't mean him?"

"The fact that you chose to draw me outside instead of coming
in
says so. Not to mention the fact that you made a scene and are steering clear of the shadows because you think I won't shoot you if people can see—that's kind of a dead giveaway, too. Toss in that you've thwarted our plans and that you outright refused to come when your father sent for you, and I'd say it's pretty clear who you see as the enemy."

"My father's not my enemy," Dante said. "He's a bully."

Umberto laughed. "Bully, huh? You gonna go tattle to the grown-ups about the mean ol' bully shoving kids around out on the playground, stealing lunch money and picking on your friends?"

"No, I'm going to protect what's mine."

"Like a certain female down in Little Italy?"

"Exactly."

"You know, I'm not sure
any
pussy is worth turning your back on your family," Umberto said. "But hey, what do I know? Your little Brazzi girlfriend is cute, so maybe she's worth it. Bangin' ass body on that one, that's for sure. I was certainly admiring every inch of it earlier."

Coldness swept through Dante before intense rage exploded in his gut. Before the last syllable even spilled from Umberto's lips, Dante swung, punching him right in the mouth. The blow was so hard he stumbled, knocking into his car, triggering those shock sensors and setting the alarm off. Umberto regained his footing, ignoring the obnoxious blaring as he reached up, wiping away the blood that streamed from the corner of his mouth.

Umberto looked at his hand, at the blood coating his fingertips. "Okay, I'll give you that one."

"Stay away from her," Dante warned him, flexing his hands as they itched to pummel him for those words, for having the fucking nerve to look at her, to invade her privacy and violate her body like some goddamn
pervert
. "I swear to fuck, Bert, if I ever catch you near her…"

Umberto spit blood on the asphalt and shut off the car alarm. He looked around the darkness, scanning the neighborhood, before his gaze settled back on Dante. "So you
are
alone."

"Does that surprise you?"

Umberto shrugged, like that was the only answer he had, before he took a few steps back, out of the light, into the shadows. He was considering doing something. Dante could tell. His tongue ran back and forth along his busted bottom lip, his eyes everywhere as he shoved his hands in his pockets. "It's not too late, you know. All you have to do is walk in that house right now and your father will welcome you back with open arms. I haven't told him about the incident at the hospital. Haven't told him you refused his order."

"You should tell him," Dante said. "He won't like you keeping that from him."

"Yeah, well, he's not going to give you another chance after this.
This
will be it. If I tell him…"

"I really am the enemy."

Umberto nodded.

"You should tell him," Dante said again. "Go ahead and pass along the message."

Umberto frowned, closing his eyes as he lowered his head. It was only a brief second, but Dante sensed the sadness. He felt it, too, stirring deep inside of him. It was the sensation of the last bit of lingering hope dying a miserable death.

"Get out of here, Dante," Umberto said, stepping up onto the curb, "while you still can."

"I'll go once you give me what you took."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You took the gun when you broke into the apartment. I know you; that's what you do.
Never leave a gun behind
. I want it back."

Umberto considered that, staring at him again, before stepping over to the car and unlocking it. He reached inside, beneath the passenger seat, and pulled out the small .22 caliber pistol before slowly approaching. "This one?"

"That's the one."

"I'm guessing it's registered to her, huh?"

Dante didn't answer that.

Umberto stalled in front of him, standing toe-to-toe, holding the gun. He raised it, pressing it to Dante's chest, pointing it where his ribcage protected his rapidly beating heart. Even through layers of clothing, Dante could feel the muzzle digging into his scarred skin. "And what's to stop me from pulling the trigger?"

"I don't know," Dante answered, reaching up and snatching ahold of the gun, gripping it tightly. "But if you
wanted
to shoot me, you already would've."

Umberto let go, letting him have the gun, and started back away. Once he stepped up on the curb, he turned around. "I'm sure I'll be seeing you real soon, Dante."

"I'm sure." Dante watched him stroll back to the house, his steps leisure, and called out, "So what's to stop
me
from shooting you right now?"

"Integrity," Umberto said. "You'd never shoot a man in the back."

"You sure about that?"

"Absolutely," Umberto said, turning around to face him. "Besides, there are no bullets left in that gun. I've already used them."

Dante waited until Umberto was inside before checking the gun.
No bullets
. He slipped back into the shadows, concealing the gun in his hoodie pocket as he made his way to his car down the block. Taking a deep breath, he sped from the neighborhood, driving straight back to the apartment.

Gabriella was sprawled out on the couch, watching an episode of some medical drama. She sat up when he opened the door, her eyes wide, on alert. He locked up before strolling over to her, pulling the gun from his pocket and dropping it on the coffee table.

"Where did you…?" she asked as she picked up the gun. "I mean, how did you…?"

She didn't finish those questions. Good thing, too, because Dante didn't want to answer them. He yanked off his hoodie, tossing it on the arm of the couch. "Doesn't matter, but we're not keeping it. There's no telling what it's been used for."

As soon as he said that, she dropped the gun, letting it clatter back to the coffee table. She wiped her hands on her pajama pants, as if whatever figurative blood was now on the gun had somehow transferred to her skin.

Dante headed to the bathroom to shower, standing under the scorching hot spray until he no longer felt the sting, letting it warm his body and wash away the memories of that evening. After he was finished, he wrapped a towel around his waist and stepped back out, heading for the bedroom. He made it a few steps before he heard the male voice in the living room. He came to an abrupt stop, his blood running cold at the sound of it, but he was too late to turn back or do anything. The apartment was so damn small he knew he was spotted, especially when the clipped voice asked loudly, "Do you make a habit of walking around my daughter's apartment naked?"