"I'm trying," she gasped as he pulled out and slowly pushed back in. "It's hard."
"It is, isn't it?" he whispered. "It's all for you. Only you."
Her eyes rolled back into her head as he increased his pace, each thrust just a little bit harder, a little bit deeper. He held her so tightly she could hardly breathe, but she relished the sensation, savoring the burn in her chest and the heat encasing her. It was smothering, and overpowering, as she let go, handing control over to him, tension and worry evaporating from her body. Sweat coated her, small patches of goose bumps trailing her skin from the cool breeze drifting in through the open outside door whenever he shifted position.
He said nothing else—neither of them did. There was nothing more to say. Genna buried herself into the sheets, choking back her cries of pleasure as he gave himself to her. She could feel it in every thrust, in every forceful slam of his hips into her, every strangled grunt that escaped his throat as he nuzzled into her neck. This wasn't lust. It was something else, something greater. This wasn't want; this was need, more so than she had ever felt before. It was despair, a drowning man desperate for air, a starving man scrounging for scraps to sustain him. He clung to her, like he held on for dear life, afraid of drifting away.
No, not lust. This was love.
And she knew, when his breathing grew ragged, his body shuddering, his grip somehow tightening even more, that it wasn't pleasure that drove him close to the edge. This was that agony he so desperately tried to hold back purging from beneath his skin. He cried out as he came, his tears sliding from his cheeks and hitting her damp skin, mingling with their sweat. Genna could feel it as he spilled inside of her, feel remnants of it running down her thighs as he stilled his movements. He violently shook, his arms beneath her trembling so hard it felt like an earthquake shook the bed. And she almost felt it in that moment, her oh-so-stable ground quaking and knocking her off her feet, taking both of them down together.
"I love you," she whispered, wishing there was something more she could do for him, something to ease his suffering.
How long had he been suffering, she wondered?
How much of it was her family's fault?
He barely restrained a sob at the sound of her words, inhaling deeply. His body shifted as he pulled out, loosening his hold on her. Genna rolled over onto her back beneath his body and looked up at him in the darkness. The second their eyes connected he looked away, dipping his head to avoid her gaze. Hiding from her.
Reaching up, she grasped his face and turned it toward her. Fingertips brushed his cheeks before he leaned down to lightly kiss her. The salty taste of tears lingered on his lips.
Something stirred inside of her then as she stared into his bloodshot, watery eyes, an ominous heaviness in the pit of her stomach. It had been there since that day on the street when she heard his name spoken for the first time.
He was a Barsanti…
…but maybe the Barsantis weren't the enemy.
His expression remained serious for a moment before softening, a small smile on his lips. "You really love me?"
"I do."
"I love you, too."
Her heart fluttered, skipping a beat at those words, before she let out a light laugh. "We're so fucking cliché."
"You think?"
"Yes," she said. "The first time we say it's during sex."
"Technically it's after sex."
"Same difference." She rolled her eyes. "Next thing you know you'll be running through an airport trying to stop me from leaving you, and then we'll kiss in the rain."
"But not before we break out into song, right?"
Her brow furrowed. "What?"
He shrugged. "They do that shit in movies all the time. They did it in My Best Friend's Wedding."
She gaped at him. "Disturbing."
"What?"
"Your knowledge of Julia Roberts movies."
Chuckling, Matty pulled away from her and stood up beside the bed, swaying a bit on his feet, still inebriated. The moonlight streaming through the open glass door cast a soft glow upon his naked flesh. Genna lay there, admiring him in the light as he turned to face her, cocking at eyebrow. He started to speak when a loud bang silenced him. Panicked, Genna's eyes darted toward the door as the knob jiggled and someone knocked, Dante's voice carrying through the flimsy wood.
"Genna, open up!" he hollered.
Her heart thudded like a bass drum in her chest as she sprung to her feet in alarm. Snatching her dress from the floor, she quickly pulled it on as she shouted, "hold on, one second!"
"Hurry the hell up," he said, banging on the door.
Genna started gathering up Matty's clothes, thrusting them in his arms before pushing him toward her walk-in closet. "Hide."
He started to protest, but she silenced him with a quick kiss before launching his shoes toward him. She shut the closet door, concealing him inside, and paused to take a deep breath just as Dante started knocking again. Her hurried footsteps rushed toward the bedroom door as she smoothed out her hair and yanked on her dress. Unlocking it, she swung the door open, halting in the doorway to block her brother from stepping inside.
"What?" she barked, clutching tightly to the door, trying to force a look of annoyance on her face to keep him from seeing her panic.
Dante shoved her out the way to step into the room.
"Don't what me," he said, striding past. "You disappeared from the party."
"Well, here I am," she said, shrugging it off as she opened the door even wider, hoping he would take it as an invitation to leave as quickly as he had shown up. "Do you need something?"
"Nah," he said. "Dad was just wondering where you ran off to. I told him I'd come check on you."
Slowly, Genna stepped over to her bed and sat down on it, eyeing her brother peculiarly as he moseyed through her room, glancing around. His gaze shifted to the open sliding door and he headed that way, pushing it open further to step out on the balcony. Genna tensed, holding her breath as he approached the railing. Please don't look down.
"Uh, Genna?" Dante said, looking straight down. Fuck. "Why's there a ladder outside your window?"
"I don't know," she said. "Maybe the gardener left it out or something. You know I don't do yard work."
Dante shook his head as he strode back inside, brushing the raindrops from his hair while grumbling about incompetent workers. He nudged her as he strode past. "I'll tell Dad you've gone to sleep so he'll leave you be."
"Thanks," she muttered as he started for the door to leave. She watched his back, breathing a short-lived sigh of relief. As soon as he made it to the doorway, a loud thump echoed through the room. Genna inhaled sharply as Dante's footsteps faltered. He turned back around, eyes narrowed at her briefly before turning straight to the closet where the noise had come from. Seemed she wasn't the only one who struggled being quiet. "Are you alone?"
"Of course."
Dante's gaze bounced between her and the closet door, skeptical. "Is it Jackson? Jesus, Genna, tell me it's not Jackson, that you didn't sneak that idiot in here with Dad home."
"It's not," she said quickly as he stepped right back into the room. "It's nobody."
Dante walked straight toward the closet when Genna jumped to her feet. She darted toward her brother to stop him, but he shrugged her off, grasping the knob. She felt queasy as she frantically tried to pull her brother away, but he was undeterred.
Please be hiding, she thought. Up on a shelf, in a fucking trunk, piled high with clothes… something. Anything. Don't let my brother see you.
She chanted it in her head those few seconds when Dante hesitated, hoping Matty was smart enough to be out of sight, but her hope exploded when Dante flung the closet door open. Right in front of the doorway, barefooted and only half-dressed, his hair askew, stood Matty, his expression severe and shoulders squared as if preparing for a fight. Dante froze a mere few feet in front of him and blinked rapidly, momentarily stunned into silence, like he couldn't believe his eyes. Straine
d seconds passed, each one accented by the beat of Genna's terrified heart, as the two men who meant the most to her—her brother, and the one she had so willingly given her heart to—stared each other down with bitter hatred as if the world had been put on pause.
All at once, the impasse came to an end. Swiftly, in the blink of an eye, Dante reached into his waistband and whipped out the pistol he always carried. Genna let out a startled yep, tears stinging her eyes, as Matty slowly raised his hands in immediate surrender. Sober now, his eyes betrayed his stern expression, fear shining through as his panicked gaze flickered to hers.
"Dante, please," Genna pleaded, grabbing her brother's arm, but he seemed to hardly even register her presence. "Let me explain."
"Dad!" Dante shouted, so loud his voice cracked. Genna cringed, her ears ringing. Her panic intensified. "Get up here, Dad! Quick!"
No, no, no. "Please," she pleaded, shoving past Dante to wedge between the guys. She held her arms out defensively as she stood in front of Matty, her wide-eyes imploring her brother. "Please, Dante. Don't do this!"
"Move, Genna," Dante ground out, aiming right over her left shoulder… right at Matty's heart. "I don't want you to get hurt."
"I'm already hurt!"
That drove Dante's attention to her. "He hurt you?"
"No, you're hurting me," she said frantically, stepping to the side, her face lined straight up with the muzzle of her brother's gun. If he planned to shoot Matty, he would have to go through her first. "Please stop this, Dante. Don't do this!"
Dante's expression shifted, rage clouding his face. His free hand snatched ahold of Genna's arm so tightly she winced. Dante yanked her away, shoving her behind him, before he stepped toward Matty, gripping his pistol with both hands. Matty instinctively took a few steps back as Dante cornered him in the closet, trapping him. "I don't know what your plan here is, Barsanti, but it isn't going to work. You think you can poison my sister against us, that you can use her to get to us?"
"Dante!" Genna cried out, trying to stop him again, but he hardly wavered. He sounded just like Enzo. "Please, stop, for me!"
"You don't know what you're asking, Genna," Dante ground out before raising his voice once more. "He's one of them."
"You don't understand," Genna cried out, tears burning her eyes and streaming down her cheeks. "I love him, Dante! I love him!"
Those words caught Dante off guard for the second time that night. He faltered, turning his head slightly to gape at her. "You love him?"
"I do," she cried. "Don't do this, please. Please. You owe me."
"I owe you?"
"You said you owed me, that anything I needed, all I had to do was ask," she said. "So I'm asking… I'm begging… please don't do this."
Dante hesitated as the sound of footsteps neared, ascending the stairs.
"Dante?" their father called out. "Where are you?"
"Please," Genna whispered, her voice quaking. "For me."
Dante took a step back, eyeing Matty hard for a moment before looking away and lowering the gun. "In Genna's room, Dad."
Before Genna could protest, Dante stepped out of the closet and shut the door with Matty still inside. Genna wiped her face, shaking as their father's footsteps hurried down the hall. He stepped into the doorway, pausing as he assessed his children. "What's going on in here?"
"It was just a mistake," Dante said. "Thought I saw a rat."
Primo's brow furrowed. "A rat?"
"Yeah, a rat."
Primo stared at him briefly before his eyes turned to the gun in his hand. "And you were going to what? Shoot it?"
Dante forced out a laugh as he slipped the gun back away. "Force of habit. Like I said, though, it was a mistake. Right, Genna?"
"Yes," she whispered. "A big mistake."
"Ah." Primo glanced between them, his gaze settling on Genna. "You okay, sweetheart? You're flushed."
"I'm not feeling well," she said. At least it wasn't a lie. Bile burned her chest. She wanted to throw up.
"Well, get some sleep," Primo said. "I'll tell the men you said goodnight. And I'll call an exterminator tomorrow, you know, to make sure there aren't any rats. I fucking hate them."
"Thanks," she said, closing her eyes with relief when her father walked away. Nobody said anything, the attention focused on the sound of footsteps as they descended the stairs again. Once he was gone, Dante reopened the closet door and stood between Genna and Matty, severe eyes bouncing between them, scolding, judging.
"You get him the hell out of here," Dante spat. "And don't you ever ask me to do that again, Genna. I'd do anything for you—you know that—but you can't ask me to do this. You can't ask me to accept this."
"I'm sorry," she whispered as her brother started walking away.
"You will be," he said, matter-of-fact. "If you don't stay away from him, Genna, you will be sorry."
"Don't threaten her." Matty's voice made Genna flinch as he stepped out of the closet, protectively wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her to him.
"I'm not threatening her," Dante said angrily, eyes narrowed at Matty. "The only threat to her here is you, Barsanti."
"I'd never hurt her," Matty said.
"Maybe not," Dante said. "But that doesn't mean you wouldn't get her hurt. I dare you to deny that. I dare you to fucking deny that being with you won't get her hurt."
"I'll protect her."
"Maybe you believe that," Dante said, "but I learned long ago not to trust my family's safety around a Barsanti, and I'm not going to ignore that now, no matter how much my sister begs me."
Dante stormed out, not even looking at Genna again. She stood there for a moment, trying to get her heart to slow down, as she seemed to melt back into Matty's embrace.
"This is going to get us killed, isn't it?" she whispered.
Matty let out an exasperated sigh as he held her tighter. She hoped he'd contradict her, say something to set her mind at ease, but instead he mumbled a response that made her stomach sink.
"Probably."
Before Savina Barsanti was even lowered into the ground that dreary summer afternoon, plans were set into motion, sparking flames of animosity that had been smoldering for years. After nightfall, as Matty sought support in Genna's embrace, found solace in her warm flesh, the fight between their families violently rekindled as both sides crossed borders under the cloak of darkness, sneaking and scheming, stealing and stalking.
Slaughtering.
Come morning, when the smoke cleared from that first night of destruction, leaving usually quiet parts of Manhattan suddenly tainted by violence, the first blood had already been spilled.
Two Galante soldiers lay dead on the grungy asphalt in Soho, just a few blocks from The Place, gunned down as they crossed the street. Nobody knew where they were going, or what they were doing on that side of town. They'd been killed on sight, no questions asked, for merely venturing into enemy territory.
War had been declared.
Trucks were hijacked and stores were broken into, people assaulted and others robbed. It went on, night after night, no corner safe from murder and mayhem.
Matty sat at his usual table in The Place a few weeks later, eyes peeled on his notebook as he worked out the statistics in the margin of the paper, ensuring he was still ahead of the game. The Blackberry on the table in front of him rang and rang, but he ignored it, just as he ignored the men gathered around the tables and along the bar, waiting for their chance to place a bet for the weekend.
It was half past ten… he was already thirty minutes behind.
"Are you going to answer that?" Enzo asked exasperatedly from the seat across from him, motioning toward the still ringing Blackberry.
"No."
Enzo stared at him, his gaze piercing. "Are you almost done?"
"No."
"Are you ever going to get around to taking bets tonight?"
The word "no" was on the tip of Matty's tongue, but he swallowed it back. He would… eventually. J
ust not now.
"You've been slacking off lately," Enzo said, picking up his beer and taking a sip of it. "Dad's not happy about it."
"Yeah, well, instead of the unwanted promotion, I'm hoping he'll send me a pink slip."
Enzo laughed dryly. "Dad's pink slips come in the form of bullets to the brain."
"I know," Matty muttered, tossing his pen down and glancing around the bar, skimming right over the studious waiting eyes to look for the waitress. He spotted her, motioning for her to bring him a drink, before turning to his brother. "It's a twenty-cent line again this week."
Enzo guzzled the last of his beer. "You can count me out."
"Why?" Matty asked. "Afraid you'll lose?"
"Hell yeah," Enzo said. "And if there's anything I've learned, it's that I hate losing a hell of a lot more than I enjoy winning."
Shrugging, Matty reached for the Blackberry, picking up the ringing phone as Enzo stood up and walked away. Matty answered the phone with an exasperated sigh. "Yeah?"
There was no small talk. The men blurted out their bets and Matty jotted them down, knowing names the second he heard their voices. In between calls, others from the bar came by, making bets in person, handing their money over for Enzo to keep. It was methodic and tedious, Matty's mind wandering as he kept tallies of the bets and the running totals in case he needed to adjust his figures.
A few minutes before midnight, he shut it down, tearing out the page of bets and slipping it across the table to Enzo. The waitress sauntered over, bringing him another drink without him having to order one as his brother scanned the list.
"Start late, end early." Enzo folded the paper and put it in his pocket for safekeeping. "Your heart's just not into it anymore, is it?"
It never was, Matty thought, sipping his drink. "Too much else on my mind."
Enzo nodded knowingly, his cautious gaze shifting around the bar. "Nobody knows yet, if that's what you're worried about."
Yet. The key word, one that made Matty's head hurt just acknowledging it. Nobody around there had figured out about him and Genna yet, but it was only a matter of time before the wrong person caught wind of it. They had intentionally stayed away from each other the past few weeks, knowing it was too dangerous to risk being caught together again right now, but it was wearing on his nerves, uncomfortably burrowing under his skin. Some short, vague text messages and a few whispered, rushed phone calls did nothing to satiate him when he needed her.