Genna's hand covered her mouth as the implication of that sunk in, washing all hope from her system, leaving her left with nothing but bitter sickness.
A son for a son.
Peace.
It didn't happen often, not to the extent that settled over Manhattan that weekend. Both sides willfully retreated in an unspoken cease-fire, crossing back into their own territory, those invisible walls that divided the city locking back into place to keep the families apart, but the damage had already been done.
Their worlds were fractured by a misery that moments of strained peace couldn't begin to mend.
Nothing happened for days—no violence, no theft, no brutality. No blood spilled into the desolate streets. Dante's car was recovered not far from home, the driver's side door wide open and the keys still dangling in the ignition. There was no sign of him, the interior splattered with blood. Her phone had been found lying on the passenger floorboard, the front of it cracked from an apparent scuffle.
Genna wallowed, mourning, holed up in her house, not even stepping outside on the porch to face the sun. She didn't want to see it shining, didn't want to see the world continuing to turn. Days passed as a blur of hours... minutes... seconds...
She went through the motions, looking but not seeing, touching but not feeling. She was there, but she felt so far away.
"Are you okay?" Matty asked quietly over the phone one night, their communication the two weeks since Enzo’s death little more than a string of missed calls and text messages. She had so much to say to him, so much to tell him, to ask him, to beg of him, but their words were lost in a haze of grief. Are you okay? It was a question she'd asked him more than once, but it felt like a slap to the face when wielded in return.
Of course I'm fucking not okay.
"It doesn't feel real," she whispered, her voice strained. She lay on her bed in the darkness, her phone on the pillow beside her on speakerphone. His voice surrounded her, so close, yet too distant. If she closed her eyes, it almost… almost… felt like he was right there. "It's like, if I don't see it... how can it be real?"
No body, no funeral. Although Dante was presumed dead by the family, the assumption didn't offer any closure, didn't comfort her, when without him it just didn't feel real. There one minute and gone the next... but gone where?
Logically, she knew she would likely never know. Dante had warned her of that once before. It felt like a lifetime ago when they had stood in Little Italy and he warned her that if the Barsantis got ahold of one of them, there would be nothing left to identify.
"You know, I tried to go to Joey's funeral," Matty said. "I almost did. I got dressed and went downstairs and said I was going. I didn't ask... I told. My father forbid it, but I stood up to him."
"What stopped you?"
"He did, of course. Locked me in my bedroom until it was over. He said it wasn't safe, and he was right—it wasn't. It still isn't. It'll never be safe for me in this city. But still, to this day, I regret not going. Without closure, it's hard for a wound to heal."
"Will it?" she asked. "Will it get better? Will it ever heal?"
"I don't know," he replied. "I was only eight when I lost my best friend, and it hasn't healed yet."
"Yeah, well, I'm eighteen, and my best friend's gone now, and I don't think I'll ever be okay again."
"You'll be okay." Matty's voice was barely a whisper. "We both will be."
Genna closed her eyes, tears streaming from the corner of them and running down her cheeks. Wiping them away, she let out a shaky breath. Would they be okay? She so desperately wanted to believe that.
"Matty, there's something I need to tell you," she said, her voice shaking. "Something you should know."
"What is it?" Before she could respond, there was a shuffling on the line, and Matty cursed under his breath. "Hold that thought. My father's here."
Immediately, the phone beeped as Matty ended the call, silence overcoming her bedroom again. She continued to lay there, in no mood to move, in no mood to do anything. Time passed again, darkness falling over the room, before a chime rang out with a new message from Matty.
Tomorrow
Tomorrow… Monday. She knew they were planning to finally bury Enzo then, to put him to rest.
She replied right away. What about it?
His answer was prompt. Tomorrow we leave.
Genna stared at those words. He had promised her they'd go, that they'd leave and never look back. That they'd start over new somewhere. Matty told her he lived in the present, that he took things as they came, but somewhere along the line that had changed. He was preparing for the future now.
A future for them together.
Tomorrow, she thought, closing her eyes again, her hands drifting to her stomach instinctively. Just one more day and we're out of here.
For the second time that summer, Matty found himself standing in the middle of the Catholic cemetery, in nearly the same exact spot both times—the Barsanti family plot.
Weeks ago it had been vacant, just a grassy knoll, perfectly kempt and waiting for the day it would be needed. But now a headstone stuck up from the ground, bearing the name Savina Brazzi-Barsanti, the grass just feet from it freshly disturbed as they said goodbye to yet another one.
Enzo. Matty felt the void, the space beside his father where his brother had always stood now nothing but air, nobody daring to step foot there. Sighing, Matty kept his head down, hands clasped in front of him, until the final "Amen" was spoken from the grieving crowd.
Within seconds he was walking away, not bothering to stick around for the customary 'pay your respects to the family' bullshit, and approached his cousin Gavin. Subtly, Gavin nodded in greeting, his voice quiet as he said, "I'll be in touch."
Matty returned the nod before he strolled through the cemetery, away from the crowd, off toward the other side where he had never ventured before.
It took him a while—ten, maybe fifteen minutes—before he caught sight of what he was looking for. The headstones were worn, having been here for years… one more faded than the other.
Joseph Galante
Below his name, below the too short dates spanning his life bore the words 'forever young'. He was buried beside his mother, her headstone larger to someday accommodate Primo on the same marble marker. His name was there, etched in the stone, his day of death left blank.
The callous bastard was still breathing.
Around them were empty plots Matty suspected were reserved for the other Galante children, but neither would ever be buried there. Dante, because he had vanished, and Genna, because Matty was getting her the hell out of there. She wouldn't be around to see the end of it, to see the bitter conclusion of the long-standing rivalry.
Neither of them would be there.
Because Matty knew, deep down inside, that it wasn't over. They were merely standing in the eye of the hurricane… and it only stayed calm for so long.
"Soon."
The gruff voice behind Matty made the hair at the nape of his neck bristle. He hadn't heard his father approach. Slowly turning his head, he eyed the man. "Soon?"
"Soon that headstone will have a date," Roberto said, glaring at the worn marble displaying Primo's name. "And then I'll finally be satisfied."
"Will you?" Matty asked quietly, turning away from his father. "Will you really be satisfied?"
Instead of being offended by the question, Roberto let out a light laugh, slapping his son on the back before roughly squeezing his shoulder. "As satisfied as a man like me can be."
Not satisfied at all.
Roberto let go of him and took a step away. "You coming back to the house?"
"No, I have some things to take care of," Matty said.
"Family business?" Roberto asked.
"Yes," Matty said quietly. "Family."
Nodding, Roberto walked away without saying another word. Matty stood there for a few minutes longer before glancing at his watch. Six o'clock. He was picking Genna up a little
after nine, after her father went to sleep.
That gave him three hours.
Strolling back through the trail of headstones, he headed toward his Lotus parked along the road, pressing the button a few feet away to unlock the doors and start the engine. As soon as he was inside, he sped away, giving only a brief glance back at the cemetery.
He drove to The Place, ordering a Roman Coke from the bartender and taking a seat at his usual table out of pure habit. He sat there, staring at the empty seat across from him as he nursed his drink, trying to gather the courage to go upstairs. Enzo's things were scattered all over the apartment, exactly where he had left them, and Matty didn't have the heart to face it.
When his drink was finished, he ordered another.
And another.
And another.
Time faded away, darkness falling outside before his phone chimed with a message from a familiar number. Meet me at Casato.
Matty stood back up and strolled through The Place as he glanced at his watch again. It was already pushing eight. Instead of going upstairs, instead of packing his things like he had planned, he merely walked away. He had just enough time to swing by Little Italy before claiming his girl and getting the hell out of Manhattan, the hell out of New York, the hell away from the Galantes, and the Barsantis, and everything.
"Not working tonight?" the bartender asked when he strolled toward the door.
"No," Matty said. Not working ever again.
He drove to Little Italy, parking the Lotus in a spot just past his destination. He strolled toward Casato, his hands in his pockets, his head down. The café was quiet at this hour as they were closing up for the night. Matty stepped inside, the bell above the door jingling. Johnny wasn't working tonight, a young woman behind the counter casting him a curious look. "We're closing in five minutes."
"Yeah, I'm just looking for somebody," Matty said. "Gavin Amaro?"
As if on cue, the door to the kitchen swung open and Gavin stepped out, his attention on his phone as he dialed a number. He brought it to his ear but hesitated when he looked up, his expression brightening. He laughed as he ended his call and slipped his phone back away. "I was just calling you."
"Here I am," Matty said.
Gavin turned toward the girl working. "You can go ahead and leave. I'll finish closing up."
She said her thanks and jetted out the door. Once she was gone, Gavin pulled a manila envelope from his suit coat and slapped it down on the nearest table. "Everything you asked for—two brand new identities, totally legit, complete with birth certificates and driver's licenses."
"And the person you got it from…?"
"No problem," Gavin said. "Called in a favor out of Chicago. He'll never utter a word about it."
"Ah." Matty picked it up, clutching the envelope tightly. "Thanks."
"Don't mention it," Gavin said, waving him off. "That's what family's for, right?"
Matty smiled. "Right."
"Nope… definitely not… no way… ugh, what the fuck is that?"
Genna shifted through the clothes in her closet, shoving hangers aside. A black duffel bag sat on the floor by her bare feet, completely empty. She was supposed to be packing but had no idea what to take. It would help if she knew where they were going, but Matty had given her no clue.
Sighing, Genna kicked the bag aside, discarding it in the corner. Fuck it. Who needs things, anyway? Slipping on a pair of shoes, she headed back into her bedroom and glanced at the clock.
A few minutes past eight.
Adrenaline, fueled by anticipation, scorched through her veins. She was nothing more than a tangled ball of nerves, so wound tight and jumbled up that she couldn't settle down. Giving up, she strode out of the room and headed downstairs, taking the stairs slowly as she headed toward the dining room. Primo sat in his usual spot at the head of the table, the food in front of him completely untouched. Four empty place settings surrounded him, a sight that made Genna pause to take in.
"Joining me tonight?" Primo asked, his voice emotionless as he picked up his glass of wine and took a sip. "You haven't come down for dinner in days."
"Yeah, I, uh… I thought…" What was she thinking? Guilt nagged at her chest, twisting her stomach and taking away the last shred of hunger she had even felt. "Just thought it would be nice to eat together again… you know… like old times."
Unshed tears stung her eyes as she stammered through those words. Ugh, fucking hormones. The fact that it could very well be the last time she saw her father—the last time she sat at this table, at this dinner, inside of this house—stirred up a bitter pang of longing inside of her.
"Sit," Primo said, motioning toward her chair before calling for the staff to bring her dinner. They set a plate of pork roast in front of Genna before disappearing back into the kitchen, preparing to leave for the night.
As soon as her plate was in front of her, Primo held his hand out toward her. Carefully, she took it, his strong hand dwarfing hers as he squeezed it, bowing his head to pray. "Forgive us, Father, for our sins," he said. "We thank you for our many blessings."
Genna pulled her hand back away as soon as he let go and grabbed her fork, poking at the food on her plate. It was quiet, neither of them eating. It was bittersweet, as Genna's gaze kept shifting to the spot directly across from her, the chair Dante had sat in every day. She had avoided it all weekend, had avoided the reality, but there it was, staring her in the face… the tangible truth, a glaring reminder that he was gone.
Unable to stop it, a tear rolled down Genna's cheek. She tried to brush it away, to hide the evidence of her distress before her father saw, but nothing escaped his notice. Without even looking at her, he let out a deep sigh. "Your brother loved you."
"I know he did," she whispered.
"It won't be the same without him."
"It won't," she agreed.
Nothing would ever again be the same.
Dinner was silent after that, neither one seeming to have any more to say. Genna's gaze kept bouncing toward the clock, counting down the minutes as it slowly approached nine o'clock. The silence was so thick, permeating every corner of the dining room that Genna startled when a phone ringing shattered it. Dropping her fork, she grasped her chest as Primo snatched up the emergency line, barking the word "talk" into the phone.
Strained seconds passed.
"He's there?" Primo asked, his voice void of all sentiment. "Do it now."
He hung up the phone then, glancing at Genna again just as she wiped away another wayward tear.
"Don't fret," he said. "They won't get away with it."
Genna cut her eyes at her father suspiciously. "What?"
"They'll get what's coming to them."
"They already have." She shook her head exasperatedly. Was he so blinded by his hatred that he couldn't see the fact that both families had already paid with blood? Young blood—innocent blood—that had been underhandedly drawn into the rivalry. "They lost a son."
"I lost two."
Those words hitting Genna was like an ice bucket of water being dumped over her head. Unable to stop herself, she violently shivered.
The phone rang again. Primo snatched it up to answer, ignoring the worried look that his daughter cast him. "Talk."
More icy silence.
"It's set?" Primo asked. "Good."
"Is what set?" Genna asked when he hung up the phone. "What are you up to?"
Primo cut his eyes at her. There, in the deep brown of his gaze, Genna saw the hatred. She saw the bitterness, the anger, and the need for vengeance. But nowhere, in the look he offered her, did she see any compassion. No understanding. No regard for the fact that she was in love with one of them, no regard for what they may be going through.
The Barsantis called her father callous. For the first time in her life, Genna saw it.
"What did you do?" Her voice shook, a terrified whisper. "Tell me."
"An eye for an eye," he replied. "A life for a life."
&n
bsp; "A son for a son," she whispered.
"A car for a car." Primo let out a short laugh, his attention on his glass of wine. "The sky in Little Italy will be lit up once again."
Genna's stomach sunk, the breath knocked from her lungs at those words.
The Lotus.
Shoving her chair back, Genna was on her feet without another word. Terror propelled her, pushing her toward the door as she ignored her father calling after her. She snatched her keys from the ring by the door before bounding out onto the porch, glancing around in frenzy, debating what to do as she pulled out her phone. She dialed Matty's number as she set out through the yard, straight toward where her car had been parked for the past two months, not driven.
The phone rang… and rang… and rang.
No answer.
Panicked, she jumped into the car and sped away from the house, distractedly weaving through traffic as she headed into Manhattan and toward Little Italy, dialing Matty's number again and again, hanging up as soon as she reached his voicemail before dialing it yet again. She refused to think it was too late… that she was too late. It couldn't be.
It fucking couldn't be.
She sped through the streets, passing cars illegally, not caring who she ran off the road. Anxiously, she ran straight through a red light, smashing the gas in an attempt to get through unscathed, the close blaring of a horn distracting her. She glanced back, terrified, and saw the car narrowly missing her rear end.
Genna breathed a sigh of relief, but it was short-lived. The moment she turned back around, she saw the glow of a pair of taillights right in front of her. Cursing, she slammed the brakes, but she hadn't been fast enough. The phone dropped from her hand, hitting the floor of her car, as she braced herself for impact.
Her body lurched, and she winced, slamming into the steering wheel as she skidded right into the back end of a car, nearly knocking it into an intersection. Heart hammering in her chest, she flung the door open to climb out, dizziness overwhelming her momentarily. The driver of the other car started to get out, but Genna was already gone.