She ran.
She ran until her legs burned and her chest felt like it was going to burst. She ran faster than she had ever run before, along streets she vaguely knew, past the music store and the old movie theater, Italian flags flapping in the night breeze above her head.
She ran, and she ran, and she ran some more.
But she didn't run fast enough.
The moment she turned the corner off Mulberry Street, a flash of shiny red caught her eye. The Lotus was parked just down from her favorite small café. Genna's breath hitched, her feet taking a few hurried steps that direction before she was brutally knocked backward by the blast.
BOOM
She felt it before she saw it, the vibration ripping through her before the loud bang tore through the neighborhood. The air was knocked straight from her lungs as she stumbled, the fireball shooting straight up in the air. The car exploded, disappearing in a mass of smoke and flames, metal flying as debris scattered, windows shattering in the vicinity.
The heat was so intense Genna's skin felt like it was ablaze half a block away. Inhaling sharply, excruciatingly, she let out a shriek of agony, the sound resonating deep down in her soul, unable to be contained within her body. She screamed his name, her voice painfully cracking, as the explosion consumed the car and ignited others surrounding it.
The streets erupted in chaos, the world around her in fast-forward while she was stricken by slow motion. Crying, tears coating her face, she dropped to her knees on the sidewalk and clutched onto her hair, eyes peeled on the blazing inferno where Matty's car used to be. People ran past her, knocking into her, moving around her as if she weren't even there. But Genna couldn't move. She couldn't speak. She couldn't breathe.
All she could do was stare.
Suddenly, abruptly, as a crowd descended upon the scene, Genna was grabbed from behind. Arms snaked around her waist, violently yanking her to her feet. Startled, her voice cracked as she shrieked and fought them away, but their grip was strong.
Breath tickled the back of her neck as their voice trembled, whispering to her. "Calm down, princess."
The voice washed through her, simultaneously sustaining her, while stealing away the last bit of her strength. Her body went limp, her head dropping as her hands clutched tightly to the arms around her. Her knuckles, bright white with strain, stood out strikingly compared to the dark ink coloring his forearms. "Matty."
He dragged her down the street, away from the madness, and straight into the café. The windows had been blown out, the restaurant deserted except for the two of them. As soon as they were inside, he let go of her. Genna turned, blinking rapidly as she took in the sight of his face, marked only by the remnants of past trouble. Hurriedly, frantically, she grasped him, feeling on his chest, assessing him to make sure he wasn't hurt. "You… you're here… you're okay! How? I saw it… the Lotus… I just saw it…" She frantically shook her head, so wildly her vision blurred. "I saw it!"
"Genna." His voice was strong as his hands firmly grasped her cheeks, holding her there, forcing her to look at him. "Calm down."
She stared at him, her thoughts frantically racing. "But… how?"
"Remote start," he said, raising his eyebrows. "Remember?"
Remote start. She'd picked on him about how unnecessary it was, having a button on his keys to start his car from far away. Pretentious bastard and his flashy gadgets. "Thank fuck you're so goddamn lazy."
Before he could respond, she threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around him. He hugged her back, holding her tightly and smoothing her hair. "My best friend died from turning a key in an ignition. I try to do that as little as possible."
Tears streamed down Genna's cheeks as he held her. "You're okay."
"Well… I'm alive."
She let out a shaky breath. "That'll do."
The adrenaline inside of her, shielding her from the pain, keeping her in shock, slowly started to wane. Every muscle in her body was tense, strained, her stomach cramping.
"We need to get out of here," Matty said quietly, letting go of her. "First we need to find a car and head for Jersey… then we'll take it from there."
Genna took a step back, wincing as her stomach clenched. Her alarm spiked again. "Wait, I have to tell you something."
"Can't it wait?" he asked.
She shook her head. "I don't think so. You should know. Before we do this… you should know."
"What is it?"
"I'm, uh…" She inhaled sharply, eyes wide. "I'm pregnant."
She wasn't sure how he would react, especially now—especially then—but she certainly didn't expect stone-cold silence. He stood there, a mere few feet in front of her, his expression blank, and said not a single word in response.
She eyed him warily. "Matty?"
He still said nothing.
"Oh God," she groaned. "Did I break you? Matty, for fuck's sake, talk to me, please."
"You're pregnant."
"Yeah."
"Are you…? I mean, you know…" He waved toward her stomach. "Is it…?"
"Is it… yours? Is that what you're asking me?"
"No." He blew out a deep breath. "I'm asking if you're okay."
"Oh." She clutched her stomach. "I think so."
"Okay then," he said, nodding. "Change of plans. First, we find a car, then we find a doctor… then we hit the road and never look back."
This is where the story ends, back where it began, lingering in a cloud of thick black smoke, heavy with the weight of misery.
Roberto Barsanti never believed he was to blame for anything that happened. He was merely protecting his family, avenging an attack that had been perpetrated against them on his oldest son's eighth birthday. A few times he had felt shame for certain unfortunate circumstances, although never strong enough to stop his quest for retaliation. His anger was too deep, the betrayal too serious, for him to just back away and forget about everything.
But standing on the corner in Little Italy that summer night, staring through the hazy air at the mangled frame of Matteo's car, he finally felt what had been missing all along.
Remorse.
The explosion had been felt for miles around in the form of a small quake, a vibration beneath their feet. Roberto would have been shocked had it not registered on the Richter scale with the way it seemed to rock his universe, shaking his last bit of stable ground.
He had nothing left. Nothing. Through it all, he had told himself it was for his family, for the Barsantis, but what was left of them now?
Nobody except for him.
He had no way to truly know, as he stood there, if Matteo had been in the car when it exploded. Fragments of it were scattered throughout the neighborhood, the sleek sports car resembling an aluminum can someone had carelessly crushed. Even if he had been inside, they may never know. But at that moment, all he could think was that God was punishing him for his sins, had stolen his boy from him in exchange for the one he had taken this very same way so many years ago.
A son for a son, indeed.
Roberto never believed in karma. It was why he had always been so quick to act, so quick to seek vengeance. He couldn't rely on the universe for retribution. He needed to go out there and get it himself. But he believed now.
He believed, and he grieved.
As Roberto watched all that was left of his world burn, a lone voice broke through the haze, dense with the same heartache that he felt constricting his chest. The desolate sound drew his gaze away from the inferno as the familiar man ran right past him, oblivious to his presence.
Primo Galante.
"Genevieve!" he shouted, frantically shoving his way through the crowd. "Where are you? Oh God! Genevieve!"
His voice broke, cracking the last time that he screamed her name. Roberto watched as officers tried to restrain the man, subduing Primo before he could break through the barrier surrounding the scene. He shoved them away, shaking, as he frantically looked around, still shouting her name, looking for her.
Their eyes met after a moment from where they stood, a few yards away from each other on the sidewalk. They had seen each other over the years, had sat in the same room a few times while dealing with business with the five families, but it was the first time he had actually looked his old friend in the eyes in over a decade, since their children were knee-high and still innocent to all of it.
Their children. Roberto saw the same fear he felt reflected back at him in Primo's eyes as they stared at one another in silence.
Unable to handle it, Roberto's gaze shifted past his old friend, down the frenzied block. Gavin Amaro, only son of the Amaro crime family, stood right in front of his family's café, a stunned expression on his face as he watched them. Gavin regarded the man warily as a lone question touched Roberto's lips, barely a whisper of words. "My son."
Slowly, hesitantly, Gavin nodded once before lowering his eyes, his gaze flickering toward the flames. He hadn't heart him, but he knew, and it was all the confirmation Roberto needed. He turned back to the demolished car, the heat from the raging fire lapping at him even from afar, making it feel as if his skin were melting. Numbness coated him, the shock washing away every shred of anger. He felt a strange connection with Primo Galante again, the man he had once considered his best friend, and then his mortal enemy. He would never forgive him, just as he would never forgive himself now, but it was over, as far as he was concerned. It had to be. Death was too good for Primo, just as he knew it wouldn't yet come for him.
They would have to live with their choices.
Someone approached Roberto then. He glanced beside him, seeing one of the Civello brothers, a look of sick shock on the kid's face as he viewed the chaos around Little Italy. He paused there, after a moment meeting Roberto's eyes. "Is that...? Was that...?"
Roberto didn't respond right away, turning his gaze back to the burning vehicle as the fire department tried to battle the intense flames. Somehow, this felt crueler than actually seeing your child dead. And all of Primo's children had been taken that way.
"We need to discuss Dante," Roberto said, his gaze once more seeking out his former friend as the man struggled, still screaming for his Genevieve.
Was she with Matteo?
Had the man killed his own daughter?
"What about him?" the Civello boy asked.
Roberto closed his eyes, his chest heavy from the regret building inside of him. "I'm considering delivering him back to his father."
There was a moment of odd quiet as the blood-curdling screams of desperation stopped. Reopening his eyes, Roberto watched as Primo dropped to his knees, his face a blank mask as shock seemed to set in.
"Whatever you want, boss. You want him delivered back, we'll deliver him." The boy hesitated before adding, "just one question, though."
Roberto turned away from the fire, away from the madness, and regarded him. "What?"
"Should we actually kill him first?"
Acknowledgements
First and foremost, I want to thank a man I've never met before… a man by the name of Chris Baty. You see, years ago Chris founded National Novel Writing Month, and this story right here? This was my NaNoWriMo book of 2013. So, on behalf of the countless writers out there, foregoing sleep and sanity to crank out a book in thirty days, I thank you for inspiring us and giving us the motivation we sometimes need.
Sarah Anderson, who was there from the very first word of this book, trusting me not to destroy her too much when I told her I was totally gonna Romeo & Juliet this shit… you deserve a gold medal for your patience and positivity when I try to flounce my own work. You're a brilliant writer. Never forget that, my friend.
Nicki Bullard, my best friend for more years than I'm willing to add up because it makes me feel super old… without you, I'd probably end up on a primetime TV special, the crazy cat lady that everyone thought was dead because she hasn't left her house in forever. Thank you for being my partner-in-crime and going on these crazy adventures with me. Love you to pieces, bitch.
I guess I should also thank Tony, the waiter at Chili's, who helped inspire a scene in this book when I asked for a ten-inch steak and he just would not let it go.
To my dad, for reading everything I've ever written, even when it was totally not his thing… thank you for being my biggest fan, even if I know you'll always prefer Stephen King. I love you. To my mama, the strongest person I've ever known… man, I wish you were here for all of this. I miss you terribly. To the rest of my family… my spawn, my brother, my sister-in-law, my niece/nephew, my aunts/uncles, all of you… I'm blessed to have been born into a family full of so many kickass people. I love you all.
Special thanks to Scott Hoover for the spectacular photo on the cover, and to Hollis Chambers for lending his gorgeously photogenic face, and to Ellie at Love N Books for making it all possible. Thanks to my amazing agent, Frank Weimann, for never forgetting about me, even when I'm off doing my own thing.
Much respect goes to Shakespeare, who didn't invent the concept of forbidden love, but who certainly wrote the most notorious star-crossed lovers of all time. (He did however coin the name "Jessica", which I happen to think is the best name of all time… not that I'm biased or anything).
Last, but certainly not least, thank you. Every single one of you reading this. Without bloggers and readers, none of this would even be possible. Because of you, I'm following my dreams. I'm eternally grateful for you taking a chance on my words.
J. M. Darhower, By Any Other Name
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