it sometimes... the feel of the wheel beneath his hands, the revving of the engine, his foot pressing on the gas pedal as the car weaved through the city streets, offering the kind of freedom he'd always yearned for.
The freedom to just go.
Wherever. Whenever.
Ah, how he loved having that kind of control.
It wasn't the same, watching the world fly by from the backseat of a chauffeured black sedan. You see, the city looks different through thick, tinted windows. Less freeing. No longer the brave eagle soaring through the sky, he'd become a caged animal, shielded behind shatterproof glass, separating him from the rest of the wildlife that swarmed the concrete jungle. Harsh reality had put a leash around his neck, strangling him to the point where mere precaution twisted into irrational panic.
He'd gripped so tightly to his family after the explosion that had killed his Joey that what had been left of them slipped between the fingers of his clenched fists. His wife, dead, her car slamming into an overpass years ago. Dante, presumed dead, his car abandoned in an alley, blood splattered all over the driver's seat. And his daughter, his little girl, his beautiful Genevieve…
Primo couldn't yet bring himself to admit what might've come of her.
But as he stood out on Pier 76 at one o'clock in the morning, his gaze glued to the charred, twisted remains of a blood red Lotus Evora on the back of an NYPD flatbed tow truck tucked inside an open garage, police tape surrounding it as a forensics team scoured it for clues, he couldn't discount the truth.
Genevieve was gone now, too.
Maybe dead, maybe not, but regardless, he'd lost her.
There was no coming back from what happened.
The electronic gate to the right of Primo buzzed before shifting open. He tore his eyes from the crushed metal mess that had belonged to the Barsanti boy, instead turning toward the impound lot. He was there for one reason and one reason alone, and dwelling wouldn't do anybody any good.
Night clung to everything around him, casting shadows along the rows of seized vehicles. Primo shoved his hands in the pockets of his black slacks as he took a deep breath to conceal his nerves. He kept his chin up, his shoulders squared as a uniformed officer approached.
"Mr. Galante, thanks for coming out." The officer offered his hand. Primo's gaze darted to it before he looked the man in the eyes again, making no move to shake it. Not out of some sort of code of conduct, keeping him from being respectful to law enforcement.
His palms were sweaty.
He didn't want anyone to know.
"I appreciate the call," Primo said. "And the discretion."
"Of course," the officer said, dropping his hand. "Follow me."
They strode through the gated lot, to where the black BMW was parked in the back, a sunshine-yellow tassel hanging from the rearview mirror. Genevieve had graduated high school mere months ago.
Still so damn young.
A life wasted, and why?
Primo approached his daughter's car and glanced through the windows, his eyes skimming along the leather seats. Although it was dark, his vision obscured, the inside appeared pristine with not a hint of blood to be found. He stepped back, surveying the outside of the car. Besides a dent on the front end, some of the paint swiped off, it seemed unharmed.
"Minor fender bender," the officer said. "I ran the tag at the scene and it came back to you, so I figured you'd want to take care of it."
Primo nodded. "Off the record?"
"Always," the officer said. "Wasn't hard slipping it in under the radar. Everyone has been preoccupied with what happened in Little Italy tonight."
Primo's eyes drifted past his daughter's car, again seeking out the hunk of twisted metal tucked into the garage. "I bet."
"You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"
"What makes you think I would?"
"Call it a hunch."
Silence permeated the air as the men stared at each other. Yeah, Primo knew all about it. He'd felt the ground quake beneath his shoes. He still felt the devastation, his world imploding as the car exploded, because it had taken with it more than just a good-for-nothing Barsanti boy.
It had taken something precious to him.
Hope.
After a moment, Primo lowered his head, his shoulders hunching just a bit. He didn't humor the officer with a response.
"Do you have the keys?" he asked, staring out through the shadowy lot, his gaze sweeping along the cloudy sky, a gray haze blocking the moon, like thick smoke after a fire is doused.