as she headed down the block, smiling to himself when he caught her peeking back at him.
"She's cute."
That voice, right behind Dante, made the hair on his arms bristle, his back straightening. He turned his head, finding Umberto lurking. "Bert."
Umberto raised his eyebrows. "Girlfriend?"
"Friend."
"Does she have a name?"
"Of course she does."
Umberto stared at him, like he expected more. In the past, Dante would've offered it. Girls used to come in and out of his life, weekend flings that he'd flippantly talk about, because they never meant much. They knew they didn't mean much, although he was sure a few hoped he'd have a change of heart, but he never did, because his heart had nothing to do with it. Too much scar tissue covered his chest for any of them to break through.
But her?
She was different.
She'd gotten in.
There was no getting her back out.
"Wow," Umberto breathed, realizing Dante had no intention of sharing with him. "Okay, well, your father wants to see you."
"I'm busy," Dante said.
"It's not a request," Umberto said, nodding toward a black sedan parked along the curb a few spots down, all the windows tinted so he couldn't see inside. "So let's not make a thing out of this, okay?"
"And if I choose to make this a thing? If I don't get in that car?"
"You don't want to play it that way."
"What are you going to do, Bert? Drag me over to it? Throw me in the back? Hold me down? Put a fucking knife in my side?"
"Come on, man…"
"Because that's what Barsanti did," Dante continued, "so it wouldn't be the first time."
"Just get in the car, Dante." Umberto ran his hands down his face. "It'll be over before you know it and you'll be back to whatever-her-name-is, doing whatever the hell you've been up to all this time."
Dante considered it. He wanted to refuse. He wanted Umberto to try to force him. He knew the guy's weaknesses, where he was most vulnerable. There was no way in hell Umberto would get him in that car without adding some serious firepower to the equation. But Dante also knew his father. If the man was calling him in, he wouldn't take no for an answer. If Umberto failed, he'd just send others.
Frankly, Dante was surprised it had taken the man so long to come for him. Time passed. He'd missed Thanksgiving. December had snuck up on them, Christmas right around the corner. He hadn't been back to the house, hadn't had a damn thing to do with the Galante family since the trip they'd taken to Jersey.
He sure as hell didn't want to go then, but his options were limited.
Sighing, Dante shoved past him, strolling over to the car. Umberto followed, opening the back door and nodding for him to get in.
One of Primo's usual drivers sat behind the wheel, not acknowledging Dante. Umberto slid in beside him, the car pulling into traffic. The forty-five minute drive felt like hours, the sun setting along the way. Dante stared out the side window, anger stirring, mixing with a bit of trepidation. That obedient soldier inside of him was sweating.
The tension in Dante's muscles grew when they reached the house. Cars surrounded the property, a sea of black sedans. Dante's eyes scanned the place in the darkness, on edge.
"Inductions," Umberto said, answering his unasked question. "Party started twenty minutes ago."
Shit.
Dante got out and hesitated. Twice a year, they opened up the books, inviting a few select guys to join the organization. The night always involved a lot of ass kissing, and Dante didn't have it in him. The last time they'd had one of these, he'd found a Barsanti hiding in his sister's closet, a Barsanti he almost killed that night. One he probably should've killed that night. Had he pulled the trigger, had he told his father, his sister would've never forgiven him, but at least she would've still been around.
Had it already been six months?
Umberto approached the house, and Dante followed, seeing his father standing on the front step, waiting.
The man wore a straight black three-piece suit, while Dante had on jeans and a sweatshirt.
"He give you any trouble?" Primo asked, his eyes on Dante, but that question was meant for Umberto.
"No," Umberto said. "He got right in the car."
"Good." Primo motioned for Umberto to go inside, waiting until they were alone before addressing Dante. "You haven't been answering my calls."
"I lost my phone."
Primo's eyes studied Dante's face, looking for signs of deception, but he stood still, stoic,