was late. Too late. The sun was starting to rise. Dante sensed it through the windows, despite the shades being drawn. He poured himself one last bit of whiskey, barely a swallow, standing there as he swirled it around in his glass.
"You did good."
His father's voice came from behind him. Dante threw the alcohol back, swallowing it, and set the empty glass down. "I did what I had to."
"You were always good at that," Primo said. "Never questioned orders. Never questioned me. I was proud. Proud to call you my son. Proud to call you my heir. And I'm still proud, Dante. Proud of the man you were. You could still be that man, you know."
Dante stared at him, those words running through him. "The day Genna—"
"I don't want to talk about it," Primo cut in. "I don't want to think about what she did."
"Just answer one question," Dante said, "and I'll never bring it up again."
Primo glared at him. "What's your question?"
"Why didn't you stop it?"
"Why didn't I stop it?"
"It takes forty-five minutes to drive from here to Little Italy. Forty-five. I've clocked that drive hundreds of times. If Genna ran out of here, heading for that car, for that bomb, why didn't you stop it? Why didn't you call it off? You had forty-five minutes."
Primo stood quietly as he thought that over. "I guess I didn't care enough to."
Those words were a punch to the gut.
"Collateral damage," he continued. "It happens."
Dante took a shaky breath. "She was your daughter."
"And Matteo was my godson," Primo said, "but it doesn't matter. Daughter. Godson. They're words. Genevieve, she was a lot like your mother. Too much like your mother. Bad judgment. They crossed lines that couldn't be uncrossed. Never wanted it to happen, but neither gave me a choice."
Neither gave me a choice.
Dread ran through Dante, turning his blood ice cold. "Mom died in a car accident."
"Funny how that happens, huh?" Primo turned away from him. "Since I answered your question, Dante, I expect you to live up to your end of the deal. Don't bring up your sister ever again. She's dead to us."
She's dead to us.
Dante just stood there after his father walked out, staring at the vacant doorway. His knees wobbled beneath him. His head was fuzzy. He damn near passed out. He'd always thought his father an imperfect man, but one who made mistakes out of love. He did what he did to protect the family, and Dante thought he'd inherited those flaws. But as much as Dante had woken up different, realizing the man he'd been had only been a facade, he knew wasn't the only one wearing a mask. He saw now that his father wasn't just flawed.
The man was cold and callous.
The man was selfish.
The man was dangerous.
The man needed to be stopped.
Gabriella stood in front of the hospital, sunshine streaming down on her through a part in the clouds. Despite that, the air was cold, winter coming on fast. It seeped through her scrubs, goose bumps springing up everywhere the air touched.
Most of the city that never sleeps still snoozed at that hour on a Saturday: a quarter after seven in the morning. Cars lined the curb, light frost covering windshields, but not a single one the car Gabriella expected to find.
She sighed.
Pulling her MetroCard out of her bag, she took the subway, almost falling asleep as she waited on the platform. By the time she made it to Little Italy, by the time her building came into view, she wanted to collapse right on the sidewalk face first, close her eyes and succumb to exhaustion, giving up.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
She felt stupid.
She knew better than to get her hopes up, to expect something from somebody, somebody who owed her nothing. Not their time. Not their attention. Not even their word. Disappointment flowed through her, a bitter pill to swallow. And it didn't help her self-loathing when she spotted the blue car parked across the street, in the same spot it had been in when she left the night before.
It hadn't moved an inch.
"Idiot," she muttered to herself after trudging up the stairs and unlocking her apartment. "You know better than this crap."
After relocking the door, she stripped and headed to her bedroom, sliding the room door closed and falling into her bed wearing nothing but a pair of tube socks and her white cotton underwear. Cuddling up with her pillow, she closed her eyes. Stupid.
She'd almost dozed off when buzzing echoed through her