a note," Matty said, pulling her to him. "Just leave me a damn note next time so I don't think you've been kidnapped."
"See," Genna said. "Told you he'd be mad if you kidnapped me."
"Good thing that'll never happen," Gavin said. "Don't want to upset your baby daddy."
"Ugh, see, that's it," Genna said. "Just when I think maybe I can grow to tolerate you, you throw out a word like that."
She headed inside, leaving the men out on the porch. After putting the leftover pizza in the refrigerator, she settled into the living room, turning on the television to the one channel that got reception. Cartoons. Matty and Gavin joined her after a bit, Matty plopping down beside her on the couch, still wearing just his boxers.
"Are you not putting any clothes on today?" she asked, eyeing him.
"Wasn't planning on it," he admitted.
Her gaze shifted to Gavin, who lingered right inside the room, watching them with a goofy grin. "He told you what we're having, didn't he?"
Gavin nodded, straightening out his expression. "Do you have a phone I can use?"
"What's wrong with yours?" Matty asked.
"Nothing, but seeing as I'm here, in what's pretty much your safe house, I'm not going to risk turning it on and having it ping my location, but I ought to check my messages."
"Good point," Matty said. "Didn't think about that."
"Complacent," Gavin said.
"My phone's in the foyer, on the stand by the front door," Genna said. "It's kind of ancient, but you can use it."
Gavin nodded his thanks, disappearing from the room. Genna leaned over, curling up against Matty. After a few minutes, a noise rang out from the foyer, a rush of footsteps followed by an engine starting.
Genna and Matty shared a look before she got up, walking that direction, finding her phone on the stand beside a small gift bag with a red bow on the side of it. She glanced out in just enough time to see Gavin's taillights as he sped out onto the highway, dust flying. Weird.
She walked back to the living room, carrying the present. "Gavin left."
"Without saying goodbye? Did he even say what he came for?"
"He said he needed to get away for a bit," she said, shrugging as she sat back down, shaking the gift bag in Matty's face. "I think he left us a present, though."
Matty took it from her, looking inside, and froze. "Huh."
"What is it?" Genna asked, snatching it back, digging through the bag. She pulled something out, holding it up, her insides twisting, her heart aching in her chest. A tiny white baby onesie, I love my uncle written on it with a red heart.
Chapter Nineteen
There was a certain unwritten rule in the business that was supposed to be non-negotiable, a rule that even the most rebellious mobster followed: bosses were not to be harmed.
A soldier never did anything without permission, and his boss would never sanction the death of another boss, not without a unanimous vote. The rule was designed to protect the delicate balance of power, but it didn't take into account there were more ways to harm a man than murder. Loved ones became surrogate targets. Innocent blood got spilled. Men were annihilated emotionally.
Murder might've been more merciful.
It was this rule that had kept Roberto Barsanti alive long after Primo Galante wanted him dead. For damn near twenty years, Primo had been seeking permission, calling meetings and asking for votes, but he came up short every time. There was always one holdout, one man who said there had been enough bloodshed.
Johnny Amaro.
The door to the house opened, animated voices streaming through the foyer. Primo stepped out of his office, greeting the half-dozen men coming into his home. His own little Helter Skelter crew, dressed in all black. The sun was rising outside, another day upon them, another night of anarchy over.
"There's food and drink in the kitchen," Primo told them. "Help yourselves."
The men scurried off, all except for Umberto Ricci, who lurked behind the pack although Primo considered him their leader. Something about his expression made Primo pause. He waited until the others were preoccupied to motion toward his office. "Join me, Umberto."
Umberto followed him without question.
"How did it go?" he asked, sitting down on the couch. "Did you handle it?"
Umberto nodded. "Amaro was at his cafe. We lit it up and then, well… lit it up."
"And you got him?"
"Had him," Umberto said. "He was hit and the building was on fire. There was no way he was getting himself out of