my tongue," she said, slipping the screwdriver around the doorjamb, near the lock, surprised to find it already loose. "Uh, Matty?"
"Yeah?"
She popped the door open. "Someone has pried this thing open before."
He caught her arm to stop her. "Wait, it might not be safe."
She pulled away and walked right in. "Sorry, man, but I've gotta go. If someone wants to, like, stab me, they can do it after I'm done."
"Genna…"
Genna sprinted to the bathroom, relieving the pressure on her bladder. Closing her eyes, she clutched her stomach, a wave of pain sweeping through her—nothing alarming, but enough to be a nuisance. "Come on, kid, we can't do this right now. I need you to give me some time here before you try to make your grand entrance."
Matty passed her in the hallway when she stepped out, carrying a few bags of stuff they'd accumulated on the road.
"I'll get the rest," she said, heading for the car. She grabbed the last two bags, slamming the trunk closed. The moment she did, a swell of nausea ran through her. Blinking, she came face-to-face with a gun, a man clutching it that she didn't recognize.
He stared at her in stone cold silence. He was maybe twice her age, looking like Andy Garcia circa Oceans 11, sort of attractive but mostly like he might shoot her if she moved too fast. Mobster.
"Who are you?" he asked, his voice low.
"Depends," she said. "What answer won't get me shot?"
"Genna, did you get—?" Matty's question stalled when he stepped out of the house. The man glanced that direction, and Genna's mind moved fast. While most people had enough compassion to not harm a pregnant woman, especially one so far along, Matty was fair game when it came to target practice. Gaze darting around, she weighed her options, considering kneeing the guy in the junk, when Matty's voice rang out again. "Alfie?"
The man stared at him, his gun still pointed at Genna. "Matty?"
"Uh… yeah."
The man regarded Genna again. "I'm guessing that makes you the Bonnie to my nephew's Clyde?"
"Nephew?"
Matty took a few steps their direction, holding his hands up in front of him, like he wasn’t sure whether it was safe. "He's my mother's sister's husband, Alfie Russo."
"So… your uncle."
"Yeah."
"That's nice." Genna stared at the man. "Do you think your uncle can, like, not point his gun at me anymore?"
Alfie lowered the gun. "Sorry about that. Can never be too sure these days."
As soon as the gun was tucked away, Matty approached.
Alfie turned his way, a full-blown grinning taking over his face. "Jesus, Matty, talk about a sight for sore eyes."
He yanked Matty into a hug, beating him on the back before grasping his face, patting his cheek so hard he practically slapped him. Genna leaned against the bumper of the car, watching.
"You don't look surprised to see me alive," Matty said.
"Come on, you think we'd write you off? Knew it was only a matter of time before you popped up again. But this?" Alfie motioned toward Genna. "This is a surprise. What the hell, kid? Don't you know to wrap it before you tap it?"
Matty's cheeks turned pink. "Had a little slip up."
"I see that." Alfie squeezed his shoulder. "Your mother, God rest her soul, would be thrilled. A grandbaby."
"That makes one parent," Genna said. "The others, not so much."
Alfie cut his eyes at her, his expression falling. "Come on, let's go inside. Got a lot of catching up to do."
"Yeah, we'll get to him," Alfie said. "There's something else we should talk about, though. Something important. You'll want to sit down."
Genna didn't like the sound of that.
What was more important than her brother?
She followed them inside, plopping down on the dusty brown couch. Matty perched on the arm of it beside her, while Alfie sat in a chair, stretching his legs out, clasping his hands together in his lap. "You know the expression 'don’t shoot the messenger'?"
"Of course," Matty said.
"Well, I'm only the messenger here, so don't shoot."
Words came flowing out of the man, a wild story that started with a meeting and ended with three people dead: Roberto Barsanti, Primo Galante, and one of Primo's men. Genna stared at him in shock, trying to keep up with it all, her stomach churning. She swallowed thickly, tears burning her eyes. Don't cry. Don't cry. Holy fuck, don't cry. He tried to blow up the man you love. He wrote you off. He would've hated