"So did Gabriella, hence the might-not-be-my-girlfriend thing."
"Because she didn't tell you?"
"Yeah."
Genna munched for a moment before pointing her pickle at him. "Do you love her?"
"Yes."
His answer was instant.
Genna seemed taken aback, needing a moment to find words again. "Well, then, can I give you some advice? From someone who has experience with the whole 'being in a relationship' thing?"
"I'm not sure I want relationship advice from someone with your track record."
She rolled her eyes. "I'm giving it to you, anyway."
Dante waved his fork, telling her to continue.
"When the right person comes along, they're worth fighting for. They're worth the risk. You shouldn't let anything get in the way. Because shit happens, and people make mistakes, and things get messy and ugly and sometimes it all really hurts, but at the end of the day, they're worth it, because they make you feel something nobody else can. And it's better, I think, to ride a roller coaster with them than to stand on the ground alone, watching everyone else."
Dante forced a bite down. "You don't know her. How do you know she's the right person?"
"Seriously? She got you—Mr. Monogamy-is-for-Pussies—to commit. The girl's gotta be a miracle worker. She's a saint. Like, the Pope should literally give her Sainthood."
"He should," Dante agreed.
"So that's how I know," Genna said. "And besides, I've met her father. I'm intimately aware of the fact that he carries a gun, so I'm about seventy-six percent sure if you dump her, he's going to shoot you."
"Oh, yeah, he'll do more than shoot me."
"And I kind of like having you around," Genna said. "I just got you back in my life about twenty minutes ago. Don't fuck this up for me, Dante."
He stabbed at the food on the plate in silence, shoving it all around, as Genna ate another pickle. "Aren't pregnant woman supposed to eat those with ice cream?"
Her gaze darted right to him. "Oh God, ice cream."
She dashed from the room. Sighting, Dante dropped the fork and followed, leaving the plate there, wanting nothing to do with it. He stepped into the kitchen, seeing the freezer door wide open as Genna pulled things out, tossing them on the counter. "I doubt you're going to find any—"
Genna held up a black carton. "Ice cream?"
"That's gotta be at least a year old."
She shrugged. "It's been frozen."
Dante watched as she dished it out, handing a bowl to him. He grabbed a spoon out of the drawer before leaning back against the counter, glaring at the ice crystals coating the top of the chocolate ice cream. "It's freezer burned."
"Oh, quit your bitching." Genna struggled to haul herself up onto the counter, bowl in hand. "Seriously, I don't remember you complaining this much before. You used to be so agreeable. What happened?"
"I died."
"No, you didn't," she said. "And neither did I, for the record, which means our best-friendship pact is still intact, so I'm gonna need Gavin to take a seat on that one."
Dante smiled to himself as he swirled the ice cream around in his bowl, mixing it all together. "So, where are you staying?"
"I don't know," she said. "I was so focused on getting back to New York that I didn't really think about what happened afterward."
"Stay here," he said, shrugging.
"What about Matty?"
"What about him?"
"He needs somewhere to stay."
Dante swirled his ice cream around a little more ferociously at that. "I'm sure I can find a ditch somewhere for him."
"Dante…"
"I don't like it." Dante tossed the bowl down on the counter without eating any of it. "I don't like him. Not a fucking bit. There are few people I like less, frankly."
She narrowed her eyes, biting her ice cream, teeth clanking against the metal spoon. "Game's over, remember? World War Whatever has come to an end. He's the lone surviving Barsanti. Time for a peace treaty."
"I don't give a shit about him being a Barsanti. That's not why I hate him."
"Then why?"
"Because he fucked my little sister. He got her pregnant."
Genna rolled her eyes. "If it makes it any better, he married me."
"You married that asshole?"
"I mean, we had to use fake names so it's not really legal, but…"
"Good. That means don't have to go through the trouble of divorcing him, since it didn't count."
"It did count. It counted to me."
"And you call me crazy."
"At least I risk my life for love. You risk yours for nothing, going to Soho to see Barsanti, like you're welcome there or something."