which is perfect, you know. I'm white, kind of... Italian is white, right?"
"Italians are Italian, dipshit," Genna said. "White is a color, and you're looking more like a latte than a carton of milk over there."
"I'm a hawk, though."
"I'm not naming my son Gavin."
"Why not?"
"Because I know a Gavin and he's a pain in the ass."
"Whatever," Gavin said. "Go ahead and name him something sissy, like Dante. I'm sure he'll grow up to be a real winner."
"I'm not taking that bait," Dante said. "Not worth it."
"I like a couple names," Genna said. "I've kind of been digging the name Corrado."
Gavin paled. "Like in Moretti?"
"Yeah, why not?" Genna shrugged. "Makes me think of a sweet little boy who likes Batman and reading."
"Or," Gavin said, "a not-so-sweet grown guy who likes shooting people and scaring the day lights out of everyone."
"Yeah, I don't think that's a good idea," Dante said. "Just... trust me on that. You'd be better off naming the kid Enzo."
Matty's back stiffened at the sound of that name on those lips. Enzo.
"Not that I'm suggesting it," Dante continued, handing the baby back to Gabriella. "I'm just saying, if you name him after someone, make it someone a bit more innocent."
Matty looked at Genna. They stared at each other in silence for a moment before a name seemed to click in his head. He saw it, too, as Genna's eyes widened.
"Joseph?" he suggested.
Genna smiled. "Joey."
Joey.
"Nice," Gavin said. "Now hit us with the last name."
Gabriella passed the still sleeping baby back to his mother.
"Do we have to give him a last name?" Genna asked. "Can't we Sonny & Cher that shit?"
"Why don't you hyphenate it?" Gabriella suggested. "Galante-Barsanti. He's both of you, both of those families. And separate, okay, you guys were kind of despicable, but maybe put together something good can come out of it."
"Joseph Galante-Barsanti," Genna mused, smiling down at the baby. "I can tolerate that."
Matty stared at them, feeling every inch of him warming, as he smiled. "So can I."
Epilogue
The air was comfortable, not a cloud in sight, as the vibrant sun lit up the bright blue sky. Peculiarly warm for a March afternoon, spring still a few days away, yet everything seemed to already want to bloom. The first inkling of it shone on the branches of the trees scattered all around, the subtle pops of green brewing as leaves started to grow. It had been a harsh winter, a fact that had nothing to do with snow. Harsh, because of the bitterness that had seized the city, because of the hurt it had caused, because of the blood that had been spilled.
A do-over, Gavin had once asked for. To Dante Galante, it almost felt like a rebirth—an ironic sensation, he thought, to feel at a funeral.
"Dad's going to haunt us for this, isn't he?" Genna asked, her incredulous voice low so not to interrupt the priest. "Like, he's seriously going to go all Poltergeist on our asses."
"Probably," Dante said, shrugging it off, because as far as he was concerned, his father's final wishes were irrelevant. They'd spent their entire lives doing the man's bidding, following his orders, putting their own needs second, and Dante refused to spend another moment of his life bowing down to Primo Galante.
The son of a bitch could haunt him if he wanted.
A joint funeral for former friends turned mortal enemies, men dead set on destroying each other facing the end together. Johnny Amaro had suggested it, a symbolic gesture putting the feud to rest once and for all.
Hundreds amassed together, a lot more than Dante had expected to come, although he suspected most weren't there to pay their respects. No, they just wanted to see the bastards put in the ground. He didn't blame them for it, but no one would get to see that part. The services were taking place on a grassy knoll along the edge of the cemetery, away from both of the families' plots, away from the wives and the sons who had lost their lives, allowing them the peace in death that life hadn't offered.
Two identical gold-toned caskets, indistinguishable, were set up in front of them, both sealed, so nobody standing there knew who was in which one, and Dante was grateful for it, because he didn't want to know. Afterward, after the crowd had gone home, they would be moved to their proper place, quietly buried with their families, but until then, it wasn't about them. No, it was about the ones they'd left behind,