Gabriella glanced up at the sound of her name, seeing Johnny Amaro approaching. "Uncle Johnny."
"What brings you to my little part of the world?" Johnny asked.
"Just thought I'd say hey to Gavin."
"It's nice seeing you cousins hanging out," Johnny said, squeezing her shoulder affectionately. "Family, you know, it ain't about a name. I always said it didn't matter what they called you… what mattered was what kind of person you chose to be."
Gavin laughed. "Too bad not everyone buys into your hippie-dippie shit, Pops."
"Yeah, too bad," he agreed. "They'd stop trying to blow up their kids if they did."
Johnny squeezed her shoulder again before walking away.
Gabriella glanced at her watch before clearing her throat. "I should go. I have to catch the subway."
"I'll walk you," Gavin said, grabbing his notebook.
Neither spoke as they walked down the block. Gabriella thanked him and headed down the steps, into the underground station, when Gavin called out to her. "Hey, about Dante…"
She turned, looking at him.
"Just be careful," he said. "He's been broken, and I'm not saying he can't be fixed, but just don't break off some of your pieces trying to put his back together, because then you'll both just be broke."
She shook her head. "You were right, Gavin."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah, you're terrible at giving advice."
"You got a death wish, don't you?"
The cracking of balls echoed through the room, nearly drowning out the sound of that question. Dante's gaze flickered from the green felt-covered table as he stood up straight, a familiar face greeting him, although he wouldn't exactly call it friendly, based on the judgmental eyes and serious scowl.
Rare expression to see on that face.
"Amaro," Dante said by way of greeting, looking back at the table to take another turn. He hit a solid red ball, sinking it in a corner pocket. "You come to throw away your money? Because I'll be more than happy to take it."
Gavin said nothing as Dante took another turn, slamming a blue solid in a side pocket but accidentally sending the cue ball down with it. Fuck. He motioned for the other guy to go, some cocky rich kid that went to NYU and had an ass-ton of his parents' money to blow.
"You know they all know your game by now," Gavin said. "They know how good you are, but they play you because they don't think they've got a choice. So it's not much of a hustle anymore… it's more like extortion at this point."
Dante shrugged. "It pays the same."
"I guess it does. Too bad you won't stay alive long enough to spend any of it."
The boy sunk one of his striped balls, completely missing the next—intentionally, by the look of it, the cue ball breezing right past the blue number ten. Usually that wouldn't annoy Dante, but something stirred inside of him, as the boy tried to step back, waving for Dante to go.
Dante grabbed him by the back of the neck, catching him off guard, and shoved him against the table, slamming his face against the worn, green felt so he'd look at the ball he missed. "I don't need your help, asshole. I can win on my own. So you hit this goddamn ball, and you sink it in that pocket, and then I'll take my turn."
"Okay, okay, I'm sorry!" the guy said when Dante let go of him. "My mistake!"
The guy hit the ball, sending it soaring, but it slammed the pocket at the wrong angle and bounced back out. Panicked eyes darted to Dante, but he shrugged it off. It wasn't worth the fight.
"Do you have some kind of brain damage?" Gavin asked. "Did they fuck you up so much that you forgot how things are?"
"There's nothing wrong with me," Dante said, taking his turn.
"I heard about your little field trip to Barsanti territory."
"You go there all the time."
"My last name doesn't typically get me shot on sight."
"On the contrary, it's never gotten me shot," Dante said. "Beaten, stabbed, and blown up? Sure. But nobody's shot me."
"First time for everything," Gavin said. "In fact, I'm tempted to shoot you myself just to get it over with. It wouldn't be hard. I doubt you'd even put up a fight."
Dante sunk the rest of his balls, back-to-back, before pointing at a corner pocket. The eight ball flew right into when he hit it, ending the game. He wasn't done there, though, sinking the rest of the balls for the hell of it.