By Any Other Name (23 page)

Genna stood on the bottom of the stairs, staring at the lone word on the screen of her phone.
Alone
. It stalled her, her response slower than usual as she tried to think of something to say to him. What would make him feel better?
Nothing
.

You might feel lonely, Matty, but you'll never be alone.

As soon as she hit send, the front door opened and voices carried through the foyer. Glancing over, on edge, she saw her brother walk in, talking to someone right behind him. As soon as Dante stepped out of the way, Genna caught a glimpse of the face.

Ugh
. Umberto Ricci.

"Hey, sis," Dante said, motioning toward his friend. "You remember Bert?"

Bert
? Who the fuck willingly called themselves Bert? "Sure," she mumbled, turning her ringer to vibrate and slipping her phone in her pocket. "Bert and Ernie."

Dante laughed, nudging his friend. It didn't escape Genna's notice that Umberto's tanned cheeks flushed.

"Nice to see you again, Genevieve," he said quietly. "You look as beautiful as ever."

Her father stepped out of his office then, striding their direction. Primo faltered in the foyer, a grin lighting his face when he saw them standing there together.

"Umberto, I'm grateful you could join us for dinner," Primo said, greeting him warmly, shaking his hand firmly as he grasped his shoulder with his other hand.

"Thank you for the invitation," Umberto said. "It's an honor."

Genna scowled, watching as the two of them headed toward the dining room, her eyes narrowing at her brother as he lingered behind. Before she could even get out a scathing word, Dante held his hands up defensively. "Don't blame me. I was just as surprised as you."

This was the
last
thing she needed tonight. Groaning, she stepped off the steps and walked into the dining room. Only the usual place settings were put out, the normal five that adorned the table every night. Umberto took the one furthest from Primo—Genna's usual seat—and pulled out the chair beside it for her. She froze there, staring at the chair… her
mother's
chair.

Dante pulled out his own seat and hesitated, seeming to sense her dilemma, and started to speak out when Primo cleared his throat. "It's fine, Genevieve. Take the seat."

No. No. No.
She shook her head instinctively, catching Dante's eye. He motioned toward the chair, his expression urging her not to make a big deal about it. Frowning, she slid into the chair, on edge even more now.

It felt all wrong.

Her skin crawled through the prayer as Umberto clutched her hand tightly, his palm sweaty. Nervous. Genna yanked her hand back away, wiping it on the leg of her pants under the table as the men immediately dove into dinner. Genna's stomach protested even the smell of the lasagna. Her appetite had been missing since the very first text Matty sent her that day.

As her thoughts drifted back to him, she felt her phone vibrating in her pocket. Carefully, she glanced around the table, making sure the others were preoccupied before sliding it out and concealing it in her lap, seeing a new message from Matty.

Is there any way I can see you?

The question sent her insides into total anarchy, her stomach clenching as her heart skipped a much-needed beat, making her momentarily dizzy. She stared at the question, her mind working fast, trying to think of a way to make it happen, when her father cleared his throat. "Put the phone away, Genevieve."

She cut her eyes at him, seeing he was watching her with disapproval. "Sorry," she mumbled, slipping the phone back in her pocket as she picked up her fork and stabbed at her food.

This was going to be one of the longest hours of her life.

"So how's the volunteer work going, Genevieve?" Umberto asked, reaching for conversation.

She took a small bite, so to give the illusion of eating. "Volunteer work?"

"Your father said you've been volunteering at the soup kitchen this summer," he clarified. "Such a wonderful thing you're doing there, you know, helping people who need help. What made do wanna do it?"

"My desire to stay out of jail," she said. "A jumpsuit would do nothing for my figure, not to mention the color orange washes me out."

Umberto's brow furrowed, not understanding, as Dante let out a laugh. "It's not so much volunteer work as it is community service."

"Ah." Umberto nodded, seeming to understand. "Point taken."

"Although, it's not so bad," she said, shrugging. "Could always be worse."

Primo hummed contemplatively. "Where'd you learn to look on the bright side of things?"

From a Barsanti boy
. Instead of answering, she merely shrugged.

Again and again, as dinner wore on, they'd try to veer conversation toward her, and she'd deflect the best she could, having no interest in participating, all the while her phone continually vibrated with messages. The urge to read them nagged at her with every soft buzz, her leg bouncing under the table with anticipation for nine o'clock.

Dinner was always over then. He wouldn't keep her any later than that, right?

Oh God, he would.

A few minutes after nine, and Primo showed no sign of being ready to dismiss them. Genna was about to make up an excuse to slip away when an abrupt ringing shattered the air, silencing everyone.

The emergency line.

Primo instantly grabbed the phone, answering it with a brusque, "Talk."

Strained seconds passed as Primo listened on the line, finally ending the call without saying another word. He put it back away and picked up his fork to resume eating. He didn't appear distressed, a fact that relieved a bit of Genna's tension.

"So," Primo said after a moment. "Savina Barsanti is dead."

Genna froze. She knew it, had known it before any of them, but having her father announce it so casually, so coolly, was like a kick to her gut. Dante said not a word, not even looking up from his plate of food, as Umberto let out a low whistle. "Tough break. Always heard she was a good lady, you know, relatively speaking."

Roberto scoffed. "The only good Barsanti is a dead Barsanti."

The only good Barsanti is a dead Barsanti
. How many times had Genna heard her father say that? How many times had she
believed
it? The thought made her sick. A good woman was dead. A woman who had warmly welcomed Genna into her home.

She wasn't her last name.

Technically, she was a Brazzi, anyway.

The urge to say that was on the tip of her tongue, but her father continuing silenced her.

"We have the party this weekend, Friday night." An initiation party, Genna knew, although she scarcely got details. It had been planned long ago. "After that, we'll make our move."

"Our move?" Dante asked.

"Yeah, I think it's time we settle this once and for all," he replied. "And now that Matteo's back in town, it's the perfect opportunity to end them
all
."

Genna dropped her fork when he said that, giving up the façade of eating, the clanking metal drawing her father's attention right to her seat.

"Can I be excused?" she asked, pushing her chair back to stand up without even awaiting his response. She felt like she was going to puke. She needed out of that room.

"Sure," he said, waving her away. "You probably shouldn't be around to hear this, anyway."

Genna walked out, turning the corner, her footsteps faltering in contemplation. She stepped to the side in the darkened foyer, leaning back against the wall near the dining room door, her heart beating erratically as she pulled out her phone, retrieving her messages.

Even just for a minute.

I just need to see you for a minute.

I don't want to be alone right now.

After that were two missed calls and one more message.

Please.

The word made her heart ache. It came over thirty minutes ago.

"How are we going to do it?" Dante asked in the dining room, his voice low. "Got a plan?"

"Not yet," Primo said. "But I'll come up with one."

Sighing, Genna pushed away from the wall and started upstairs, dialing Matty's number as she went. Two calls went straight to voicemail, followed by three texts to him that went unanswered.

Where are you?

I'm so sorry.

I'll try to get away.

She paced around her room, her mind racing, unable to relax or get her stomach to stop churning. She was at it for so long her legs grew tired, her head pounding as she worked herself into a panic. Eventually, she heard the taletell sound of her brother's car starting up outside and speeding away from the house as he rode off to do God knows what in the streets of Manhattan. Genna crept out into the hallway then, listening at the top of the stairs as her father shuffled around the house, dismissing the staff before settling into his office and shutting the door.

When she heard the lock click into place, she knew he would be in there all night, preoccupied.

Mind racing, frantic, she hardly gave it a second thought. She slid on a pair of shoes and put her phone in her pocket before quietly tiptoeing downstairs. She slipped out the back door, knowing from experience it was easier to escape undetected that way.

As soon as she was outside, she was gone, hailing a cab the second she encountered one. The cabbie looked at her in the rearview mirror, raising his eyebrows curiously. "Where to?"

"The Place," she said. "It's a bar. Do you know it?"

"Absolutely."

Thirty minutes later, she climbed out of the back of the cab, tossing the man a wad of money and telling him to keep the change. She glanced around the neighborhood cautiously, keeping her head down, as she ducked right by the bar and through the second door beside it.

As soon as she stepped inside, she caught sight of someone on the stairs, a pair of eyes meeting hers right away.

Enzo.

Wrong Barsanti.

He paused, halfway down the steps, and blinked a few times as if caught off guard by her presence. Genna just stood there, frozen, her heart racing as she stared up at him. She wasn't sure what to say, or what to do. He stared at her, judgment clouding his expression.

"Well, well," he said after a moment, slowly descending the steps toward her. "Caught yet again on the wrong side of the tracks."

"I, uh…" She willed her voice to stay steady. "I'm just looking for Matty."

Enzo stopped when he reached the bottom of the steps a few feet from her, so close Genna could smell his cologne. It made her head swim, her stomach churning harder than ever before. He stared at her, not even a fraction of the warmth coming from him that she felt from Matty.

"Tell me something, sweetheart," he said, his voice dropping low. "What is it
really
you're doing with my brother?"

"Excuse me?"

"What kind of games are you playing?" he asked. "What are you trying to get out of Matty?"

"Nothing," she said. "I'm not playing any games."

"Bullshit," he spat, taking an abrupt step toward her, the sudden movement making her balk. They stood toe-to-toe, so close Genna could see how bloodshot his eyes were, unshed tears swimming around the edges. Warning signs went off in her head, but there was little she could do at that point. He was unstable. Edgy.
Grieving
. "You might have swayed my brother,
seduced
my brother, but you'll never convince me. I know your kind, Galante."

"But you don't know
me
," she said, mentally cursing the quake in her voice. "And besides, I didn't even know he was… that he's…"

"Well, he is," Enzo said, seeming to know exactly where she was going with that. "He's one of us, and you're one of them, and this game you're playing is over. Time's up, sweetheart."

Her eyes narrowed. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you have no business being here, and if you know what's good for you, you'll never come here again."

"I'm here for Matty."

"I heard you the first time," he said. "But Matty's not here, and you shouldn't be either."

Before Genna could respond, the door behind her started to open, unfamiliar male voices echoing through. She started to turn around when Enzo snatched a hold of her, throwing her against the wall into the darkened shadows. The air left her lungs in a whoosh, knocking the breath from her, as he shot her a stern look and held his hand out, wordlessly warning her to stay right there. She watched, stunned, as Enzo stepped into the doorway and blocked whoever was trying to come in.

"Hey, fellas," Enzo said, his voice casual. "I was just heading out."

"Your father told us to swing by," one of the guys replied. "Said we needed to come up with a plan for dealing with Galante's kids."

"Now's not the time," Enzo said. "I'll meet you in The Place in, say, an hour? We'll talk about it then."