Italy, but she couldn't resist its appeal—she loved the deep-rooted culture, the locally owned shops and restaurants, the tight-knit feeling of the small neighborhood. So whenever she went—whenever they knew about it, anyway—Dante was always forced to tag along with her.
"So let me get this straight," Dante said, leaning back in the creaky wooden chair, pushing it up on its hind legs as he eyed Genna peculiarly. They were at Casato , a small café owned by the Amaros, another of the five New York families. The place was brightly lit from its vast windows, with a comfortable breeze blowing in from the propped-open doors. "You were stuck in an elevator yesterday and you didn't raise hell about it?"
"Nope," she said, lightly blowing into her cup of espresso. "There was no point."
"So who's the guy?"
"Excuse me?"
"Come on, for you not to flip out about something like that? There has to be a guy involved somehow."
Rolling her eyes, Genna took a sip of her hot drink. Am I that fucking predictable ? "You know, you sound just like Dad."
"So I'm right."
"No," she said defensively, eyes narrowed at his smug expression. He stared at her, disbelieving. After a moment, she sighed. "Well… okay. There was a guy."
"Ha!" His chair dropped back down on all four legs, the ear-splitting screech drawing the attention of people around them. "Knew it."
"It's different this time," she said defensively, setting her drink down. "This one is different."
"How so?"
"I, uh… I don't know." How could she explain something she hardly understood herself yet? Dante was always picking on her about the guys she went for, but this was nothing like before. "From the moment I saw him, I couldn't seem to look away."
"So, what, he's attractive? Whoop-de-fucking-do."
"No. Well, I mean, he is, but it's not just that. There's something about him. It's unexplainable. He looked at me, and it felt like he was consuming me… like my insides were too big for my body and I was going to combust, like my heart was going to explode."
Dante stared at her, eyebrows raised. "That's, uh… that's the stupidest shit I've ever heard."
His laughter, brash and amused, rang out. Annoyed, Genna flung a balled up napkin across the table at him. "I'm being serious, Dante."
"That's what makes it even worse," he replied. "Are you sure it wasn't acid reflux you felt? Heartburn can be a bitch."
She sneered at him, picking her drink back up. "You just don't understand."
"I don't," he agreed. "I fall in love every time I fall into a new pussy, but I've never felt that … and if I did, I'd get to a doctor, STAT. That's just not normal."
She ignored him, instead shifting her attention to the plate in front of her, and picked apart the rest of her lunch in silence. The day before still felt so surreal, and absolutely incredible, and her brother wasn't helping. At all. She felt ludicrous, swept up in something so outrageous, so all consuming. She hardly knew Matty, yet she felt like she knew him intimately, like she had somehow always known him. Maybe that wasn't normal, but there was no denying it.
He had been on her mind all night long as sleep evaded her. She'd stared at her phone, typing out messages to him, but promptly deleting them before hitting send. What could she say? Nothing felt right.
He stole all words from her, leaving her speechless. One thing was for certain, though: she was dying to see him again.
She finished her espresso before standing up and gathering her things. Dante was on his feet right away, tossing some cash down on the table for a tip, even though he hadn't ordered anything for himself. They strolled out of the café, into the cool afternoon. Italian flags flapped in the breeze, affixed to businesses, as red, white, and green decorations adorned the massive six-story buildings, canopies casting shade along the cracked pavement of the old sidewalks. People hung out on fire escapes, calling out to each other.
A few greeted Dante warmly,
Erin Hayes
Becca Jameson
T. S. Worthington
Mikela Q. Chase
Robert Crane and Christopher Fryer
Brenda Hiatt
Sean Williams
Lola Jaye
Gilbert Morris
Unknown