Sweetest Sorrow (Forbidden Book 2) by J.M. Darhower Read Free Book Online Page B

you… awake ."
    The man looked like he hadn’t slept since the last time they saw each other. Dark bags lined his bloodshot eyes, fresh wrinkles marring his face. Primo always seemed ten-feet-tall and bulletproof to Dante. His father, made of the toughest material known to man, was untouchable, impenetrable, and infallible. Despite all he’d suffered, the man had never shown a single crack. But standing in front of Dante at that moment was somebody else.
    Standing in front of Dante was a broken man.
    Turning his head, Dante eyed the nurse, raising his hand and waving his red crayon. When he caught her attention, she grabbed the yellow pad and flipped the page to a fresh one, holding it up in front of Dante.
    He pressed the tip of the crayon to the paper and hesitated.
    He hesitated, almost like he forgot how to write.
    Like he wasn’t sure how to spell.
    He knew, of course. He knew exactly what he needed to write. But something stalled him, something that felt a hell of a lot like dread. The only time he ever felt fear anymore was when it came to his sister. When it came to her, he feared a lot , but mostly that someday, the time would come when he would let her down, when he’d fail at his most important job, when he wouldn’t be there to pay her back.
    After a moment, he spelled out her name, the letters wobbly, the red crayon faintly marking the paper, leaving gaps between the lines. The nurse raised the pad up when he finished, reading what he’d written out loud. “Genna?"
    The name hit Primo like a ton of bricks. Usually calm, collected Primo Galante flinched. It was a brief reaction before he pulled himself back together, a second where he’d let his guard down, not expecting to be hit with it all so quick. He cleared his throat, straightening his expression, as he stepped closer to the bed. “She’s not here."
    That was all he said.
    She’s not here.
    No explanation.
    Not that one was needed.
    Because Dante knew.
    He knew it as soon as the man flinched. That was confirmation. Her not being there was just a cyanide cherry on top of an already poisonous sundae. Nothing would’ve kept Genna away from there… nothing short of her being nowhere .
    Devastation rocked Dante. His stomach lurched, his chest burning, as bile tried to force itself up his blocked throat. He squeezed the red crayon so hard it snapped in half. He tried to remain calm, to hold it in, as his fingertips tingled. No. No. No . He chanted the word in his mind, willing himself to listen, but it was pointless.
    The ache was just too strong.
    His father spoke again, oblivious to Dante's reaction, rambling on and on about how elated he was, but it went in one ear and out the other, lost somewhere in the haze of hurt consuming Dante.
    Thirty seconds passed before the first alarm went off. The ventilator detected he was struggling and put out an alert that his breathing was wrong. Nurse Russo, halfway to the door, swung back around. Concerned eyes glossed over him as she darted for the machine. By the time she made it there, the heart rate monitor followed suit, acting erratic.
    Blinking rapidly, Dante felt the building tears. He tried to suck it up. He didn't want to cry. He wouldn't let himself do it. He'd survived torture without cracking. He couldn't have this be what broke him. He was stronger than that.
    Anger surged through his veins to the point that fighting was impossible. His body shook as the machines screamed, his chest on fire when he started hyperventilating.
    It was like sucking through a straw with a hole in it, getting nothing.
    "Dante?" Primo called out. "What's happening?"
    "You need to leave, Mr. Galante!" the nurse shouted at him.
    "Dante?" he said, ignoring her. "It's going to be okay, son."
    "Get out!" she barked as the glass door slid open, others rushing into the room. They surrounded Dante, and he wasn't sure if his father listened to the woman's order, because all at once, the world blurred.
    The haze swaddled him,