Sempre (Forever) (11 page)

*  *  *  *

Carmine knew Haven was avoiding him again… he just couldn’t figure out why. He thought they’d had a good time hanging out together, but she was playing some backward game of hide-and-seek, one where she hid and hoped like hell he didn’t seek her out.

He tried to wait it out, giving her time to relax, but it wasn’t working and he was low on patience. It was around two o’clock in the morning when his frustration boiled over. Insomnia plagued him, so he set down his guitar and strolled over to her bedroom. Debating briefly, he tapped on the door. Her light was on but she didn’t answer, so he knocked again and waited.

After the third time, he walked right in.

Haven lay across the bed on her stomach, wearing a pair of black shorts and a tank top. Carmine could see the rise and fall of her body as she breathed, deeply asleep with a smile on her lips. He wondered what she could be dreaming about to make her look so content but tried to push that thought away. The girl wouldn’t come near him, so why the hell should he care?

The dark clothes made her appear fragile. The marks on her face were gone, but as he stood beside her bed, he could see her skin was riddled with scars. He stared at them for a moment before his eyes drifted to a crinkled piece of paper on the floor. He picked it up and straightened it out, gaping at the drawing. His own face stared back at him, so intricate it was like staring in a mirror.

Haven sighed in her sleep as Carmine balled up the paper and put it back on the floor. Reaching out, he brushed some wayward hair from her face, not realizing what he was doing until it was too late. She stirred and he pulled his hand away, knowing he needed to get out of the room before he woke her.

*  *  *  *

Carmine strolled downstairs the next afternoon, still exhausted and sore from the game. Groggily, he headed toward the kitchen but hesitated in the foyer when Haven stepped into the doorway.

He ran his hand through his messy hair, having not bothered to brush it yet. “What’s up?”

“Nothing.” She glanced around cautiously. “Is there something I should be doing?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. You tell me.”

“Are you hungry? I could make you some food.”

“No.”

“Do you need laundry done?”

“No.”

“I’ve cleaned,” she said. “I don’t think I’ve forgotten anything.”

“I wasn’t implying you did. I was making conversation.”

“Oh.”

She continued to stand there, looking at him with apprehension. For a brief moment, as the tension mounted, he regretted getting out of bed. “Look, let’s watch a movie or something.”

She seemed startled by his suggestion. “Okay.”

“Is that an, ‘okay, I really wanna watch a movie with you, Carmine,’ or is it an, ‘okay, I’ll do whatever the fuck you say because I think I have to?’ Because you can disagree with me, you know. I’m not gonna punish you or hit you or any of that shit. You can even yell at me if it’ll make you feel better. I mean, I’ll probably yell back, but I’m not gonna get physical. So feel free to tell me to fuck off if you want me to fuck off, but don’t just say ‘okay’, because I don’t know what you mean by it.”

“Okay.”

He shook his head—they were getting nowhere. “I’m gonna sit my ass down on the couch. Whether or not you join me is up to you.”

He headed for the family room when she spoke again. “Do you want something to drink?”

His footsteps stalled. “Uh, sure.”

“What do you want?”

“Just a Cherry Coke will be fine.”

“Cherry Coke?”

Sighing, he ran his hands down his face in frustration. It was too early in his day for this. “Yeah, you know, it’s cherry-flavored Coke. Hence the name, Cherry Coke.”

She nodded and slipped into the kitchen. Carmine went to the family room and turned on a movie. It was still for a few minutes before he saw movement from the corner of his eye. Haven stopped in front of him, purposely avoiding his gaze as she held out a glass of soda. He took it as she sat down beside him, keeping a bit of distance between them.

He surveyed the drink with confusion, wondering why she hadn’t just brought him the can, when he caught sight of the cherries floating in the glass. He took a sip of it, realizing she’d
made
him a Cherry Coke.

Dazed, he couldn’t find the words to tell her what that meant. His mom used to make them for him when he was a kid. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Haven watched the movie intently, pulling her feet up on the couch with her head cocked to the side.

“Have you seen this?” Carmine asked. She just looked at him like it was a dumb question. “You’ve spent some time with my brother, so I don’t know if you watched it him.”

“I haven't watched anything with him,” she said. “This is the first time I’ve ever been invited to watch television.”

His brow furrowed. “You don’t watch TV?”

“No, I wasn’t allowed, but I used to listen to the news.”

“How the hell did you pass the time? Reading?”

“I wasn’t allowed to do that, either. They didn’t think it was appropriate for me to learn how to read.”

He gaped at her. “Teachers constantly shove books down my throat, and you had people telling you reading was inappropriate? That makes no sense.”

She smiled sadly. “They didn't want me to get any ideas.”

“Ideas? How much harm could a book do?”

“A lot,” she said. “They thought I'd get it in my head that the outside world was somewhere I belonged.”

“The outside world? You make it sound like you were living in a different universe there.”

She shrugged, her attention still fixed on the TV. “Sometimes it feels like it.”

*  *  *  *

The 45-foot white Riviera yacht floated on Lake Michigan, just east of the vacant Navy Pier. The glow from the moon reflecting off of the calm waters gave Vincent enough light to see. Nothing but blackness was visible below the surface, but he’d been around long enough to know what was down there. Algae. Mussels. Fish. Shipwrecks. Sunken cars.
Bodies
.

Yes, he was aware of four people who lay at the bottom of the lake… or what was left of them, anyway. They’d been tossed in right where he stood, from the back of the hull of
The Federica
. The words were etched in black on the stern, named after the Don’s long-dead sister. The half-million dollar yacht was Sal’s, although as far as the government knew it belonged to Galaxy Corp, a company out of Chicago that manufactured GPS chips. It was a cover for his more shady business practices, most of his real estate and extravagant possessions written off as company property. That way, if the IRS came knocking, he wouldn’t have to explain how he could afford such nice things. He was simply borrowing them.

Tax evasion—Vincent almost admired how Salvatore made manipulation an art.

A throat cleared behind Vincent. He remained still, staring out at the water as Sal approached. “Motion sickness?”

Vincent wished that was his problem. “No, just enjoying the view.”

“It’s quite nice out here, isn’t it? Peaceful.”

He nodded. Peace wasn’t something he got to experience often, and now that he’d been interrupted, he’d lost it once again.

Sal clapped him on the shoulder. “Come inside. Our guest is waiting. I’d like to get this over with and get back to land.”

Vincent begrudgingly followed Sal, seeing the two men sitting on the black leather couch as soon as he stepped into the yacht. One he was well acquainted with—his brother-in-law Corrado.

Corrado was a man of few words, his silence often speaking volumes.
Mezza parola
, they called it.
Half-word
. He could hold an entire conversation with nothing more than a nod of his head.

A few years older than Vincent, Corrado’s thick, dark hair showed no sign of gray. It had a slight curl to it that gave him a boyish look. He was sturdy, lightly tanned and statuesque. Women tended to find him attractive, but he’d never shown any interest in any of them except for Celia. Corrado’s mind was always on business, and nothing ever slipped past him.

Despite the fact that they were family, the sight of him put Vincent on edge. Corrado’s presence meant something was terribly wrong, but the boy beside him hadn’t been around long enough to learn that. He thought he’d been invited tonight to be inducted, but that couldn’t be further from the truth.

The boy was jittery, and the doctor in Vincent surmised that he was on something. Cocaine, he thought, but it wouldn’t surprise him if it were meth. He’d seen too much in his life to be surprised by anything anymore.

Salvatore looked at the boy. “You’ve been doing things for me for how long now?”

“A year.” Excitement radiated from his words, pride for the work he’d done. He wasn’t much older than Vincent’s children, which meant he’d gotten involved the moment he turned eighteen.
Dumb young Turks
.

“A year,” Salvatore repeated. “From what your
Capo
says, you’ve pulled in quite a bit of money for us… more so than a lot of the guys working out on the streets.”

“Yeah, man. Just doin’ my part, ya know? Gotta make that paper.”

From the corner of his eye, Vincent saw Corrado grimace.

“I also heard you’ve been asking about getting more responsibility,” Salvatore said. “You think you have what it takes to join our ranks? You think you’ve earned your button?”

“Hell yeah,” the boy said. “I’ve been ready since I was born.”

Salvatore pulled out a bottle of scotch, pouring four glasses. Vincent stood back, swirling his in the glass as the rest of them drank heartily. There was laughter and music as time wore on, and Vincent listened as the boy bragged about the jobs he’d done. Hijackings and robberies, shake-downs and gambles, but never once did he mention where the bulk of his cash came from.

“Drugs,” Vincent said, interrupting. He was tired of the charade and ready to leave. “You forgot about the drugs.”

The boy blanched. Even working at such low ranks, he knew
Cosa Nostra
’s policy: Don’t get caught. Ever. “What drugs?”

“The drugs you’ve been selling out of your house,” Vincent said. “We have an insider who says the police have already caught wind of the location.”

“I, uh… I haven’t…”

He didn’t have time to try to come up with an excuse. Corrado reached into his suit coat and pulled out his gun, pointing it at the side of the boy’s head. Vincent looked away as Corrado pulled the trigger, the silencer muffling the sound of gunfire as the bullet tore through his skull. The room was void of emotion, no one reacting as Corrado returned his gun to his coat. Sickness stirred within Vincent, and the moment he saw the dead kid’s frozen expression of fear, he lost his hold on himself. He bolted from the room, running to the deck and throwing up over the side of the yacht.

Sal joined him after a moment, eyeing him strangely, and Vincent sighed. “I guess the motion sickness got me, after all.”

Corrado dragged the body up on deck, wrapping it in a tarp and heavy chains before tossing it overboard. Vincent watched as the boy sank, disappearing into the blackness of the water.

Make that
five
people he knew of on the bottom of the lake.

Chapter 7

The moment Haven opened her eyes the following Saturday morning, she knew something was wrong. Her head was thumping, and her throat burned as she swallowed back bile. Sickness rushed through her like a waterfall, and she jumped out of bed, running for the bathroom. She collapsed in front of the toilet just in time.

An hour passed before she was well enough to get to her feet. She was a mess, her clothes wrinkled and hair disheveled as she made her way downstairs. On the second floor, she came face-to-face with Carmine and a girl with wildly colored hair. “Haven, this is Dia.”

Haven’s voice was strained. “It’s nice to meet you.”

She’d seen Carmine a few times the past week. She could never tell what he was thinking, his expression curious as he gazed at her. The attention caused her heart to swell with that unknown sensation, one she was still too afraid to confront or name.

Bolting from them, she almost fell down the steps in haste as she went straight for the kitchen. She tried to calm her racing heart as she washed a few dishes, but an unexpected voice from the doorway only startled her more. “Hey!”

The glass she was holding slipped from her hand as she turned around. “Uh, hello.”

Dia raised her eyebrows. “Are you okay?”

Haven stared at her. Of course she wasn’t okay. She was all alone and missing her mama, so confused and emotionally spent that she didn’t know which way was up anymore.

“I’m okay,” she whispered, looking away from Dia. She took a few deep breaths, feeling sick again, and headed for the stairs without another word. Breathing heavily, she had to pause when she reached the top of the staircase. Her vision blurred, her chest burning as she lost her breath. Everything grew hazy, and she heard footsteps behind her as her legs gave out.

Collapsing, her head slammed into the wall as her body hit the floor with a thump, the sound of a freight train rushing through her ears before it all disappeared.

“Haven?”

The familiar voice was incredibly close. Haven pried her eyes open at the sound and could make out the set of green eyes hovering in front of her. She blinked a few times as Carmine backed away. “
Maledicalo
! You can’t do that to me!”

Confused, her vision blurred again from tears. “What?”

“You can’t pass out like that,” Carmine said. “You looked like you were dead. Christ, I thought you were dead!”

“Oh.” She fainted?

“Dom called my father to come check you out. You hit your head pretty hard. You have a bump.”

He brushed his hand across her forehead, his fingertips cool against her feverish skin. He spoke, his voice so soft she barely heard it. “
Bella ragazza
, you scared the shit outta me.”

She gazed at him. “What does that mean?”