Sempre (Forever) (31 page)

*  *  *  *

Nine men. Nine guns. Almost ninety bullets. One delivery truck full of electronics. This was not how Vincent had expected to spend his Saturday night.

They were outnumbered two-to-one. A run-of-the-mill glock was pointed at Vincent's chest while he stared down the barrel of a Beretta. The man with the glock's hand shook, telling Vincent he was nervous. For that reason, Vincent chose to aim his revolver at the other one. If Vincent had learned anything, it was that a man with a steady hand had experience pulling a trigger.

Corrado stood a few feet away, his pistol pressed to Ivan Volkov's forehead, while Ivan's gun was shoved against Corrado's chest. The two men stared at each other, neither one moving or speaking. Corrado seemed unaware of everyone else, and Vincent wasn't sure if that was good or bad.

Giovanni was holding his own, his hand steady despite the two armed men zeroing in on him. The last man, a young guy in a sweatshirt and holey jeans, wildly scanned everyone with a sawed-off shotgun.

The box truck idled, the cramped alley filling with the thick, suffocating fumes. It burned Vincent’s nose and distorted his vision, but he fought to keep his focus. They’d been called out by Sal a few minutes earlier, saying a truck Giovanni’s crew had hijacked on the east side of the city was stolen from them by a few thugs. They’d tracked it down, expecting to find amateurs, but were stunned to come head to head with the Russians again.

The man in the sweatshirt was the first to crack. He lowered his weapon and frantically took a step back. Shaking his head, he wordlessly ran out of the alley. Before he reached the corner, the man with the glock took a few steps away.

One-by-one they surrendered, their lack of loyalty to each other astounding. They’d all fled, leaving just the three of them and an unruffled Volkov. There was no fear in his expression, no concern in his eyes. He didn’t even appear surprised that his men had abandoned their posts.

They were nothing like the Italians, Vincent thought. If one of them abandoned
la famiglia
, they wouldn’t live to see another sunrise. Sal would make sure of it.

After a moment, Volkov lowered his gun and slowly took a step away from Corrado. Slipping the weapon back in his coat, he sighed exaggeratedly. “You may have the truck,” he said, as though he was simply being gracious under the circumstances. He started to walk away, but Corrado stepped in his path to stop him.

“Next time I see you, I’m going to kill you.”

Volkov paused. “Is that a threat?”

“No, it’s a guarantee.”

A tense second passed, then another, and yet another. Finally, Volkov’s face flickered with the hint of a smile. “I look forward to our next meeting, Moretti.”

*  *  *  *

Haven sat on Carmine’s bed, the copy of
The Secret Garden
opened in her lap. Carmine strolled through his room and kicked a schoolbook lying on the floor, stubbing his toe. He yelped as he grabbed his foot and plopped down on the bed beside her.

The jarring made her lose her place, and the book closed as he pulled it from her hands. For a brief second, a smidgen of irritation flared inside of her at being interrupted, but it went away when he laid his head in her lap.

She ran her hand across his cheek, gazing down at him with a smile as he spoke. “I need a favor. And not just any favor—a huge favor.”

“What?”

“My bedroom needs cleaned.”

She jolted them both with her laughter. “Yes, it does.”

Haven ran her fingers through his hair, and he sighed contently. “Tomorrow, though. Cleaning can wait.”

“I look forward to it.”

He chuckled. “You should be terrified.”

“Very little scares me, Carmine,” she said playfully. “I think I can handle cleaning your mess.”

“If this doesn’t frighten you,” he asked, motioning around the room, “then what does?”

“Losing you scares me,” she said.

He stared at her for a bit before sitting up and pulling off his shirt. Grabbing her hand, he pressed it gently to his chest. His skin was warm to the touch, and she could slightly feel his pulse pounding against her palm. “Do you feel that? I’m not going anywhere, Haven. This is yours.”

Her eyes welled with tears, one spilling over and running down her cheek. “What are you afraid of?”

“You being hurt because of me,” he said. “I’m afraid my father’s gonna take you away someday when I’m not around to stop him, or something’s gonna go terribly wrong when I try to steal you.”

“Steal me?”

He smiled. “Not steal, per se, so don’t panic. But I’m gonna find a way to get you out of this situation.”

She fought back the hope that threatened to swell through her. Slaves weren’t freed—they were used and discarded when their time was up. They knew too much just to be let loose into the world.

“There is no way out,” she said after a moment. “This isn’t just a phase. This is my life.”

His face clouded with anger. She pulled her hand back from his chest as his sharp voice cut through the room. “Don’t ever say that.” She stared at him as he took a deep breath. “I’m trying not to be upset, but you can’t say shit like that. You can’t give up like that. There’s an entire world out there that you’re gonna have to fight for. You have to trust me, and you can’t just say it’s pointless, because it’s not. Am I pointless to you?”

“No way!” He was everything to her. “Not at all.”

“Am I worth fighting for? Because if you’re not willing to fight, tell me now. I’m fully prepared to do whatever it takes, but I’m not gonna do it if you’re not even gonna try.”

“Of course you’re worth fighting for,” she said, her trembling hand cupping his cheek.

“Then don’t say that, okay? I’m serious about us. And Christ, I’m sorry I’m yelling, but it upsets me when you put yourself down.”

“It’s just not easy to have hope,” she said.

“You think I don’t know that? But you have to have some faith in me. In us.”

*  *  *  *

For the first time in weeks, nightmares filtered into Haven’s unconscious. It started as brief flashes of her life, images of her mama that were hard to see. She was a long ways away, and it felt like a lifetime ago since Haven had heard her voice.

It morphed into violence, the punches and slaps and kicks and shoves. And the blood—oh so much blood—as she stared at Number 33 on the floor. She wasn’t dead this time, her eyes blinking as her blood poured out onto the floor.

“Save yourself,” she said, her voice an icy breath. “You can’t save me. It’s already too late.”

Haven sat up as she regained consciousness and glanced around the dark room, suddenly queasy. She stood up on shaky legs when her stomach settled and slipped out of the bedroom. Carmine wasn’t anywhere on the third floor. She made her way downstairs to look for him, the house eerily silent, but as she hit the first floor, she heard the faint music.

It was haunting and dark, laced with sadness as it echoed through the house. She walked slowly toward the family room and glanced over at the window, spotting Carmine sitting in front of the piano. His posture matched the melody, his body collapsing in on itself as the music grew louder from him furiously pressing the keys.

Haven sat down in the doorway and leaned against the wall in the shadows, watching him play in a trance. She was completely mesmerized hearing so much emotion pouring from his fingertips. It was the same tune in a continuous loop—as soon as it would wind down, he’d start it right back up again.

She recognized it. Though it was different in tone, the notes louder and fluid on the piano, it was the same song he strummed on his guitar at night.

Her eyelids grew heavy as she listened, but she fought them, captivated by the music. She eventually lost the battle, and the next thing she knew she was being jolted around. Her eyes snapped open, startled when her gaze fell on Carmine. They were on the second floor, and he was cradling her in his arms. She gave him an apologetic look, hoping he wasn’t upset she’d spied, but he merely smiled. “We have beds. You don’t have to sleep on the floor.”

“I heard you playing but didn’t want to interrupt.”

“You could’ve,” he said. “And I’m sorry I yelled at you earlier.”

“It’s okay,” she said, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“No, it’s not okay,” he said, exasperated. “It will be, though.”

Chapter 20

An array of foods covered the stove, eggs and pancakes, with bacon frying in a pan. Haven was chopping fruit when Dominic bounded into the room, grabbing something to drink before leaning against the counter a few feet from her. “Have a good date yesterday?”

She nodded. “It was great. He took me to dinner and a movie.”

“Wow,” he said. “Carmine’s never actually taken a girl out before, so I didn’t know if he even knew what a date was. I was worried he thought it consisted of balling a girl in the park and buying her a happy meal when he was done.”

She glanced at him with confusion. “What?”

“What part didn’t you get?”

“Balling a girl?”

Before he could respond, a throat cleared from the doorway. Haven swung around to see Carmine. “What are you, the police?”

Dominic shrugged. “I was just curious.”

“Whatever, I know how to treat a girl,” he said defensively as he glanced at Haven for confirmation, clearly not believing his own words. She nodded reassuringly, and he smiled. “See?”

Dominic laughed, reaching over to grab a piece of bacon. Without thinking, Haven smacked his hand. Dominic gaped at her. “Did you just hit me? Because I seriously think you did.”

Haven was disturbed by her behavior, but Carmine just laugh as he wrapped his arms around her. “Serves you right, Dom.”

Dominic grinned, snatching a piece of bacon anyway. “I’ll tell you what—it takes some guts to get between me and my food.”

*  *  *  *

After breakfast, Haven stood in the doorway of Carmine's bedroom. She was exhausted from broken sleep, her stomach full from eating, so she wanting nothing more than to take a nap. She knew one wasn’t in her future, though. There were much more pressing things to deal with at the moment.

Scanning the mess, Haven contemplated even where to start.

“Look, I have no idea what you might find,” Carmine said. “I’m gonna apologize in advance for it all, so I don’t have to keep saying it as we go.”

He walked over to his dirty clothes and started tossing them all in his hamper as Haven tentatively made her way through the room. “Don’t you want to separate them?” she asked.

He froze, holding a pair of pants. “Separate them for what?”

“So I can wash them,” she said, deciding to clarify to make it easier on him. “A pile of whites and a pile of colors will work.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, mock-saluting her. Her smile fell, and he sighed as he saw her expression. “I’m just kidding around. I can handle separating clothes... just forgot I was supposed to.”

He dug the clothes back out of the hamper and made two piles as Haven picked up his schoolbooks. She set them on his desk, trying to shift the stacks of paper around to organize it a bit.

“So, uh…” Carmine held up a white shirt with navy blue stripes. “Would you consider this a color or a white?”

“It’s a color,” she said, looking at the piles. “That white shirt with the green design on the back is a color too.”

Carmine picked up the shirt and tossed it on the other pile. “How can you tell? It looked white to me.”

“The tag says not to use any bleach.”

“You read my tags?” His voice was serious and low, like they were discussing something scandalous.

She smiled. “Yes, I read them when I did your laundry.”

“And you remember that?”

“Of course.”

He shook his head. “Well, you didn’t tell me to read the tags.”

Haven held back her laughter, knowing it would only make his irritation worse. She continued to pick up books he had scattered around, and he chuckled. “Have you found the porn yet?”

Her brow furrowed. “Porn?”

“Yes, porn. You'll know what it is when you see it.”

Carmine finished separating the clothes, and she took the hamper of whites downstairs to start a load of laundry. She pulled out a few things that were obviously not bleachable and set them aside to wash with the next load, not wanting to make it a big deal.

She dragged the empty hamper back up to Carmine’s room and found him sprawled out on his stomach on the bed. She stared at his back for a moment, mesmerized by his sculpted muscles and the way his tattoos stood out prominently on his skin. He shifted around to look at her and smiled lazily. “I forfeit. This shit's hard.”

She shook her head. All he’d done was sort clothes, and he had done a pretty bad job of it, at that. “It's easy to me.”

He rolled his eyes and stood up as she gathered the second load of laundry. He put a few CD’s away as she stripped his bed, tossing it all out into the hallway.

He took a break. She fetched fresh linens.

He put on some music. She made his bed.

He plopped down at his desk as she walked around the room, grabbing random things and putting them where she assumed they went. Carmine watched her closely, the attention making her hyperaware of everything. She didn’t mind that he wasn’t helping, considering she’d do a better job on her own, but his gaze made her nervous. Occasionally, he’d grind his teeth, and she knew he was trying to contain his irritation.

The floor was cleared before long, all except for the edge of a book sticking out from under his bed. She got down on her knees, surprised when she saw how cluttered it was under there. She pulled out books and magazines, as well as some DVDs. There were a few shoeboxes under there, but she didn’t touch them. She put the comforter back down and glanced at her pile, gasping when she saw the naked woman on the front of one of the DVD cases. She covered it up, but she wasn’t quick enough—Carmine had already spotted it.

He laughed. “Told you you’d find the porn.”