Sempre (Forever) (77 page)

Carmine tensed at the realization that his father didn't know everything. “They might come sooner than you think.”

“Why?”

“We got into a fistfight at the school yesterday.”

Vincent shook his head. “I can’t say I’m surprised.”

*  *  *  *

Dawn broke as Vincent stood in the safe room, staring at a suffering Johnny. “Tell me where she is and this all will end.”

“I can’t,” he said for what had to be the hundredth time. He was persistent, even proclaiming ignorance with the truth serum coursing through his veins. Either he was stupid enough to go through with the plan without knowing why, or he was more conniving than Vincent realized.

Corrado approached, his dark eyes filled with rage. It wasn’t something Vincent saw often. It was a look that said someone was about to die.

Violently
.

Vincent stepped out of the way and watched as Corrado walked over to the cabinet along the wall. He rifled through it, pulling out knives and pliers, methodically laying the tools on the steel worktable in the safe room. “While you're still alive, we're going to play a little game of 'eeny, meeny, miny, moe'.”

Unable to stomach what he knew was about to happen, Vincent walked away. A loud scream of agony echoed through the basement before he even made it to the steps.

Johnny would be leaving the room soon… in pieces.

Corrado resurfaced an hour later, drenched from the rain outside and splattered with blood. His face was unreadable once more. “Russians.”

The lone word nearly stopped Vincent’s heart. “She’s with the Russians? Why?”

“Because she's one of ours. Isn't that reason enough?”

“They know?”

“Yes. They may have even known before we did,” Corrado said. “This is spiraling out of control, Vincent. Up until now, you've taken a backseat, but that can't happen anymore. This isn't going away.”

Vincent knew that, even if he didn’t want to admit it. “Where are the Russians keeping her?”

“Joey didn’t know.”

Vincent’s brow furrowed. “Joey? I thought his name was Johnny.”

“Joey, Johnny… what’s the difference?” Corrado started walking away. “I took care of the body. You can clean up the mess.”

Vincent headed back down to the basement, cautiously making his way to the safe room. The concrete floor was soaked in red, splatters of it even on the ceiling. He wasn't sure how Corrado managed to do that, but he didn't plan to ask.

He’d learned long ago never to ask Corrado for details.

*  *  *  *

Carmine stood by the window in the family room, the rain outside so heavy that he couldn’t see the tree line a few hundred yards away. He was in such a trance that he didn’t hear footsteps approaching from behind. He caught a glimpse of Corrado’s reflection in the glass and grabbed his chest, wincing as he turned around. “You scared me.”

Corrado unbuttoned his soiled shirt. “You aren’t very observant.”

“You’re just stealthy, like a fucking ninja or something.”

Ninja
. The moment he said it, he felt like he’d been slapped. Tears tried to force their way from his eyes, but he held them back in front of his uncle.

“You watch too much television,” Corrado said. “The mark of a successful assassin is the target never knowing what hit them.”

Carmine stared at hm. “I’m not a target, though,” he said. “At least I hope not.”

The corner of Corrado’s lips tugged into a small smile as he lit the fireplace. After the fire started going, he tossed his shirt into it and watched it burn. “I remember when you and your mother went missing. A few of us were at your house, and you were late getting home. Vincent sent a car, but it came back empty. Driver said you were already gone. Despite your father’s fear that night, he maintained his composure and did what he had to do. He learned to wear that calm mask well, but I knew him better than most.”

He poked around in the fire, the shirt already burned to ash. “While Vincent adapted to the life, I never understood Antonio’s insistence that he was cut out for it, just as I don’t understand Sal’s belief that you are. You’re cut from the same mold—too emotional, too invested in life on the outside. You have a lot of heart, and that can be dangerous in this business. People will exploit it for an upper hand, and both of you share a weakness.”

“What’s that?”

Corrado looked at him like it was a stupid question. “Your women, Carmine.”

“Doesn’t everyone have that problem, though? It’s why your code of conduct says your women are off limits.”

Corrado shook his head. “Most of them are incapable of loving anyone. Their wives are like their cars and their houses. They feel like they’ve earned them, they take care of them, they show them off, and they think everyone needs a good one, but if push comes to shove, they’d sell them out to save themselves.”

“Is that how you feel?” Carmine asked hesitantly. “I always thought, you know, you and Celia…”

“I do love Celia,” Corrado said. “But the difference is I can’t be manipulated, and everyone knows it. You two can, though. They used Maura to force your father to do their business, just as Haven will be used to get you to do what they want.”

“You think that’s why they kept me alive?”

“I’m sure of it. We’re all just pawns, Carmine, and if you aren’t careful, you’ll play right into their hands. Exposure isn’t good in our world. I hope, since you’re so much like Vincent, you’ll learn to put on that mask just as he did. I already helped him bury Maura. I don’t want to go through that again.” He turned to walk away. “Pack a bag. It looks suspicious to get on a plane with no luggage.”

*  *  *  *

They landed in Chicago close to dusk that evening and made the twenty-five minute journey from the airport to the Moretti’s house in silence. Carmine watched out the window in a daze. He hadn't been back in years, but it looked exactly like he recalled. They passed Tarullo’s Pizzeria and Carmine closed his eyes, unable to look as they neared the alley where his life had changed.

Corrado pulled into the driveway of the large brick house. A frazzled Celia stood in the doorway, and Corrado barely gave her a glance as he walked past. She gave Vincent a sympathetic smile, and Carmine tried to slip by her, but she grabbed a hold of him and pulled him into a hug. “I'm sorry, kiddo.”

He pulled away from her. “This is my fault.”

Shaking her head, Celia cupped his chin. “You didn't cause this, Carmine. You would never do anything to hurt her. We all love her. She’s one of us... she's family. We'll find her.”

“I hope you’re right,” he said, dropping his bag right inside the house. He headed for the front room, catching sight of his brother on the couch. Dominic had his head down, his hands covering his face.

Tess sat beside him and glanced at Carmine, her eyes widening. She nudged Dominic. “Dom.”

Dominic’s head popped up, his mouth agape. “Look at you, bro.”

“It looks worse than it is,” he lied. The pain was unbearable, both inside and out. “She's all that matters right now.”

“I know,” Dominic said as Carmine sat down on the other side of him. “How are you holding up?”

“How am I holding up?” he asked incredulously. ”Well, I'm here, so I guess that counts for something.”

Neither said anything for a moment before Vincent walked in, setting his laptop down on the coffee table. He glared at Dominic, his voice stern. “Whatever it was you did to block me from tracking her, fix it. Now.”

He left without awaiting a response, a tense silence lingering in his wake. Tess stood up and sighed loudly as she started to pace the room, picking up things to keep busy as Dominic turned on the laptop. His fingers flew furiously across the keyboard as he typed in code, none of it making any sense to Carmine. It started grating on Carmine’s nerves after awhile, the clicking keys putting him on edge. He was nearing forty hours without sleep, and it was taking its toll. His head felt too heavy for his neck, his red-rimmed eyes burning from exhaustion. Running his hand through his hair, he clutched onto it tightly as he swayed in his seat.

The ticking of a clock in the background blended with Dominic's typing, taunting Carmine. Every tick was one second longer without her, one more second of uncertainty. Tess continued to pace the room, her heels clicking against the wood floor. He tried to block it all out, but it was too much for him to take.

Pace, click, tick. Pace, click, tick. Pace, click, tick.

Carmine was losing his fucking mind.

Celia walked in with some sandwiches and set a plate down in front of him. “You should try to eat.”

“Do you think she's eating?” His voice cracked as the question came out. Was she eating? Were they taking care of her, feeding her and letting her sleep? Was she warm and safe? Christ, where the fuck was she? He let out a shaky breath as the sobs ripped through him, his fear skyrocketing. Was she even still alive?

Celia rubbed his back as he shook his head, pulling away from her as Tess huffed again. “Do you have something you wanna say, Tess?” Carmine said, standing up. “Something you wanna get off your chest? Miss Goddamn Perfect, always knows better than everyone. You never liked Haven, anyway. You're probably glad she's gone.”

Tess gasped and covered her mouth as Dominic jumped up, shoving Carmine back down onto the couch. He looked like he wanted to punch him, and for a brief moment, Carmine wished his brother would.

“I think you need to get some sleep,” he said. “I know you don't want to, and I don't like telling you what to do, but you can't turn on us. Haven's like my sister. I'm upset too, so don't act like you're the only one who cares.”

Carmine tried to get himself under control. “I wasn't thinking.”

“I know you weren't,” Dominic said as he sat back down, focusing his attention on the laptop. “And if you think you can help in your condition, you're wrong. You're wasting away and going to make things worse. So eat your sandwich and go close your damn eyes.”

*  *  *  *

The nondescript cinderblock building stood in the middle of an abandoned neighborhood, surrounded by others that looked just like it. Rust coated the black metal door, elaborate graffiti sprayed indiscriminately.

Inside of the building was just as neglected, the concrete floor cracked and walls covered in grime. The roof was starting to cave in on the north side, the rafters barely hanging on in some places. It was still wired for electricity, overhead lights flickering as a metal exhaust fan continuously ran.

In the center of the room was a large card table, surrounded by men in metal chairs. Thousands of dollars lay on the table, empty beer bottles scattered around as each man held a set of cards. They spoke animatedly, arguing and laughing in their inebriated states as their game of poker wore on into the night.

The men seemed oblivious to the girl in the shadows of the far corner of the room, curled up on a torn, stained mattress. Haven was equally as oblivious to them, her breathing shallow as she lay there, unconscious.

Noises occasionally filtered in to her blackness, muffled, incoherent words spoken in voices she couldn’t recognize. None of it made sense, and it would fade back out as fast as it came. Little by little, she started coming back around, and with the consciousness came pain. She peeked open her eyes, every inch of her body aching to the point where she couldn’t bear to move. The voices grew louder when she tried to sit up, her head swimming from disorientation.

Panic flooded her system when she heard the banging of a door somewhere in the distance. A woman walked in and started toward the others, but stopped a few feet away as she looked in Haven’s direction. “Hey, why didn’t you tell me the girl was awake?”

She had a tinge of a foreign accent that struck Haven as familiar, flashes of the accident coming back to her. It reminded her of the man’s voice that held a gun to her head.

Everyone stopped speaking, their focus turning to Haven. She just sat there, clinging to alertness as her body threatened to give in once more. A pair of familiar eyes met hers then, the sight of them making Haven’s stomach twist. Nunzio smirked before turning back to his cards, the rest of the men grumbling as they did the same.

The woman grabbed a bottle from a large cooler by the table and poured some of the liquid into a plastic cup before making her way across the room. Haven could make out her features as she approached, her long, stringy hair so blonde it was nearly white, the roots the color of midnight. Her blue eyes were large, her face round and full. She looked like an antique porcelain doll.

“I’m surprised to see you moving around,” she said, her voice gentle as she held out the cup. Haven resisted, and the woman let out a light laugh. “It’s water, pretty girl. Drink.”

A part of Haven screamed not to trust her, but there was a bigger part that was desperate to accept the drink. She gave in after a moment, the cold liquid soothing her burning chest.

“I thought he put you out for good,” she said, seeming satisfied that Haven was cooperating. “I told Nunzy that last dose was too much. I don’t know why he never listens to me.”

The woman scoured through her purse and pulled out a pack of saltine crackers. “You’re going to want to eat these, because there’s no telling when you’ll have another chance.”

Although she didn’t trust her, Haven didn’t want her stubbornness to ruin a chance to get some strength. Her stomach hurt with familiar pangs of hunger, so she took the crackers and ate them.

Her eyelids started to grow heavy. She fought back the sleepiness, but it was taking control of her. She felt lightheaded and had to lie down as the woman smiled.

“I’m sorry to do that,” she said, her voice a fading whisper, “but Nunzy won’t bother you if you’re asleep.”

Haven realized then, as the pain lifted and the sounds grew muffled, that she’d been drugged again.

Chapter 47

Carmine groggily glanced around the spare bedroom, his eyes falling on a clock across the room. It took a second for the numbers to register, and he sat up when he realized it was already eight in the morning.