Sempre: Redemption (50 page)

Salvatore turned back around, his eyes wide when he saw both guns now pointed at his head. “What are you doing?”

“Following orders,” Corrado said calmly. “When I initiated, I took an oath. I swore to Antonio DeMarco that I would be a man of honor, a man who always put the organization first. They may just be words to some, but they have meaning to me.
La Cosa Nostra
or death. That’s what I swore. I choose
La Cosa Nostra
and always have. It’s a real pity you chose death, sir.”

Corrado lowered his gun and fired two shots, bullets ripping through both of Salvatore’s knees. He let out a blood-curdling scream as he collapsed. Corrado stood stoically as Salvatore desperately tried to pull himself away, his legs gushing blood and soaking his gray pants.

“Do you know what happens to rats, Carmine?” Corrado asked. “What we do to vermin, the disloyal and dishonorable?”

“Yes,” he responded weakly, his voice shaking. It was an urban legend within the organization, a story everyone whispered about but had no proof it ever happened. “Rats for the rats.”

Corrado took the few steps toward Salvatore, thrusting his foot out and kicking him square in the nose. Carmine flinched as Salvatore cried out, trying to shield himself as Corrado kicked him a few times in quick succession. The brutality in his uncle’s movements terrified him, anger and passion erupting from him. He did it again and again until Salvatore’s face poured blood like a leaky faucet.

“This place is infested,” Corrado said, his words strained as he fought to catch his breath. The rage had taken a toll on his composure. “If you listen carefully, you can hear them in the walls, scratching and scurrying around. It won’t take the rats long to catch a whiff of the blood. As soon as they realize there’s fresh meat, they’ll swarm. It’s a brutal way to go, being eaten alive.”

Carmine’s stomach churned ruthlessly and he resisted the urge to gag. What kind of monster would think to do such a thing?

Corrado turned to him as if he had heard Carmine’s silent question, the vacant expressionless mask enshrouding his face the only answer he needed. He seemed inhuman, the monster from the legends, the one he had heard about. The Kevlar Killer. No remorse, no emotion, and absolutely no conscience. “Sal knows this already. It’s why he chose this place. He just didn’t anticipate being the one to face the horror.”

Corrado slipped his gun back in his coat, ignoring Salvatore’s incessant yelling. He focused his attention on the pistol he had taken from the Boss, removing bullets from it one by one. He spun the chamber as he started toward the door, pausing in the doorway to lay the pistol on the floor. “I left a single bullet in your gun, Salamander. It’ll take you a while to drag yourself over here to it, but I’m sure you’ll manage if you want the suffering to end. The choice is yours.”

“You traitor!” Salvatore spat. “You’ll burn in Hell for this!”

Corrado laughed bitterly. “I’ll probably burn in Hell for most of what I’ve done in my life, but this is one of the few things I feel is actually worth it.”

He walked out without another word.

The moment Carmine heard his uncle’s footsteps on the stairs, he jumped to his feet and ran after him, tripping on a loose board and nearly falling in his haste. He could still hear Salvatore screaming as they exited the house but it didn’t seem to faze Corrado as he headed for the car.

Carmine opened the door to climb in the passenger seat when it all hit him. Hunching over, he dry heaved on the road.

Corrado waited patiently for Carmine to get himself together before starting the car to drive away.

“Won’t people hear him screaming?” Carmine asked as he wiped his watery eyes.

“Possibly, but it doesn’t matter,” he replied. “Like you said, anyone who comes to this neighborhood is up to no good.”

They drove in silence, the atmosphere suffocating. Carmine had reached the end of his rope, on the verge of a breakdown as he tentatively clung to the last shred of his sanity. It pressed upon Carmine, the memory of everything he had been through tearing through his system at once—the chaos, the destruction, the pain, the murder.

“Why’d you do it?” he choked out.

Corrado glanced at him. “Would you rather it had been you?”

“Not Sal.” He shook his head as the tears continued to stream from his eyes. “My father.”

Corrado let out an exasperated sigh and swung a sudden right, pulling the car along the curb and cutting the engine.

“Your father died a long time ago,” he said, his voice low. “Just because he was walking around and breathing doesn’t mean he was alive, Carmine. We die the day we lose the will to go on. We die the day we stop caring about life. The Vincent I knew, the man who made you, whose blood flows through your veins, ceased to exist when you were eight years old. He died in that hospital room as he held vigil beside your bed, mourning the loss of his wife. I watched every painful second of it as it happened and did nothing to stop his death.”

Corrado avoided looking at Carmine, instead staring out at the vibrant full moon in the sky. “He had work to do, so he kept going until it was done. He’d finally finished, so it was time for him to go. To him, it was better than the alternative. He had no intention of going to prison.”

“But why would he?” Carmine asked, shaking his head. “It didn’t have to be this way. I mean, the Feds . . .”

“You’re wrong,” he said. “Your father didn’t make a deal for himself. He didn’t turn state’s evidence against me. He accepted his fate long ago. Your father cooperated for
you
. He cooperated for Haven and everyone else you love. He gave them what they wanted so they’d leave his family alone, and in the process he did Maura’s memory justice by saving a young girl.”

Corrado paused briefly to collect his thoughts before he continued. “He’d made his decision, but I couldn’t let him do it himself. He wouldn’t find the peace he sought if he did. He wanted to be with your mother. He wanted to live again, with her. I made it so he could.”

Carmine stared at him as he processed his words. “Why’d you ask him for forgiveness then?”

“What?”

“When you pulled the trigger, you said ‘Forgive me.’”

Corrado shook his head. “I wasn’t asking
him
.”

Starting the car up again, Corrado pulled away from the curb. “We have one more thing to take care of tonight, so pull yourself together.”

They drove across town to the run-down strip club, the one he had been to before when Corrado killed Remy. The crummy lot was packed, the back row filled entirely with familiar sedans. Corrado parked along the side of the building, climbing out and glancing around cautiously. “Are you registered to vote?”

“Uh, no,” Carmine said as he got out of the car.

Corrado nodded, as if that answer didn’t surprise him, and motioned for Carmine to follow him inside. The club was packed, the air thick with smoke. They slipped by the bouncer without saying a word, Carmine keeping his attention on his uncle as they headed to the back room.

“Voting’s important,” Corrado said, pausing at the cellar door. “People like to feel like they actually have a say in what happens, even if it’s just an illusion.”

Corrado opened the cellar door and voices filtered out instantly, but they quieted once they descended the stairs. Carmine hesitated on the bottom step, looking around the small grimy space with shock. There were at least twenty-five men present, mostly Capos from what he could tell—the highest-ranking men left within the collapsing organization. They all looked at Corrado as he entered and he nodded toward another man, who cleared his throat to gain everyone’s attention. “We all know why we’re here. Nominations?”

A few people said Corrado’s name, while others just murmured in agreement.

“Any others?”

The basement remained completely silent.

“Any objections?” the man asked. “Speak now or take it to the grave.”

Carmine looked around. The men appeared nervous, their shifty eyes everywhere except for on Corrado. The room once again remained silent, no one speaking up.

The entire scene was strange to Carmine.

“Moretti it is, then,” the man said. “This meeting never happened.”

Corrado turned back around, motioning for Carmine to go right back up the stairs without having spoken a single word. They headed out to the parking lot, pausing beside the car not more than five minutes after arriving. “Like I said, people like to believe they have a choice, even if they really don’t.”

Corrado got in the driver’s side and Carmine slipped into the passenger seat, eyeing him warily. “You’re the Don now?”

“Yes.”

“What would’ve happened if someone objected? Would they have been allowed to leave?”

“They would’ve certainly left the room,” he replied. “Just in a dozen pieces.”

Carmine listened for sounds as he opened the front door, noting the house was completely silent, but the glow from the television illuminated the living room. Haven lay on the couch fast asleep, her shoes kicked off and sitting on the floor in front of her.

Carmine walked over and crouched down, stealthily slipping his gun under the couch before pushing some stray hair from her face. She stirred a bit but still slept, and he remained there for a moment, just watching her breathe.

If he hadn’t been sure before, it was at that moment he knew it. It was then, watching her sleep, that he
felt
it. He didn’t know what would happen in the future, but somehow they would make it if they gave it a try.

He fought back tears again, still unable to get himself under control. Life overwhelmed him, tugging him in opposite directions while he stood stagnant, trying to remain whole. He was surrounded by violence and death, the ugliness eating away at him, but then, on the other side, there was her. She was peace, and hope, and pure fucking beauty. She was the good that he hoped would overpower the bad.

“Haven,” he whispered, running the back of his hand along her cheek.
“La mia bella ragazza.”

She stirred again and opened her eyes, blinking rapidly with confusion. It seemed to strike her where she was, a sleepy smile curving her lips. “You’re back.”

“And you waited.”

“Of course I did. I told you I wouldn’t run from you, Carmine.”

“I won’t either,” he said, smiling softly. “I won’t leave you again.”

“You swear?”

“You fucking know I do.”

She laughed, eyeing Carmine curiously as she sat up. She placed her right hand on his cheek, gently stroking his skin and brushing her thumb along his mouth. “Have you been crying?”

“Maybe,” he replied, leaning forward to softly press his lips to hers. She didn’t pull away that time, didn’t turn her head. Instead, she moved her mouth in rhythm with his. It was sweet, and innocent, but it was enough.

He ducked his head and nuzzled into her neck, inhaling deeply as he kissed the exposed skin. Her presence was overwhelming, the touch and scent and taste of her driving him wild.

“Do you still feel that?” he asked, nipping at the skin near her collarbone. “The electricity between us?
Please
tell me you feel it.”

“I feel it,” she whispered.

“I need you,
Haven
,” he said, his voice cracking as the words caught in his throat.

“I know.”

A strangled sob escaped his throat, the sound causing her to grip him tighter, and she whispered quietly as he cried in her arms. He couldn’t seem to stop himself—she destroyed his walls all over again, broke Carmine down so it all came flooding out.

L
ife was a whirlwind, each day rapidly morphing into the next. Haven stayed with Carmine, things between them relaxed as she made herself at home. It was platonic, except for the occasional kiss and gentle touch.

Exhausted, Carmine grew wearier every day. Nightmares plagued his sleep and he tried his best to stay sober, but the liquor seemed to call to him. Haven never said a word about it, but he could see the concern in her eyes whenever she saw him take a drink. The looks got to Carmine, guilt chipping away at him every time he swallowed the harsh liquid.

But it wasn’t enough to make him stop.

Despite that, things were going well—almost
too
well, in fact. Carmine was waiting for everything to cave in around them. It felt too good to be true, like he had missed the fine print listing an expiration date.

People left them alone, though, much to his surprise. He thought for sure his brother would be knocking the door down to see Haven, or Corrado would be calling to deal with business, but there was nothing.

No visits, no phone calls, not a goddamn thing.

It was almost a week later when there was finally a knock on the door. Carmine begrudgingly opened it, surprised to see a mailman standing on the porch. He glanced down at an envelope in his hand, squinting as he read the name. “Carmine DeMarco?”

“That’s me.”

“Certified mail,” he replied, handing a small card to Carmine to sign. He scribbled down his name before giving it back, and he handed Carmine the letter. He thanked him before shutting the door, strolling to the living room and plopping down on the couch beside Haven. He saw it was from the lawyer and tore the envelope open, pulling out a piece of paper.

“What’s that?” Haven asked.

His eyes scanned the letter. “They’re reading my father’s will on Monday. Apparently he left me something.”

“Why do you sound surprised?” she asked. “You’re his son.”

“I don’t know,” he said, shrugging as he set the paper down. “It still doesn’t feel real. I mean, I know it is—I know he’s gone. I fucking
saw
it. But it’s still hard to believe it really happened.”

“I bet,” she replied. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He shook his head. “That’s the last thing I even want to
think
about right now.”

“Okay,” she said, leaning over and pushing Carmine backward on the couch. She wrapped her arms around him and settled her head onto his chest as he grabbed the remote, turning on the TV and flipping through channels. They stayed that way the rest of the evening, forgetting about everything except what was happening within the walls of the house.