Sempre: Redemption (55 page)

She said not a single word when they arrived home, grabbing her things and getting out of the car before he could even shut off the engine. She used her key and disappeared inside without waiting for Carmine. He took his time and she was nowhere to be found when he finally made his way into the house. He went straight for the refrigerator, opening the freezer and grabbing the chilled bottle of Grey Goose. He pulled the top off, tipping the bottle back and taking a long swig.

He leaned against the counter and sipped on the vodka. His chest still ached, the alcohol doing nothing to ease his guilt, as he listened to the shower turn on and back off again on the second floor.

He heard her footsteps in the hallway eventually and replaced the top on the bottle, slipping it back in the freezer as Haven made her way downstairs. The moment he saw her, his heart skipped a beat. Her damp hair was slightly wavy, the dark locks nearly identical in color to her plain black dress. Her bare feet slapped against the wooden floor, exposing strikingly red painted toenails, but her skin, while scarred, remained untainted by makeup.

Simple, but beautiful. That was her.

Haven eyed Carmine peculiarly when she saw him lingering in the kitchen. “What are you doing?” she asked, her eyes drifting to the freezer before settling back on him. He didn’t blame her for her suspicions. She knew him well.

“Nothing.” It was true. Sort of. He wasn’t doing a thing but standing there.

“What
were
you doing?” she clarified.

“Nothing,” he said again. Not so true that time.

“Uh, okay,” she mumbled, still watching Carmine as she walked to the sink. “Are you going to change before we go?”

He glanced at his clothes. He had on a tie, at least—seemed good enough to him. “Do I need to?”

She shrugged. “I don’t think Corrado would be happy about the shoes.”

His gaze shifted to his Nike’s. “Yeah, you’re right,” he said, pushing away from the counter. He started to walk away but Haven grabbed his arm to stop him. He turned around, looking at her curiously, and she yanked Carmine toward her as she stood up on her tiptoes.

He froze, dumbfounded, as she smashed her lips to his. When he finally got his wits about him, he parted his lips to kiss her back, but she abruptly pulled away, letting go completely. She took a step back. “You were drinking.”

There was no anger, not an ounce of hate in her voice. She wasn’t accusing Carmine—it was a simple statement. He had been drinking.

“A little,” he replied. She nodded and turned away to look out of the window. He stood there for a moment, but she didn’t speak again. The subject was closed, nothing else to say.

He headed upstairs to the bathroom and glanced in the mirror, surveying his reflection after splashing water on his face. He hardly recognized himself some days. Dark, heavy bags aligned his bloodshot eyes, his skin dry from the fickle Chicago weather. He had slicked his hair back that morning with pomade so it appeared a shade darker, making him seem paler than usual.

He went into the bedroom and grabbed a pair of black shoes from the closet, sitting down on the edge of the bed to put them on. Haven walked in while he was tying them and scrunched up her nose. “Your shoes are scuffed.”

“It doesn’t matter. It’s not like the military where I need to shine the sons of bitches.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” he replied as he glanced at his watch. It was already fast approaching eight o’clock, when Corrado had told Carmine to be there. “Are you ready?”

Carmine waited as she slipped on a pair of black heels, and they both grabbed their coats before heading out again. Haven was quiet as she got in the car, not speaking as he pulled away from the house. He fiddled with the radio anxiously, needing a distraction, and Haven just stared at him with a frown.

“What now?” Carmine asked, annoyed.

“Nothing.”
She stressed the word, her answer speaking volumes. She was sending a message with that motherfucker. It was a
You asshole, who do you take me for? I can’t believe you thought you could fucking fool me
kind of
nothing
.

“I’m sorry.”

“Are you?”

“Yes.”

“For what?”

He looked at her, knowing what she wanted to hear. She wanted him to apologize for drinking, but he couldn’t do it. “I’m sorry for disappointing you,” he said. “I hate that shit.”

“I know,” she replied, reaching over and stroking his cheek before running her fingers through the hair near his neckline. She hit a snag and he grimaced. “What
I
hate is when you do your hair like this.”

He glanced in the rearview mirror at himself. Corrado preferred them to look clean-cut, but he hated it, too. “I kinda look like my fath—”

He gripped the steering wheel tightly, unable to even get the entire thing out. It had been four months . . . about sixteen weeks . . . one hundred and twenty-something days . . . and the wound was just as raw as it had been that fateful night. He still saw it sometimes when he closed his eyes, reliving the moment his father had taken his last breath.

Sometimes it was so hard he could barely breathe, in so much pain he felt like he was the one with the bullets lodged in his chest.

Haven massaged Carmine’s neck as he focused on the road, trying to get himself back under control.

“So since someone’s getting married, does that mean I can have whatever I want?” she asked offhandedly, distracting him from his thoughts.

His brow furrowed. “What?”

“Isn’t it true when someone gets married, you can ask a Mafia boss for something and he can’t refuse?”

It took a moment for what she had said to register. He laughed. “Have you been watching
The Godfather
?”

She blushed. “No.”

“Well, it’s not true, anyway,” he said, shaking his head. “They say the day of the Boss’s daughter’s wedding he won’t refuse anyone a favor, but it’s bullshit.”

“Oh,” she mumbled.

“What would you want, though?” he asked curiously. “If you could have one wish granted, what would you ask for?”

“I don’t know. What about you?”

“I’m happy,” he replied. “There isn’t really anything anyone could give me.”

She looked at Carmine incredulously. “There
is
something someone could give you. Actually, it’s what I’d ask for.”

“What’s that?”

“Your freedom.”

Carmine wasn’t sure what to say. “Well, too bad it doesn’t work that way.”

“Yeah, too bad.”

They arrived at the restaurant within a few minutes. He led Haven inside and saw his uncle right away, sitting at a table in the back with Celia. A slew of men gathered around them like a massive human shield of protection, but Celia managed to spot them through the crowd. She waved, the movement catching Corrado’s attention. He looked over as they approached, his expression blank, but Carmine could see the annoyance in his eyes.

“Up,” he barked at the two guys sitting across from them. They didn’t hesitate before pushing their chairs back, vacating them, and Corrado motioned toward the now empty seats. “Sit.”

Haven immediately took a seat in the first chair, looking at Carmine apprehensively. He gave her a smile, trying to be reassuring, but the truth was he was just as nervous.

“You’re late,” Corrado said, glaring at Carmine from across the table.

He glanced at his watch: five minutes after eight. “I guess I am.”

“You
guess
you are?”

“Yeah,” he replied. “I tried to be on time, but I—”

“But nothing.” His voice was sharp and Carmine shut up right away, a few people quieting down as they looked in their direction. “There’s no excuse for tardiness.”

“I know, I’m just saying—”

“I know what you’re saying, Carmine,” he interrupted again. “And
I’m
saying there’s no excuse.”

“Yes, and I—”

“He’s sorry,” Haven blurted out.

Corrado looked at her peculiarly, his expression unreadable. “Is he?”

She nodded hesitantly. “Yes, sir.”

“Well, at least there’s that.”

Things were tense as Corrado continued to stare them down, Haven still fidgeting and making Carmine even more anxious. After a moment Celia sighed and shook her head, turning to her husband. “If you’re done throwing your weight around, I’d like to eat.”

Corrado finally broke eye contact with Carmine to look at her. “I’m not throwing my weight around.”

“Yes, you are,” she said. “You’re just a big bully. You act like he
blatantly
ignored what time to be here. It was just a few minutes, no harm done.”

“This time,” Corrado retorted. “It might not mean anything right now, but five minutes can be a matter of life and death in other situations.”

“Yes,
other
situations. Meaning not this one, so give the boy a break.”

“He’s not a
boy,
Celia,” Corrado said, his expression darkening a bit.

“He is,” she argued. “He’s my nephew.”

“He’s my
soldato
.”

“He was my nephew first.”

“It doesn’t matter. He’s mine
forever
.”

Carmine froze when Corrado spoke those words, a sickness brewing in the pit of his stomach. He had witnessed a lot of ridiculous conversations in his life but having them argue over him was surreal.

Celia pushed her chair back and stood. “I’m going to the ladies room.”

Corrado shook his head when she stormed away and the underboss, sitting to his left, clapped him on the shoulder. “Ah,
chi non ha moglie non ha padrone.
”

Carmine smirked at his words and Corrado smiled, but it was forced. He was furious that Celia had challenged him in front of his men. He reached for his glass on the table in front of him, taking a drink as Haven leaned toward Carmine.

“What did that guy say?” she whispered, trying to be quiet, but Corrado overheard her.

He set his glass back down and answered before Carmine had a chance. “He said a man without a wife is a man without a master.”

She tensed. “Oh.”

“I forgot you don’t speak Italian,” he said. “Have you ever thought to learn?”

The color drained from her face at being put on the spot, the eyes of everyone nearby going straight to her. Most people within the organization knew by now she was a
Principessa
by birth, even though few of them ever had any actual contact with her. They were intrigued, naturally. Carmine understood their curiosity, but that didn’t mean it annoyed him any less.

“Uh, yes,” she said. “I’ve learned a little bit.”

“From Carmine?”

She glanced at Carmine and he immediately felt bad, seeing the panic in her eyes. She was trying her best to stay cool on the surface, but he could tell she was a mess inside. “He’s taught me some, yes.”

“So I assume you know the bad words, then,” Corrado said.

She nodded. “I know other things, too, though.”

“Like?”

She looked at Carmine again, like she expected him to rescue her, but he couldn’t. Even if he tried, Corrado would stop him.

She realized after a second that he wasn’t going to say anything. She turned back to Corrado, picking at her fingernails under the table. “Like
ti amo
and
sempre
.”

“And?”

“And
ciao
.
Buongiorno
.
Grazie
.
Prego
.” Her pronunciation was spot on. It was simple, but it was better than nothing. “And uh,
Vaffanculo
?”

They all just stared at her, the silence managing to grow even more awkward.

After what felt like an hour, Corrado’s expression softened and a smile tugged at his lips. He let out a laugh—a genuine fucking laugh. “That was a curse.”

“Oh.” She turned bright red. “Carmine uses it a lot.”

“Doesn’t surprise me a bit.”

There was quiet chatter as everyone relaxed, the Boss’s demeanor influencing the others. The tension receded from the room and Haven loosened up, her posture no longer stiff. Celia returned, she and Corrado both relaxing as they whispered to each other. Carmine watched them, their natural chemistry obvious. Despite everything, the fighting and violence and outright bullshit their lives could sometimes be, they were
happy
together. They loved each other and it was the love that got them through everything else. As long as they had that, nothing would tear them apart.

Carmine glanced at Haven, reaching under the table and taking her hand. He squeezed it and she smiled softly, gazing back at him. He saw that same type of love in her eyes, the kind of love that was damn near unbreakable.

There was food and drinks, conversation and laughter. Time passed swiftly and Carmine found he actually enjoyed himself. A smile continuously graced Haven’s lips as she talked to people, not seeming at all nervous to be around his kind.

His kind.
He hated saying it, but it was true.
La Cosa Nostra
was his family. And like a real dysfunctional family, he fucking hated them most of the time.

He looked around the restaurant, seeing all types of people having dinner. There were couples and families, friends and business associates. All seemed content and relaxed, completely oblivious to the danger in the room with them. It was strange to Carmine how people didn’t even flinch from their presence, like they were desensitized to violence and pain. They seemed ignorant to the fact that lifelong criminals surrounded them, their children and wives breathing the same air as cold, calculating murderers.

Well, most seemed oblivious. His gaze fell upon a man in the corner by himself, his attention focused on the tables surrounding them. His eyes locked with Carmine’s after a moment, and even across the room he could see the coldness. The man certainly wasn’t what he would call a friendly face
.

Carmine stared him down for a while before the man stood, tossing some money on the table and walking out.

The night continued on, as did the food and drinks. The crowd thinned, thoughts of that man going right out along with the others.