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He leaned against his Mercedes, clutching the box of pizza and devouring it like he hadn’t eaten in weeks. He said nothing else, no explanation, but that didn’t surprise Vincent. He’d said all he needed to with that one word.
“Corrado’s right,” Sal said. “Just lay low until we know more.”
Squint grumbled to himself while Corrado continued to eat. Giovanni shivered, and Vincent grew impatient as Sal’s attention drifted to the yacht. They spoke a bit more as Vincent’s mind wandered, only returning to the conversation when the Russians were mentioned.
“They were at Tarullo’s tonight,” Vincent said.
“Did they hurt anyone?” Sal asked. “Or did it get handled?”
“It was handled.”
He nodded. “No reason to dwell, then.”
Giovanni tried to interject, but Sal gave him a look that closed the subject. He waved his hand, silently dismissing them, and Corrado was in his car without having spoken another word. Vincent turned to walk away but was stopped by the Don’s voice. “How’s my godson?”
Vincent’s blood ran cold at the question. “He’s fine.”
“Is he doing well in school? Passing?”
“He’s squeaking by. Still skipping a lot.”
Sal laughed. “Doesn’t surprise me. This business, la famiglia, is in that boy’s blood. And that’s everything, you know. Famiglia. That’s what matters.”
Vincent had nothing nice to say about that, but Sal didn’t wait for a response. Reaching into his coat, Sal pulled out a thick manila envelope and held it out to Vincent. “Give this to Principe for me. A little something from his godfather.”
Begrudgingly, Vincent took it before heading to his car. Once inside, he shoved the envelope of cash into his glove compartment. He had no intention of giving it to his son.
* * *
Haven took a seat at the library window while Carmine grabbed his guitar, joining her. Wordlessly, she picked up a book from the small table between them. Carmine smiled when he saw it was The Secret Garden. “So you haven’t given up on that?”
“No,” she said, opening it to a page about a quarter of the way in. “It’s good. She searches for the garden and makes friends with this little robin. It reminds me of . . .”
She trailed off as Carmine plucked the strings of his guitar, random notes sounding out in the room. “Reminds you of what?” he asked when she didn’t continue.
“It reminds me of when I was little and talked to the animals,” she said. “They had a few dogs, but it was mainly horses. I stayed in the stables with them.”
Caught off guard, his finger plucked the wrong string. They both cringed from the sharp note. “You slept with the fucking horses?”
“Yes, but it wasn’t so bad. They kept me company.”
His jaw clenched as he held back his temper. She could say it wasn’t bad if she wanted, but Carmine couldn’t think of a more inhumane scenario.
He continued to strum his guitar, playing around with sounds as she quietly read. Her eyes would occasionally drift over the top of the book, settling on him. “Can I ask you something, Carmine?”
“Of course you can.”
“Why did you shoot at Nicholas last year?”
Another sharp note rang out. Of all the things she could ask, she wanted to talk about Nicholas? “We had a falling-out after I messed around with his sister. He got mad and ran his mouth, said something about my mom, and I snapped.”
“Your mama?”
“Yes.”
“And she’s in Chicago?”
He sighed. “Hillside.”
