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Vincent shook his head. “Do you really think a girl in her position has the right frame of mind to consent? It would take a strong woman to look at him as a man and not a master, to see him for who he is and not what he is. But just because it could happen, doesn’t mean it should. It’s asking for heartache for everyone involved.”
Carmine sat quietly. He’d never given any of that much thought. To him, she was just a girl.
“Regardless, Squint’s advances were unwanted,” Vincent said. “I should’ve figured this would happen, but I couldn’t have done anything differently. I couldn’t have kept her hidden. Sal would’ve asked about her because of who she is.”
Carmine’s brow furrowed. “Who is she?”
“Excuse me?”
“Is her father important or something? Michael Antonelli?”
Vincent gaped at him. “I don’t recall telling you Michael was her father.”
He shrugged. “Haven may have mentioned it.”
“I’m surprised,” he said. “He didn’t claim her, so not many people know that information. His own wife only just recently found out. She wasn’t very happy.”
Carmine laughed dryly. “Haven mentioned that, too.”
Vincent raised his eyebrows. “Have you told her you know them?”
Carmine stared at his father. “I don’t.”
“You do,” Vincent insisted. “Or, well, you know Katrina’s brother. We’re related to him.”
Silence permeated the office. It took a minute for that to click with Carmine. “Katrina Moretti? Are you telling me the bitch who tortured Haven is Corrado’s sister?”
Haven spent the morning cleaning and finished near three o’clock when she heard cars outside. The alarm beeped and the front door opened as she stepped into the doorway to the kitchen, a few voices carrying through the house. Dr. DeMarco walked in with two men behind him. The hair on the back of Haven’s neck stood up at the sight of them.
Dr. DeMarco’s eyes met hers. She realized these men were probably like Master Michael—uncaring and cold, with no regard for people like her. They were like that part of Dr. DeMarco she’d seen in his bedroom. They were dangerous. More monsters.
Taking a deep breath, she stepped forward to gauge his reaction. The corner of his lips turned up, and she took his reaction to mean she should stay. Her legs trembled as she walked into the family room, where they gathered, the men taking notice of her right away.
“Bring us a bottle of scotch and some glasses,” Dr. DeMarco told her with a flippant wave. Haven scuttled to the kitchen. She searched the cabinets until she located the alcohol, and she scoured through the bottles, finding a brown one in the back with GLENFIDDICH SINGLE MALT SCOTCH WHISKEY written on it. She wiped off the unopened dusty bottle and juggled three glasses on her way back to the family room. She delivered the drinks, too nervous to make eye contact with any of them.
“So this is the girl.”
Haven chanced a peek at the man who spoke, his voice grating like metal scraping against glass. An air of authority surrounded him as he sat in the center, the others flanking him. He was clearly older than them.
“Yes,” Dr. DeMarco said. “It’s her.”
“I’m curious, Vincent,” the man said. “Do you think she was worth it?”
Dr. DeMarco’s bitter laughter sent chills down Haven’s spine, putting her more on edge. “Personally or as business?”
“Personally.”
“Of course she wasn’t worth it.”
She lost her breath, his words striking her hurt. Had she been that much of a disappointment?
“But speaking as a businessman,” Dr. DeMarco continued, shrugging, “she’s a hard worker.”
“So she wasn’t a bad investment?” the other guy asked. Haven looked at him. Investment? Their eyes met, his the cold drab shade of a knife’s blade. Her skin crawled at their interest in her. She had to look away.
“You could say that.” Dr. DeMarco shifted position and cleared his throat. “Why don’t you start dinner, child? My guests will be joining us tonight.”
* * *
