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“So, Carmine,” Salvatore said, attempting conversation. “You’ll be eighteen in a few months. Any plans for the future?”
Haven peered at him, curious. She, too, wondered what his plans were, but Carmine merely shrugged, offering no answer.
Dr. DeMarco cleared his throat. “Carmine can do what he wants with his life, but I like to think he’ll hang around here until he graduates.”
Nunzio laughed mockingly. “School’s useless. What’s a diploma gonna get you these days—a job at McDonald’s? There’s money to be made out there, and no piece of paper from some school will matter a bit when it comes to it.”
Dr. DeMarco spoke up again, his voice sharp. “A diploma may not matter in our line of work, but it’s not about a piece of paper. It’s about finishing what you started, being dedicated and not selling out. Nothing is worse than an opportunist.”
“I wouldn’t call it being an opportunist,” Nunzio said. “It’s wising up and changing priorities.”
“Your priorities shouldn’t change when you’re on a path you swore you’d stay on,” Vincent said. “Carmine’s mother would want him to see it through.”
Nunzio shrugged. “But Maura’s not here anymore, so why does it matter what she’d want?”
Dr. DeMarco jumped to his feet, his chair crashing to the floor. “Don’t even say her name, scarafaggio! You never disregard your family!”
Haven tensed, her heart feverishly pounding and making her dizzy. Salvatore grabbed Dr. DeMarco’s arm and forced him to sit down. They went back to eating without another word, strained silence overtaking the room.
“So, Haven . . .”
Her name spoken in the high-pitched voice made the fork slip from her fingers. It clanged against her plate, and she winced at the sound. Taking a deep breath, she glanced at Salvatore. She wanted nothing more than to blend into the background, wishing she could be overlooked.
“You don’t have to be nervous,” Salvatore said. “I’m just curious how you’re finding life with Vincent. As hidden away as you were, I wondered if you were a figment of the imagination.”
“The DeMarcos are kind to me, sir,” she said quietly. “They treat me fairly.”
Salvatore nodded. “That’s great to hear. If I had known the Antonellis acted so cruelly, I would’ve stepped in. By the time Vincent informed me, it was too complicated to intervene.”
Before Haven had the chance to make sense of what he had said, Carmine interjected. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
Dr. DeMarco groaned. “Mind your manners, son.”
Salvatore shrugged. “Perhaps I’ve said too much. Forget I brought it up.”
“You can’t say some shit like that and then say, ‘forget about it,’” Carmine said. “If you knew one of your own abused a kid, why didn’t you do anything?”
Salvatore glanced at Dr. DeMarco, who subtly shook his head.
“Michael Antonelli is hardly one of our own,” Salvatore said, turning back to Carmine. “There are certain rules that govern this life—rules you can’t disregard because you don’t like something that’s going on. Personal feelings have no place in business.”
Nunzio let out a bitter laugh from his seat but offered no opinion.
The strained silence returned as Carmine glared at Salvatore and his father. They seemed oblivious to the looks, both of them instead focusing on Haven.
She cleared her throat, unable to take it. “Thank you for your concern, sir.”
Under his breath, Carmine mumbled, “Don’t fucking thank him.”
* * *
Haven lay with her head on Carmine’s shoulder later that night as the two of them watched a movie in her bedroom. She ran her fingers down his forearm and stroked the back of his hand before turning it over and tracing the creases of his palm. His fingers twitched as she grazed the tattoo on his wrist. “Do you really believe that? Trust no one?”
“I used to,” he said. “Until you came along.”
She picked her head up to look at him. “You trust me?”
“Yeah, why does that surprise you?” he asked. “I let you sleep in my bed and be around my stuff. You think I’d do that if I didn’t trust you? That’s not me at all.”
