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After a moment, Volkov lowered his gun and slipped it into his coat. “You may have the truck,” he said, as though he was simply being gracious under the circumstances.
He tried to walk away, but Corrado stepped in his path. “Next time I see you, I’m going to kill you.”
Volkov paused. “Is that a threat?”
“No, it’s a guarantee.”
A tense second passed, then another, and another. Finally, Volkov’s stone-cold face flickered with the hint of a smile. “I look forward to our next meeting, Moretti.”
* * *
Haven sat cross-legged on Carmine’s bed, The Secret Garden open in her lap. Carmine strolled through his room and kicked a schoolbook lying on the floor, stubbing his toe. He yelped as he grabbed his foot and plopped down on the bed beside her, the jarring losing her place. Before she could find it again, the book closed as Carmine pulled it from her hands. For a second, irritation flared inside her at the interruption, but it faded when he laid his head in her lap.
She ran her hand across his cheek, gazing down at him with a smile as he spoke. “My bedroom needs cleaned.”
She jolted them both with her laughter. “Yes, it does.”
Haven ran her fingers through his hair, and he sighed contently. “Tomorrow. Cleaning can wait.”
“I look forward to it.”
He chuckled. “You should be terrified.”
The two of them drifted into a light sleep, but when Haven awoke later, she was alone. She slipped out of the bedroom, surprised to find the library empty, and made her way downstairs to search for Carmine.
The house was eerily silent, but on the first floor she heard the faint sound of music, the haunting dark melody laced with sadness. She walked slowly toward the family room, spotting Carmine sitting at the piano. His posture matched the song, his body collapsing in on itself, and the music grew louder as he furiously pressed the keys.
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Two in the morning and Carmine couldn’t sleep. He slipped downstairs, jumping when his father appeared in the doorway to the kitchen. Carmine hadn’t expected anyone to be up at this hour, much less him. Vincent’s gaze followed Carmine as he brushed past him to get something to drink. “Insomnia?”
Carmine shrugged. “You could say that.”
“Is it nightmares again?”
“You could say that.” Carmine was annoyed he would bring that up, but he could see the genuine concern in his father’s expression. He didn’t want to dwell, though, so he quickly changed the subject. “So, why are you up?”
Vincent sighed. “I’m leaving for Chicago.”
“I didn’t know you had to go this weekend.”
“Neither did I until Sal called,” he said. “I wasn’t supposed to fly out again until next weekend, but the trouble with the Russians is escalating.”
Carmine’s brow furrowed. “You have a problem with Russians?”
“We’ve had one for a while. They impede on our territory, which is something we can’t tolerate.”
Carmine was surprised he was telling him that much. His father wasn’t one to offer extra information. “Well, good luck with that, I guess.”
“Thanks. I’ll be back on Sunday night . . . hopefully.” He hesitated like he had something else to say but eventually shook his head. “Have a good weekend, son.”
Vincent left the kitchen. Carmine stood there, looking at the spot where his father had been standing. He chugged the last little bit of juice in his glass before heading upstairs, lying silently in bed and staring at the ceiling.
* * *
When Haven woke up the next morning, he wrapped his arms around her waist. “Morning, bella ragazza. How about we get dressed and do something today?”
She smiled sleepily. “Like what?”
