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He led her up to the window and bought two tickets. At the concession stand, he bought a soda and a box of Sour Patch Kids before leading Haven into the packed theater. She hesitated, glancing around, and it dawned on him that this was her first time. It was easy for him to forget sometimes that she was still new to the world and hadn’t experienced the things he took for granted. He squeezed her hand, trying to be reassuring, and chose a seat near the exit in case she felt the need to escape.
She relaxed as he pushed the armrest out of the way and pulled her close to him. The theater finished filling as it significantly darkened. Haven tensed at the thunderous noise coming from the speakers but relaxed again by the time the movie started. He popped a few Sour Patch Kids into his mouth, and Haven eyed the candy before pulling out a piece. Her face contorted as soon as it hit her tongue, and he chuckled. “It’s sour, huh?”
“Yes, but it’s good.”
She took a couple more and watched the movie intently while Carmine spent most of the time focusing on her. They shared the soda and munched on the candy like it was no big deal, but to both of them, it was. Carmine was giving, and Haven had no qualms taking from him.
He felt no anger as she snatched a piece of candy right from his hand, only pride that she had grown so brave. Her guard was down, and little by little, Carmine felt himself cracking too.
He took her hand when the credits rolled, and the two of them slipped out of the theater before everyone else. Haven enthusiastically chatted the entire way home. He had no clue what she was talking about, but he smiled anyway, her happiness making him content.
* * *
Nine men. Nine guns. Almost ninety bullets. One delivery truck full of electronics.
This wasn’t how Vincent had expected to spend his Saturday night.
They were outnumbered two to one. A run-of-the-mill Glock was pointed at Vincent’s chest while he stared down the barrel of a Beretta. The hand of the man holding the Glock shook, telling Vincent he was nervous. For that reason, Vincent chose to aim his revolver at the other one. If Vincent had learned anything, it was that a man with a steady hand wouldn’t hesitate to pull a trigger.
Corrado stood a few feet away, in the midst of a showdown with Ivan Volkov. The two men glared, neither one moving or speaking, with their guns pointed at each other’s heads. Corrado seemed unaware of everyone else around them. Vincent wasn’t sure if that was good or bad.
Giovanni held his ground despite the armed men zeroing in on him. The box truck idled, the cramped alley filling with the thick, suffocating fumes. It burned Vincent’s nose and distorted his vision, but he fought to keep his focus. They had been called out by Sal a few minutes earlier, saying a truck Giovanni’s crew had hijacked on the east side of the city was stolen from them by thugs. They had tracked it down, expecting to find amateurs, but came head-to-head with the Russians again.
The man with the Glock was the first to crack. He lowered his weapon and frantically took a step back. Shaking his head, he wordlessly ran out of the alley.
One by one they surrendered, their lack of loyalty astounding. They fled, leaving the three of them with an unruffled Volkov. There was no fear in his expression, no concern in his eyes, no surprise that his men had abandoned their posts.
They were nothing like the Italians. If one of them abandoned la famiglia, they wouldn’t live to see another sunrise.
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.
Haven sat down in the doorway and leaned against the wall in the shadows, watching him play in a trance. She was mesmerized hearing so much emotion pouring from his fingertips. It was the same tune in a continuous loop—as soon as it would wind down, he’d start it up again.
