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Cutting off midnote, he swung around to see Haven. Her wild hair hung loose, framing an exhausted and solemn face. He patted the piano bench, inviting her to join him, and she sat down.
“You really play beautifully.” She gazed at the keys as he played again, picking up on the same note he’d stopped. “Is that the only song you know?”
He rounded out Moonlight Sonata. “I know a few more. Not as well as I know that one, but I can play a bit of the others.”
“Are they all sad?”
“No.”
“Can you play something happy for me?”
A sudden rush of irritation struck him at her request, but he fought it back, knowing he needed to control his temper with her. He roughly played “Jingle Bells,” only vaguely remembering the right keys. Entranced, Haven’s eyes sparkled as she watched his fingers.
The room fell silent when he finished the song. “Merry Christmas, bella ragazza.”
She smiled, whispering, “Merry Christmas,” back to him. He stared into her eyes and leaned forward to kiss her when a throat dramatically cleared behind them. He pulled back swiftly. Damn near busted.
“Am I interrupting?” Celia asked, the smile on her lips telling Carmine she knew she was. He started to speak, but Haven ran from the room before he could say anything. He sighed as she disappeared, and Celia sat down beside him on the bench. “So talented.”
He rolled his eyes. “I butchered that song. I haven’t tried to play it in years.”
“Haven thought you played it great.”
“That’s because she’s never heard it before. She thought my fuck-ups were intentional.”
“You’re being self-deprecating. Your mother was always proud of her little Mozart.”
He didn’t respond. She knew he wouldn’t, though. He never did.
“She recognizes me,” Celia said. “That’s what your father and I were talking about. She saw me when I visited Blackburn.”
Carmine sat still as that sank in. “Did you ever think about helping her when you were there?”
“Believe me, kiddo. I wanted to. I talked to Corrado about it, but it was out of my hands. It’s their business and—”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” He cut her off. “Keep business and personal separate, the code of conduct, and all that bullshit. I’ve heard it all before.”
“I see you’ve been talking to Salvatore,” she said. “Anyway, if you’ll excuse me, there’s a girl hiding somewhere I should have a talk with.”
23
Haven sat on the edge of her bed, feeling out of place. She’d never spoken to Celia before last night, had merely seen her in passing, but her presence made those two worlds converge. Her old life, the one of pain, was mixing with her new life, where she’d finally started to feel comfortable.
It made her uneasy. She wanted that feeling to go away.
There was a light tap on her door. Her stomach felt queasy as she gripped the knob with a sweaty palm. Opening it slowly, she was alarmed to see Celia. “Can I speak to you?”
Haven nodded. Celia took a seat on the bed, and Haven tried to stop her hands from shaking as she sat beside her. “I wanted to tell you a story. Would you be opposed to that?”
A story? “No, ma’am.”
“Back in the seventies, when I was around eleven, an underground war ignited between, uh, groups. Safe houses were set up around the country for men to get their families out of the line of fire. This place was one of them—it was where my father sent us. It also happens to be where we met my husband, Corrado, and his sister, Katrina. Our fathers were friends. Vincent and I never liked Katrina. She’s an evil twit who gets pleasure from hurting people. I’m sure you know that.”
Haven nodded. It was true.
“Corrado was the opposite of his sister. He stayed out of the way and kept to himself. One day we were all out by the creek, and Katrina was throwing rocks at me. Corrado just stood there and watched. We thought he was a pushover. Vincent wouldn’t stand for it, though, and threw a rock back at her. Smacked her in the face and left a big welt.”
Despite herself, Haven smiled.
