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Carmine’s stomach sank. He was going to be sick.
* * *
Vincent stepped off the elevator on the fifth floor of the Belden Stratford Hotel and strolled toward his room at the end of the hall. The dim lighting was easy on his tired eyes. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d gotten a good night’s sleep, his hectic schedule taking a toll on him.
Jet-lagged, he was looking forward to having some down time. The next ten hours of his schedule were uncharacteristically clear, and he had no intention of doing anything but lying in bed. He was sick of traveling. Sick of working. Sick of talking. Sick of thinking. He wanted, for once, to savor a bit of peace.
The moment he stepped into his hotel room, the phone in his pocket rang. He looked at the clock—six in the morning.
He pulled out his phone, too exhausted to deal with business, and was surprised to see it was Carmine. Vincent sat down on the edge of the bed. “Isn’t it a bit early for you to be up, son?”
Carmine sighed. “It’s called insomnia, remember? I never sleep.”
Vincent knew the feeling well. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” he said. “Can’t I call my father to wish him a happy new year?”
Vincent was surprised. Carmine had certainly never called for casual conversation before. “Happy new year to you, too. Did you all have a nice night?”
“It was okay, I guess.”
“No fighting?”
“No, I didn’t send anyone to the hospital.”
“Good,” he said, yawning. The sky outside was starting to lighten as dawn approached. “What are you guys going to do today?”
“I don’t know,” Carmine said, “but I guess you’ll be able to tell later. You know, because of the tracking chip in Haven.”
The words went straight over Vincent’s head. It took a minute for them to sink in. “She told you about that?”
“She may have mentioned it,” he said. “She also may have said you swabbed her cheek. She isn’t, like, our cousin or something, is she? Illegitimate child? Were you fucking around on Mom?”
Vincent sighed. “Of course not. There’s no blood relation.”
“Okay, whatever. I was just curious.”
Vincent closed his eyes. His son was on to him.
Peace was fleeting once again.
26
The first week of January swiftly passed as the boys headed back to school. Haven lay in bed for a while that Friday morning before strolling into the library. Glancing toward the stairs, she gasped and grabbed her chest. Dr. DeMarco stood in front of her with his arms crossed.
He had been in Chicago all week, so he was the last person she expected to see. She stared at him, wondering when he’d gotten home, but more curious as to what he was doing on the third floor. There was a part of her—the part that would never forget what he did—that screamed something wasn’t right. She searched for some hidden emotion and saw a flicker of aggravation in his eyes.
The monster lurked today. “Good morning, Dr. DeMarco.”
“Good morning.” His voice was cold and detached. “Grab your coat and meet me downstairs.”
Fear consumed her, but she tried to keep her outward composure. He continued to stare at her, waiting for acknowledgment. She didn’t know why—it wasn’t as if she could say no. If he told her to be somewhere, she’d be there if she wanted to or not.
“Yes, sir.”
She exhaled sharply once he was gone, shaking her head as she grabbed her coat. She stuck her hands into her pockets as she descended the stairs, her palms sweaty. Was this the end of her time here? Was he tired of her? What would he do to her? Would he sell her? What if she never saw Carmine again?
In the middle of her near-breakdown, a hand gripped her shoulder. She recoiled from Dr. DeMarco behind her. “You’re awfully jumpy today.”
