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“Yeah, it’s over,” Dominic said. “It was a failure, anyway.”
Dr. DeMarco stood, patting his son on the back. “We’re walking away from it with our lives intact. We’re not always that lucky in real sit-downs.”
* * *
A flood of emotion rushed through Carmine as he locked himself in his bedroom. Horror. Shock. Love. Longing. Gratitude. Anger. Remorse. He kicked the bed frame as he walked by it, tugging his hair so hard his scalp throbbed. A ton of weight pressed against his chest, crushing him with the force of the truth.
It was Haven. She was the reason his life had been shattered.
He tossed things around, trying to release some pressure, his thoughts convoluted as he shifted blame, trying to find logic where none could be found. Everything was supposed to be easy for him, so why did it feel so fucking complicated?
He snatched the picture frame from his desk and stared at the photograph of his mom, a streak of Haven’s blood smeared on the broken glass. Tears of resentment stung his eyes. Nothing had changed, but everything seemed different.
He threw the frame down and stepped into the bathroom, his gaze falling on his muddled reflection in the mirror. His bloodshot, sorrowful eyes reminded him of her, and the last thread of control he’d been holding on to snapped.
His fist connected with the mirror. It cracked, shards of glass flying as he pounded on it in a rage, not slowing down until it was obliterated, his reflection gone from sight. Emotion swirled through him again as he slid down to the floor, drawing his knees up to his chest. His anger gave way to despair as the tears started to fall. He surrendered to it, not having the willpower to fight anymore.
The anguish took over as he put his head down. He let himself slip under and wallow in the misery of what he’d lost.
* * *
Darkness cloaked the bathroom when Carmine resurfaced. He walked to the sink, glass crunching under his shoes. The cuts on his hand stung as he washed away the blood.
Grabbing a bottle of vodka from his stash, he went down the stairs, seeing the light on in his father’s office. He didn’t bother to knock before stepping inside, kicking the door closed behind him. Plopping down in the leather chair, Carmine took a drink of the liquor.
“I never wanted to tell you,” Vincent said. “I thought it would be cruel. Your mother asked me to save her, but Frankie Antonelli wouldn’t let the girl go. So I told her to drop it, but she didn’t. She couldn’t. I realized what she was doing too late. I was too late.”
It all hit Carmine hard, and he blinked rapidly to ward off the tears. “Did she figure out the secret? Is that why they killed her?”
“She was on the right track, had even hired a private investigator, but I don’t think she had enough time to put the pieces together. She would have, though. It was only a matter of time.”
o;Fuck you.”
Dominic sighed exasperatedly. “Just let him look at your hand and get it over with, bro.”
Carmine stayed still for a moment before pulling his hand from Haven’s hip. Dr. DeMarco’s expression remained blank as he eyed his son’s hand, and Carmine winced a few times as he pressed on his knuckles. “You’ll be fine.”
“Like I said . . .” Carmine pulled his hand away. “Fuck you.”
* * *
Haven carried the food to the table once it was done and planned to go to her room, but Carmine stopped her, pulling out a chair and motioning for her to sit. The tension mounted through dinner. No one wanted to be there, none of them wanting to deal with it, but it couldn’t be avoided anymore. The wheels had been set into motion.
A fork clanged as Dominic cracked first. “We have to clear the air. We need to have a sit-down.”
Dr. DeMarco scoffed. “You know nothing about sit-downs.”
“You’re right, but we’re going to have our own version,” Dominic said. “No one leaves the table until we get some answers.”
“There are some questions I can’t answer,” Dr. DeMarco said.
“That’s fine,” Dominic said. “If you can’t answer something, tell us. Plead the fifth—it’ll be good practice. But things can’t keep going like they are, Dad. We used to feel like a family—a dysfunctional-as-hell one, but still a family. And now it’s every man for themselves.”
Dr. DeMarco stared at his plate. “Fine. Family meeting.”
The word family struck Haven. She jumped to her feet. “May I be excused, sir?”
Dr. DeMarco waved her away, while Carmine slammed his hands down on the table. “Sit down, Haven. This involves you, too.”
