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“I know you think that—”
Carmine growled. “Don’t pretend to know my feelings! Stop treating me like a child!”
Dr. DeMarco slammed his hands down on the table. “Then grow up! I know how you’re feeling, because I felt the same way when I was your age! I know what you’d risk for her, but I can’t let you. I have to at least try for your mother!”
Carmine’s eyes narrowed. “Mom has nothing to do with this.”
“Your mother has everything to do with it! She loved her!”
Carmine blanched at that, his eyes darting to Haven before going right back to his father. His mouth flew open, like words were trying to force themselves out, but there was nothing but silence.
“Your mother was too naïve,” Dr. DeMarco continued, his voice somber. “She’d insist there was a way out of this where no one got hurt, but she’d be wrong. Someone’s going to get hurt. I just hope it’s neither of you.”
The tension returned after the turn in conversation. Carmine’s voice shook when he spoke. “Who did it?”
“Who did what?” Dr. DeMarco asked, not bothering to look up from his plate.
“You know what. Who killed her? We’re clearing the air here. I wanna know who shot me.”
“Their names don’t matter.”
“Then why did they do it?” he asked. “The least you can do is tell me what caused it all.”
“There’s no point, Carmine. What’s done is done.”
Carmine laughed dryly. “Don’t give me that. I have a right to know whose fault it is.”
“I don’t know.”
“What the fuck do you mean you don’t know?”
“I mean I don’t know who to blame!” Dr. DeMarco said. “Your mother—God, I loved your mother, but she went behind my back and did things she knew she shouldn’t have done.”
“What things?” Carmine asked. “Why did she do them?”
“Why did your mother do anything? She wanted to help.”
“Help who?”
“It doesn’t matter, Carmine.”
“Yes, it does,” he said. “I wanna know who was so important she’d risk everything for them. I wanna know who she’d throw her life away for!”
His anger frightened Haven. Dr. DeMarco stared at his son, his expression blank but gaze intense. Carmine’s enraged expression softened as his brow furrowed, and he broke eye contact. Dropping his head down, he ran both hands through his hair and blinked a few times.
“You’re too much like your mother, Carmine,” Dr. DeMarco said quietly. “I can’t let history repeat itself. Not anymore.”
Carmine pushed his chair back, throwing his napkin down on the table and bolting from the room without waiting to be excused.
“Is this sit-down adjourned?” Dr. DeMarco asked. “I’d hate to walk out in the middle of it.”
“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.
