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“Are you listening to me?”
“No,” Vincent admitted, turning to his mother. “What did you say?”
“I’m not repeating myself for you,” Gia said. “It’ll suck the breath from my lungs and take time off my life. That’s probably what you want, isn’t it? For me to die? Then I wouldn’t be a burden anymore. Your own mother . . . you treat me like garbage.”
Vincent sighed exasperatedly. “What do you want from me, Ma?”
“Nothing, Vincenzo. I want nothing.”
He glanced at his watch, fresh out of patience. “I should go. Dominic and Tess are waiting.”
Gia narrowed her eyes. “Who are they?”
“You know who Dominic is,” he said, trying to keep calm, but he had had about as much of her as he could take. “He’s your grandson, and Tess is his girlfriend.”
“Is she Italian?”
“No, she’s American. Scottish heritage.”
“Scottish? At least that’s better than the Irish. What about that other boy of yours? Does he have an Italian girl?”
Vincent walked over to his mother and kissed her forehead, heading toward the door without answering.
* * *
The week flew by in a blur as Haven and Carmine were left alone. It was easy for them to forget during those days, when it was just the two of them, that barriers stood in their way. It seemed so simple, their lives merging fluidly within the confines of the house; but the outside world was closing in on them fast. A black cloud hovered in the distance, threatening to burst, but the problem was they didn’t know when, where, or how it would come down. It could be an inconvenient drizzle or a flood that washed everything away. There was no way to prepare for the storm when they couldn’t predict what would happen when it struck.
It was Friday afternoon, and they were in the family room watching a movie, their bodies pressed together on the couch, legs entwined as she lay in his arms. His lips wandered down her jaw, his mouth vigorously sucking on the flesh of her neck.
The sound of Haven’s light moans was cut off abruptly when the alarm beeped and the front door slammed. Panicked, Carmine sat up as his father stormed into the room. Instinctively, he shifted his body protectively in front of Haven’s as Vincent clenched his hands into fists. “My office. Now.”
“Who?” Carmine asked tentatively as his father walked away.
“You.”
Carmine stood and pulled Haven to her feet. “Go to my room and stay there while I find out what’s happening.”
Haven followed him upstairs, but his legs were longer and she couldn’t keep up with his stride. Carmine went straight for his father’s office, thrusting the door open without bothering to knock. Vincent was hunched over his laptop, typing furiously away at the keys. “They’re coming.”
Carmine’s brow furrowed at the vague statement. “Who?”
“Ed McMahon and the prize patrol. Who do you think is coming?”
The mocking tone caught him off guard. “Feds?”
“I wish.” Vincent shook his head. “It’s probably only a matter of time before they come knocking, but no . . . we’re not that lucky today. I got a call a few minutes ago that Sal hopped a plane to come here with no warning. I don’t know why, and I have no idea what they want.”
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t know.” Vincent opened desk drawers and rifled through files. “I’m hoping it’s unexpected business, but it could be one of you they’re after, so I need you out of here in case. Corrado doesn’t think you should be anywhere without protection.”
“I have a gun,” Carmine said.
Vincent’s head shot up. “A lot of good one gun does you as a nobody. They could kill you and no one would know unless you had one of us by your side.”
Vincent’s phone vibrated against the desk, and he held his hand up to silence Carmine. He answered it formally, his voice as even as possible. “DeMarco speaking . . . Yes, sir . . . I’ll be here.”
He hung up, tossing the phone down as he eyed his son peculiarly. “Pack some bags. We need to get the ball rolling on things.”
