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“If this is Hell,” Carmine said, “does that make him the devil?”
40
Michael Antonelli stood on his front porch, a glass of whiskey in his left hand and a lit cigar in his right. He wasn’t speaking. He wasn’t blinking. He didn’t even appear to be breathing.
Haven stared at him, stunned by how utterly unchanged he looked. It had nearly been a year, but seeing her old master in his khaki pants and polo shirt, too tight around his bulging gut, made it feel like no time had passed.
The tense silence shattered when the door behind Michael opened, jolting him back alive. Blinking rapidly, he moved out of the way as Corrado stepped onto the porch. “Carmine, Haven . . . nice to see you. Are you enjoying your trip?”
o;We needed to get out of there before they showed up.”
She gaped at him as they pulled up to a red light in town. “Before who showed up, Carmine?”
He stared straight ahead. “Them.”
Not understanding, Haven followed the trail of his gaze, her eyes falling on four sleek black sedans sitting at the same red light, facing the opposite direction. “Are they . . . ?” she started, unable to finish the question. She’d seen those cars before.
“La Cosa Nostra,” Carmine said, the Italian words flowing beautifully, but the knowledge of what they meant sent a chill down Haven’s spine. Monsters.
The light turned green, and Carmine drove through the intersection. “You might wanna get comfortable, because it’s a long drive to California.”
Intense emotion hit her, stealing the breath from her lungs. “California?”
He nodded. “We’re needed in Blackburn.”
39
Carmine glanced at Haven in the passenger seat, frowning at the angle of her neck. She curled up the best she could with the seatbelt on. Reaching over, he brushed some hair out of Haven’s face and tucked it behind her ear. He ran the back of his hand across her cheek, feeling the roughness of the red blotches from crying. She hadn’t said anything about where they were going, but her tears spoke volumes about how she felt.
They had been on the road for three days, stopping occasionally to catch some sleep, but the majority of the time had been spent in the cramped car. The sky was overcast, the weather growing worse every mile, the constant drizzle turning into a downpour. Carmine slowly navigated the heavy traffic, his nerves on edge as he firmly gripped the steering wheel.
Haven sensed his unstable mood when she awoke and waited for him to attempt conversation first. “We’re almost to the state line,” he said quietly.
She stared out her foggy window. “Have you ever been to California?”
“Not that I remember,” he said. “I always wanted to, though.”
“Do they have colleges here?”
“Of course.”
“Any I could go to?”
“Sure,” he said. “What kinda classes do you wanna take?”
“Art, maybe,” she said. “I don’t know if I’m good enough to—”
He cut her off. “You are good enough. And yeah, there are plenty of art schools out here.”
For the first time in days, something other than trepidation shined from her eyes. “Really?”
He chuckled. “Yes, really, but why California?”
She shrugged. “I like the palm trees.”
Her serious tone as she answered caught him off guard. Most people overanalyzed where to go to school, choosing places based on student-teacher ratios, reputations, and sports teams, but she chose a place because of the scenery. He found it amusing, but he wasn’t at all surprised. The little things in life mattered once again.
“Do they have them in New York?”
