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Nine.
“ . . . even if it means rescinding my vouch for the girl.”
Ten.
Carmine stared at his uncle when he hung up. “Rescind your vouch?”
Corrado slipped his phone into his pocket. “Yes. You better hope Sal feels forgiving, because I just broke our code of conduct.”
“I, uh . . .”
“There’s nothing else to say, Carmine. What’s done is done.”
“But, uh . . .” Corrado’s nonchalance scared him. “Your sister. You always protect your family.”
“Well, you’re my nephew, correct?” Carmine nodded. “And Katrina attacked you, correct?” Another nod. “That means I protected my family. My sister and her husband made their beds, and it’s nobody’s fault but their own they now lie in them.”
Carmine didn’t speak, afraid he’d get sick if he tried. He never imagined things would happen like this—never imagined the day would end with him splattered in blood, the same blood that coursed through Haven’s veins, while both of the people who brought her into existence were dead.
“It’s over now,” Corrado said, looking at the bodies. “This isn’t yours to deal with . . . it’s mine. But I hope this teaches you a lesson, and you finally realize you don’t know everything.”
* * *
Haven jolted awake, a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach as she sat upright in the dark motel room. The black-and-white static on the television screen faintly illuminated Carmine standing by the doorway. A strange sensation trickled through her, a coldness starting in her chest. “Carmine?”
He stared at her, and in the glow of the television, she could see his panic. His eyes shined with tears of desperation, and she knew something had gone wrong.
“What happened?” she asked. “Is everything okay?”
Carmine took a step forward and ever so slightly shook his head. The subtle movement rocked her foundation. When he stepped farther into the light, she could see the red on his shirt, the splatter of blood. She had seen it before, streaking her blue dress as she stared down at the body of the fallen teenage girl. It was the mark of desolation. It was the mark of death. “Oh God, are you okay? Are you hurt?”
“It’s not me,” he whispered, his face twisting in agony. “She’s gone.”
She’s gone. Haven knew those words. He’d said them about his own mama.
Haven’s chest constricted as it felt like her lungs had collapsed, her insides bursting into vicious flames. “No!”
Carmine’s raspy voice echoed with distress as he reached for her, but she pushed him as hard as she could. “Stop! You’re wrong! Where is she, Carmine? What happened to my mama?”
Despite her attempts to get away, Carmine grabbed her and squeezed her tightly. She tried to push out of his arms but he held on, never wavering. “Let go! Tell me where she is!”
He shushed her, and she could hear his voice tremble as he started to cry. “I’m sorry, hummingbird, but she isn’t coming back.”
His tears shattered what was left of her resolve. Uncontrollable sobs ripped from her as she wailed on him, screaming that he didn’t know anything. Balling her hands into fists, she repeatedly hit him in the back. He took every blow in stride, never once loosening his grip.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I did everything I could, but she’s fucking gone.”
Her panic surged. She chanted the word no and screamed incoherently, telling him he needed to go make it right. She blamed him, because he wasn’t giving her an explanation, his reassuring words only stinging more. He ignored his ringing phone, not moving an inch as he took everything she threw at him, every harsh word and painful scream.
Every “I hate you” echoing from her chest was followed by an “I love you” from his lips. Every time she begged him to let go, he told her he would be there forever. His hold was strong, his arms familiar, but it did nothing to take away her pain.
“She didn’t suffer,” he whispered. “It was her choice.”
* * *
Haven barely said a thing for days. Carmine explained to her what happened, told her what he knew, but she didn’t react. She said nothing. They stayed in the motel in California for the rest of the week, but by the time the weekend rolled around, they had to go. The Mafia had departed and his father was still alive, having diffused another situation. They had only come to clean out the basement, worried about the police attention centered on Vincent.
The drive was strained without conversation. Carmine stopped frequently during the day to take breaks. By the time the weekend came to a close, they were pulling back into the city limits of Durante. He parked beside his father’s Mercedes when they reached the house, and he climbed out, stretching. Haven went straight inside, not bothering to wait for him. He followed her, running into his father the moment he stepped into the foyer.
