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“What the hell are you doing?” Katrina spat.
Maura jumped to her feet, looking away as she trembled. “Sorry, Mistress.”
Mistress. The moment she said it, he knew the truth.
“Well?” Carmine asked impatiently, pulling Vincent from his thoughts. “Why was she there?”
“She was the help.”
“The help?” Carmine’s tone was clipped. “Like a maid? Was she a waitress? Because the two of you were fifteen, and that’s not old enough to be employed. Not like you people follow laws or anything . . .”
Vincent sighed. “She wasn’t paid.”
Carmine sprung forward, raising his voice. “It’s true? Seriously?”
“Yes.”
Carmine shoved the front of the desk as he stood, thrusting it into Vincent. He grabbed the laptop before it hit the floor as his son rambled. “How could I have been so fucking stupid? Never would I have imagined she had been . . . you’d have . . . Christ!”
Vincent shifted his desk back into place. “You can say the word.”
“I know,” he snapped, “but can you?”
“Of course. It’s just a word.”
“Then say it. Drop the ‘she was the help’ bullshit and say it.”
“Slave,” Vincent said. “Trafficking victim. Call it what you will, it’s all the same.”
Carmine’s anger flared. “And the Morettis had her? Is that why Corrado says he owes her?”
“You’d have to ask him. That’s not my story to tell.”
“Of course it’s not your story to tell,” Carmine said, slamming his hands down on the desk. “The cop-out answer of the year. Nobody wants to tell me anything, so they pawn it off on everyone else. I can’t believe you kept this from me! After everything, how could you not tell me?”
Vincent pushed Carmine’s hands away. “It’s in your best interest to settle down. If you want an explanation, take a seat. If not, get out of my office. The choice is yours, but I’m not going to sit here and let you scold me like a child.”
Carmine glowered at him, clenching his jaw. Vincent could tell his son wanted to say something, but Carmine was smart enough to know that to get answers, he’d have to do things Vincent’s way.
Sighing, Carmine flopped down in the chair. Vincent straightened some papers that had been disturbed, giving the computer a quick glance before addressing his son. “When do you suppose I should’ve told you? When you were two and didn’t know what slavery was? When you were eight and thought your mother was infallible? After she was gone, when you were already hurting? The time was never right.”
“But don’t you think I had a right to know who my mother really was?”
The question sent Vincent’s temper flaring. “That’s not who your mother was! How many times have I overheard you telling the girl that that doesn’t define her? How many times, Carmine? And yet you have the audacity to turn it around and use it against me, against your mother?”
“I didn’t mean—”
“It doesn’t matter what you meant,” Vincent said. “This is why I never wanted you to know. Maura wanted people to see a wife and a mother—a woman—not a victim. I let her leave the past behind, and maybe it was unfair to you, but it was her life. It was her decision. I loved your mother, and we went through hell fighting to be together. I’ve tried to make it as easy as possible on you, so maybe you’d learn from my mistakes. I had to learn through trial and error. I lost my patience with her so many times because I didn’t understand.”
Carmine covered his face with his hands as he attempted to rein in his emotions. “She always seemed well adjusted.”
“That was our intention,” he said. “We didn’t want to taint your perception of the things she did. If you knew the truth, you’d question everything.”
Tears pooled in his eyes. “And this is why she was desperate to help Haven?”
Vincent was rocking Carmine’s foundation, so he purposely treaded carefully. “Maura wasn’t born into it, but she knew what the child had to look forward to. Your mother wanted to save her before reality hit. The older they are when you pull them out, the less likely they are to adapt.”
d been two weeks since the kids had returned from Blackburn, and the days had proven to be some of the longest of Vincent’s life. The atmosphere in the house was tense, the silence that followed both of them unsettling. He sat behind his desk every night and watched his son pace the hallway just feet from the office door, his hands assaulting his hair as he berated himself. Vincent couldn’t hear him, but he knew where his thoughts were.
