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“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.”
“Is this why we don’t see Grandma? Were you afraid she’d tell us the truth?”
A bark of laughter sounded through the room, and it took Vincent a second to realize it had come from him. “Uh, my mother . . .” He laughed again. “Let’s just say she has her beliefs. A slave was bad enough. An Irish slave was worthy of disownment.”
“So she was Irish? That part’s true?”
“Yes. Her father fell into some trouble with the Irish mob. They snatched Maura as collateral when she was six.”
“She was kidnapped? Didn’t people look for her?”
“Of course they looked for her, but more than two thousand kids go missing in this country every day. Your mother disappeared before the Internet or any agencies for missing children existed, and certainly before there were things like Amber Alerts. All they had was word of mouth, and once everyone stopped talking about her, it was like she’d never existed.”
“But what about her parents?”
“They were killed,” he said. “Maura was sold a few times and ended up with Erika Moretti.”
“Who freed Mom? Who vouched for her?”
“I suppose you could say I did. Your grandfather said if I wanted something in life, it was my responsibility to earn it. So I initiated, and I’m still paying for it today.” He paused. “Is that all you want to know? Because I’m exhausted and don’t have the energy for this conversation anymore.”
Carmine nodded, although Vincent could tell he wanted to know much more.
“I’ll talk to your brother, but whether or not you tell the girl is up to you.”
“I don’t think so,” he said. “She has enough on her mind.”
“I imagine she does,” Vincent said, glancing at the computer to see she still hadn’t moved. “Her mother’s life ended as hers began. Speaking of which . . .” Opening the right bottom desk drawer, he grabbed some files and held them out to Carmine. “Here’s the girl’s paperwork. It’ll take a while before the estate is settled, but no one will contest her inheritance. Technically it all goes to Corrado, anyway, but he’ll hand it over to her once it comes through . . . along with her freedom, of course.”
“That’s the best gift anyone could give her.”
“It’s not a gift, Carmine. It’s what she’s been entitled to all along.”
* * *
Rain splattered the window as it fell from the clouds hovering above. There was no sign of the moon or any stars tonight, nothing but blackness. Ominous, but fitting . . . it was how Haven felt on the inside.
