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Empty.
She might have been taking oxygen into her lungs as her heart pushed blood through her body, but a part of her had stopped existing. It had been a slow, torturous death, agonizingly painful as she withered away from the knowledge it had been her fault.
Glancing at the clock on the wall, Haven strained her eyes to make out the numbers. There was enough light for her to see the little hand past midnight, another day having begun.
September 10.
She watched the rain for a while longer before a shadow moved. Carmine stood a few feet away, watching her. “I think we should go to bed.”
Grabbing the book in her lap, she set it on the table and hurried to the room before he could say anything else. Carmine followed her and shut the door, pulling her body close to his when he climbed into bed.
“Buon compleanno, mia bella ragazza,” he said. “Happy birthday.”
43
Haven gazed across the room with blurry, tired eyes, seeing Carmine near the doorway, holding a small plate with a cinnamon bun on it. A single blue candle stuck out from the top. Haven could smell the fresh pastry, the subtle scent of something burned told her who had made them.
“You baked?” she asked, stunned.
Carmine looked sheepish. “I wasn’t gonna attempt a cake. These damn things were hard enough. It took me forever to figure out how to open the canister. I had to call Dia and ask.”
Haven smiled as he approached, her chest swelling with love to the point it was painful. Despite everything, he was still her world, her one and only. Part of her may have felt dead, but there was still another part of her that lived for Carmine.
“That’s sweet,” she said, taking the plate. “You didn’t have to. I told you—”
“I know what you told me,” he said, “but I can’t ignore your birthday. You’ve never had one before. It’s special, so no arguing, because it’s rude to argue when people wanna do shit for you. It’s like, punching a gift horse or something.”
She laughed. “Looking a gift horse in the mouth?”
Rolling his eyes, he reached into his pocket for a lighter and lit the candle. “Yes. A caval donato non si guarda in bocca. Just take it with a smile, and it’ll be over before you know it.” The moment he pulled his hand away, Haven blew out the flame. “Eager, are we? Did you make a wish?”
Her brow furrowed as he pulled the candle from the pastry. “A wish?”
“You make a wish before you blow out the candle,” he said. “It’s the whole point. But you’ll get another chance later with Dia.”
She tensed. “What?”
“We’re gonna spend the night in Charlotte with Dia for your birthday. Come on, did you seriously think you’d get out of dealing with her? We’re pretty much her only friends.”
He looked at her imploringly, pleading for her not to argue.
Haven tore the cinnamon bun in half, sharing it with him. The bottom was black and hard to chew, but she said not a word about it as she choked down her piece. Once Carmine finished his, he grabbed a stack of papers and handed them to her.
“What is this?” she asked.
“That, tesoro, is your life.”
Haven scanned the top paper, a certificate of citizenship, and tears formed when she saw her name. She flipped through the others as her emotions ran rampant, but the papers did nothing but confuse her. Wills, codicils, executors, beneficiary distribution, uniform transfers, custodians, residuary estate, fiduciary . . . “What does all this mean?”
“That’s your inheritance. It’ll take a few months before you see anything from it. Actually, it should’ve taken months for the rest of it, too, but Corrado somehow got it pushed through within a few days. I don’t know how he does it. Extortion, probably.”
She stared at him. “Inheritance?”
“Yeah, property and money and shit. I mean, I understand you’re not gonna wanna keep the house, but you can sell it or—”
“What?” she asked. “What house?”
He stopped speaking and looked at her with surprise. “Uh, the house in Blackburn.”
