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“Carmine?”
“Yeah?”
“Shut up.”
Carmine decided then he should probably shut up.
Disoriented, he glanced at the clock on the dashboard and saw it was midnight. Haven had been gone for twelve hours, and the clock kept ticking as if the seconds didn’t matter.
He sighed, the strain in the car growing.
Carmine felt like he could breathe again when they reached the house and put some space between them. He headed inside and paused in the foyer as his father stepped out of the room under the stairs. Corrado shuffled in and closed the front door. “Has he talked?”
“No,” Vincent said. “He’s given me nothing.”
Corrado brushed past Carmine, giving Vincent a peculiar look before disappearing into the room. Vincent muttered something under his breath, refusing to look at Carmine as he strode away. Carmine sat down on the steps, putting his head down and rocking back and forth for a while, before pacing the hallway. As the morphine faded from his system, so did his patience.
Eventually, he heard footsteps on the stairs as Vincent approached at the same time Corrado stepped out, both men stopping in the foyer. Carmine looked between them, his last bit of control slipping. “Why are you just standing there? Can’t you do something? Anything? Christ!”
Before the last word was verbalized, Carmine was jerked by the back of his collar and slammed into the wall. He lost his breath as Corrado shoved a gun to his fractured rib. “Have you still not learned your lesson? Is one of us going to have to die before you realize this isn’t a game? These are our lives you’re messing with, and I, for one, will not tolerate you endangering me more than you already have! I don’t care whose child you are.”
Carmine’s heart pounded rapidly. He didn’t doubt for a second that his uncle would shoot him.
“Corrado,” Vincent said. “Let him go.”
Corrado released Carmine and swung around, turning the weapon on Vincent. Carmine inhaled sharply as he watched it play out. Vincent stood as still as a statue, not blinking as he stared down the barrel of Corrado’s gun.
“You keep pulling me in deeper and deeper, Vincent,” Corrado said, lowering his pistol.
“I know,” Vincent said.
Corrado turned to Carmine. “That mouth of yours is going to get every single one of us killed. If you can’t close it yourself, I’ll close it for you.”
* * *
The next day dawned when Carmine made his way up to the third floor, his chest constricting as he pushed open his bedroom door. He sat on the edge of the bed and grabbed a pillow, clutching it to his chest as tears formed in his eyes.
Every bit of composure he had was ripped away as he inhaled Haven’s scent, which lingered there. The grief swallowed him, refusing to let go until his father interrupted in the middle of the afternoon. “We’re leaving for Chicago soon,” Vincent said.
Carmine set the pillow down and wiped his tears, cringing at his torn, blood-splattered clothes. “I should change.”
“I prefer you stay here in case she shows back up.”
Carmine laughed bitterly as he stood. “She’s not a lost dog. She didn’t wander out of the backyard and get lost in the woods somewhere.”
“I understand, but you should reconsider. It’s dangerous and—”
“I’m going,” Carmine said, cutting him off. “If you don’t want me to go with you, I won’t, but I’ll be on the next goddamn plane whether you like it or not.”
“Fine, but you need to watch yourself, son. You can’t run off on a vigilante mission. I can’t focus on getting her back if you’re out there wreaking havoc and counteracting everything I’m doing.”
“I know. I’ll keep my mouth shut and let you do what you do. I’m not fucking naïve. I know what might be happening to her, but I need to be there, no matter what.”
Vincent pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fine. We’ll tie up some loose ends then leave.”
Carmine gazed at him. “Loose ends? Is it, uh . . . you know, that guy, and . . .”
He couldn’t finish his thought, but he didn’t have to. Vincent understood. “We have Johnny in the basement. He hasn’t said much, but I injected him with sodium thiopental a few minutes ago.”
