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Ninja. The moment he said it, he felt like he had been slapped. Tears tried to force their way from his eyes, but he held them back in front of his uncle.
“You watch too much television,” Corrado said. “The mark of a successful assassin is the target never knowing what hit him.”
Carmine stared at him. “I’m not a target, though . . . at least I hope not.”
The corner of Corrado’s lips tugged into a small smile as he lit the fireplace. After the fire waged, he tossed his shirt into it and watched it burn. “I remember when you and your mother went missing. A few of us were at your house, and you were late. Vincent sent a car, but it came back empty. Driver said you were already gone. Despite your father’s fear that night, he did what he had to do. He learned to wear that calm mask well, but I knew him better than most.”
He poked around in the fire, the shirt already burned to ash. “You and him are cut from the same mold—too emotional, too invested in life on the outside, and that can be dangerous. People will exploit it for an upper hand, and both of you share a weakness.”
“What’s that?”
Corrado looked at him like it was a stupid question. “Your women, Carmine.”
“Doesn’t everyone have that problem, though?”
Corrado shook his head. “Most are incapable of loving anyone. Their wives are like their cars and their houses. They feel like they’ve earned them, they take care of them, they show them off, but if push comes to shove, they’d sell them out to save themselves.”
“Is that how you feel?” Carmine asked. “I always thought, you know, you and Celia . . .”
“I do love Celia,” Corrado said. “The difference is I can’t be manipulated. They used Maura to force your father to do their business, just as Haven will be used to get you to do what they want.”
“You think that’s why they kept me alive?”
“I’m sure of it. We’re all pawns, Carmine, and if you aren’t careful, you’ll play into their hands. Exposure isn’t good in our world. I hope, since you’re so much like Vincent, you’ll learn to put on that mask. I already helped him bury Maura. I don’t want to go through that again.” He turned to walk away. “And pack a bag, for God’s sake. It looks suspicious to get on a plane with no luggage.”
* * *
They landed in Chicago close to dusk that evening and made the twenty-five-minute journey from the airport to the Morettis’ house in silence. Carmine watched out the window in a daze. He hadn’t been back in years, but the neighborhood looked exactly like he recalled. They passed Tarullo’s Pizzeria and Carmine closed his eyes, unable to look as they neared the alley where his life changed.
Corrado pulled into the driveway of the large brick house. A frazzled Celia stood in the doorway, and Corrado barely gave her a glance as he passed. She offered Vincent a sympathetic smile, and Carmine tried to slip by her, but she grabbed him for a hug.
He pulled away from her. “This is my fault.”
Shaking her head, Celia cupped his chin. “You didn’t cause this, kiddo. You would never do anything to hurt her. She’s one of us . . . she’s family. We’ll find her.”
“I hope you’re right,” he said, dropping his bag right inside the house. He headed for the front room, catching sight of his brother on the couch. Dominic had his head down, his hands covering his face. Tess sat beside him and glanced at Carmine, her eyes widening. She nudged Dominic. “Dom.”
Dominic’s head popped up, his mouth agape. “Look at you, bro.”
“It looks worse than it is,” he lied, sitting on the other side of him. The pain was unbearable, both inside and out. “She’s all that matters right now.”
Neither said anything more before Vincent walked in, setting up his laptop on the coffee table. He looked at Dominic, his voice stern. “I need you to locate her chip for me.”
Carmine blanched. “You can’t find it?”
“It won’t connect.”
When he left, a tense silence lingered in his wake. Tess sighed loudly as she paced the room, picking up things to keep busy as Dominic turned to the laptop. His fingers flew furiously across the keys as he typed in code, none of it making any sense to Carmine.
The clicking keys grated on Carmine’s raw nerves. He was nearing forty hours without sleep. His head felt too heavy for his neck, his red-rimmed eyes burning from exhaustion. Running his hand through his hair, he clutched it tightly as he swayed in his seat. The ticking of a clock in the background blended with Dominic’s typing, taunting Carmine. Every tick was one second longer without her, one more second of uncertainty. Tess continued to pace, her heels clacking against the wood floor. It was too much for him to take.
Pace, click, tick. Pace, click, tick. Pace, click, tick.
Carmine was losing his fucking mind.
Celia walked in with some sandwiches and set a plate in front of him. “You should eat.”
“Do you think she’s eating?” His voice cracked as the question came out. Was she eating? Were they taking care of her? Was she warm? Christ, where the fuck was she? He let out a shaky breath as his fear skyrocketed. Was she even alive?
