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Haven’s voice was scratchy. “What are you talking about?”
“Ah, she speaks!” His hard expression gave way to excitement. “What I am talking about is that your Italians have not been honest with you, nor have they treated you fairly, Principessa.”
He confused her. “Why do you keep calling me that?”
“Would you rather I call you by your slave name?”
“I, uh . . .” Did she? “I don’t know.”
He laughed. “I cannot believe you do not know.”
“I told you,” Nunzio said. “She’s clueless.”
The man leaned toward her, his hands clasped together in front of him. Haven tried to move away, her back pressed into the corner, his proximity nerve-racking.
ad a tinge of a foreign accent that struck Haven as familiar, flashes of the accident coming back to her. It reminded her of the man who had held a gun to her head.
Everyone stopped speaking, shifting their focus to Haven. A pair of familiar eyes met hers, the sight of them making her stomach twist. Nunzio smirked before turning back to his cards, the rest of the men grumbling as they did the same.
The woman grabbed a bottle from a large cooler by the table and poured some of the liquid into a plastic cup before making her way across the room. Haven could make out her features as she approached, her long, stringy hair so blonde it was nearly white, the roots the color of midnight. Her blue eyes were large, her face round and full. She looked like an antique porcelain doll.
“I’m surprised to see you moving around,” she said, her voice gentle as she held out the cup. Haven resisted, and the woman laughed lightly. “It’s water, pretty girl. Drink.”
A part of Haven screamed not to trust her, but there was a bigger part desperate to accept the drink. She gave in after a moment, the cold liquid soothing her burning chest.
“I thought he put you out for good,” she said. “I told Nunzy that last dose was too much. I don’t know why he never listens to me.”
The woman scoured through her purse and pulled out a pack of saltine crackers. “You’re going to want to eat these. There’s no telling when you’ll have another chance.”
Although she didn’t trust her, Haven didn’t want her stubbornness to ruin a chance to get some strength. Her stomach hurt with familiar pangs of hunger, so she took the crackers and ate them.
Her eyelids grew heavy. She fought the sleepiness, but it took control of her. She was light-headed and had to lie down as the woman smiled.
“Sorry,” she said, her voice a fading whisper, “but Nunzy won’t bother you if you’re asleep.”
Haven realized, as the pain lifted and the sounds grew muffled, that she’d been drugged again.
47
Carmine groggily glanced around the spare bedroom, his eyes falling on a clock across the room. It took a second for the numbers to register, and he sat up when he realized it was already eight in the morning. Pain surged through every inch of him as he climbed to his feet and descended the stairs. He paused in the doorway of the living room, seeing Dominic still typing away at the laptop as Tess paced. Everything appeared how he had left it.
Nearly half a day had passed, but nothing had changed.
Celia stepped out of the kitchen at the sound of his footsteps, appearing as exhausted as everyone else. “How are you feeling, kiddo?”
How did she think he felt? He hurt, inside and out. His entire life was chaos. Was he supposed to tell her he felt like dying would be relief? Would that make her feel better?
“I feel fucking useless,” he said, running his hand through his hair. “It’s like I’m just waiting for the other shoe to drop, and I hate that goddamn feeling.”
Celia opened her mouth to respond, but chaos erupted before she could get out a single word.
Dominic jumped to his feet. “It’s connecting!”
Carmine’s heart pounded rapidly as a door down the hall flung open and slammed against a wall. Carmine figured they had heard Dominic, but all hope disappeared when he made eye contact with his uncle. Corrado stared right past him at the door, his tanned skin seemingly void of all color.
Carmine’s blood ran cold. Something was terribly wrong, but never in his wildest dreams could he have predicted what happened next.
“FBI! Search warrant! Get on the ground! Now!”
