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“They can detain you for a reasonable amount of time,” he said. “But truthfully? You’re there because you’re the son of Vincenzo Roman DeMarco, the nephew of Corrado Alphonse Moretti, and the godson of Salvatore Gerardo Capozzi. You don’t get much more notorious than that.”
“That’s fucked up,” Carmine said. “I have nothing to do with their business.”
“Guilty by association,” he said. “Having you released is my number one priority right now. Lucky for you, it shouldn’t be more than a few days.”
“Days? I’m supposed to stay in this place for days?”
“Unfortunately, yes. I’ll request a hearing, but it’ll take time to get in front of a judge.”
Mr. Borza walked out as the corrections officer patted Carmine down before escorting him to his cell, where a tray of food awaited him. He conceded to hunger, grabbing the container of pudding and sitting on the lumpy bed.
* * *
The second day of Carmine’s incarceration passed similar to the first. Sometime in the evening, an officer came by to tell him he had another visitor. Relief washed through him, as he figured Mr. Borza had news, but the familiar man waiting was clearly not his lawyer.
“Carmine DeMarco,” Special Agent Cerone said. “Have a seat.”
“I have nothing to say to you.”
“But you don’t even know why I’m here.”
He laughed dryly. “It doesn’t matter. I have nothing to say.”
“Fair enough. You know your rights and can go back to your cell.” Carmine turned to leave when the agent sighed exaggeratedly. “I just wanted to talk about a girl named Haven.”
Carmine’s heart pounded rapidly at the mention of her, the ache in his chest intensifying. “Why?”
“Her name came up a few times during the investigation,” he said. “I tried locating her, but there’s barely any evidence she exists. It’s as if she’s a ghost.”
Carmine balked at the word. “Why are you asking me?”
“I figure if you help me, I can help you.”
“I don’t need your help,” he said. “There’s nothing I can tell you.”
“You can’t tell me who she is?”
“No.” He desperately wished he fucking could.
“Strange. We made a trip to your hometown yesterday, and the people there are under the impression she’s your girlfriend. I even came across this while I was there.” He reached into his briefcase for a piece of paper, and Carmine’s knees went weak when he saw it was the picture Haven had drawn for him, her name neatly written in the corner. “Does that jog your memory?”
“Fuck you.”
“Where is she?” he asked. “She’s not in Durante, and she wasn’t with you in Chicago. One of the only other people this girl seems to talk to is a boy named Nicholas Barlow, who coincidentally is also missing.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Special Agent Cerone was undeterred. “Did something happen to your girlfriend? You can tell me. I’m here to help—”
“You aren’t here to help. You don’t give a shit about me.”
“Did she run off with Nicholas?” he asked. “Did she choose him over you?”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Is she dead?”
He recoiled from his statement. “No.”
