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“The outside world? You make it sound like you were living in a different universe.”
She shrugged, her gaze still fixed on the television. “It feels like it sometimes.”
* * *
The forty-five-foot white Riviera yacht floated on Lake Michigan, just east of the Navy Pier. The glow from the moon reflecting off the calm waters gave Vincent just enough light to see. Nothing but blackness was visible below the surface, but he’d been around long enough to know what was down there. Algae. Fish. Shipwrecks. Sunken cars. Bodies.
Yes, he was aware of four people who lay at the bottom of the lake . . . or what was left of them, anyway. They’d been tossed in from where he stood, the back of the hull of The Federica. The words were etched in black on the stern, named after the Don’s long-dead sister. The half-million-dollar yacht was Sal’s, although as far as the government knew it belonged to Galaxy Corp., a company out of Chicago that manufactured GPS chips. It was a cover for his more shady business practices, most of his extravagant possessions written off as company property. That way, if the IRS came knocking, he wouldn’t have to explain how he could afford such things. He’d simply borrowed them.
ughed. “It’s nature. They can’t help themselves.”
She stared at the jar, having no idea what to make of it.
Carmine stood after a few minutes, brushing the grass from his pants. “We should head inside before we get caught. You can bring the bugs with you.”
Shaking her head, she unscrewed the lid. “They should be free,” she said quietly, watching as the fireflies flew away.
Carmine grabbed her hand, pulling her to her feet, and her fingertips tingled from his touch. The sensation alarmed her. It was like electricity under her skin, running through her veins and jolting her heart. Her pulse raced as she averted her gaze, not daring to look him in the eyes.
His eyes—green, like the grass and the trees.
Haven felt like she, too, was suddenly glowing.
6
Evasion became a way of life for Haven again during the next few weeks, but deep down she knew it couldn’t last. As she headed downstairs one Friday to do her work, she heard the television playing in the family room, although everyone should have been gone for the day. Her pulse quickened. Every weekday she had been left alone until three o’clock. She didn’t like her routine being disrupted.
Quietly, she walked to the family room and saw Dr. DeMarco sitting on the couch. He addressed her without even looking up. “Good morning, child.”
Bewildered, she mumbled, “Good morning, Master.”
Dr. DeMarco shook his head. “Calling me that is unnecessary. It makes me feel like you place me on the same level as Antonelli, and I like to think of myself as a better man than that.”
“Sorry, sir.”
“No need to apologize. Call me Vincent, if you’d like.”
She was shocked he would ask her to use his first name. “Can I get you something?”
“No, I was waiting for you. I’ve been putting it off, but your checkup needs to be done today.”
Her eyes widened.
“It shouldn’t take long,” he said, finally looking at her. “And on the bright side, you get to leave the house for a bit. You haven’t been outside since you’ve gotten here.”
Not true, but she didn’t dare correct him.
* * *
He drove her to a small brick building about ten minutes away, a white sign reading DURANTE CLINIC adorning the front above the main entrance. Unlike the busy hospital, which could be seen from the parking lot, the clinic was dark and vacant, not a soul anywhere.
“They’re closed today, so we shouldn’t have any interruptions,” Dr. DeMarco said as he unlocked the front door.
“What will we be doing?” she asked.
“Just the basics.”
Haven didn’t know what the basics were, and Dr. DeMarco didn’t take the time to explain.
