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“Oh.”
She continued to stand there, looking at him with apprehension. As the tension mounted, he regretted getting out of bed. “Look, let’s watch a movie or something.”
She seemed startled by his suggestion. “Okay.”
“Is that an, ‘Okay, I wanna watch a movie with you, Carmine,’ or is it an, ‘Okay, I’ll do whatever the fuck you say because I think I have to?’ Because you can disagree with me, you know. You can even yell at me if it’ll make you feel better, but don’t say ‘okay,’ because I don’t know what you mean by it.”
“Okay.”
They were getting nowhere. “Look, I’m gonna sit my ass down on the couch. Whether or not you join me is up to you.”
He turned away when she spoke again. “Do you want something to drink?”
His footsteps stalled. “Uh, sure.”
“What do you want?”
“Just a Cherry Coke will be fine.”
“Cherry Coke?”
Sighing, he ran his hands down his face. It was too early for this. “Yeah, you know, it’s cherry-flavored Coke. Hence the name, Cherry Coke.”
She slipped into the kitchen as Carmine went to the family room and turned on a movie. He saw movement from the corner of his eye after a few minutes, and Haven stopped in front of him, purposely avoiding his gaze as she held out a glass of soda. He took it as she sat down beside him, keeping a bit of distance between them on the couch.
He surveyed the drink with confusion, wondering why she hadn’t brought him the can, when he caught sight of the cherries floating in the glass. He took a sip of it, realizing she had made him a cherry Coke.
Dazed, he couldn’t find the words to thank her. His mom had made them for him when he was a kid.
Haven watched the movie intently, pulling her feet up on the couch with her head cocked to the side. “Have you seen this?” Carmine asked.
She looked at him like it was a dumb question. “I haven’t seen anything. This is the first time I’ve ever been invited to watch television.”
His brow furrowed. “You don’t watch TV?”
“I wasn’t allowed.”
“How the hell did you pass the time? Reading?”
“I wasn’t allowed to do that, either. They didn’t think it was appropriate.”
He gaped at her. “Teachers constantly shove books down my throat, and you had people telling you reading was inappropriate?”
She smiled sadly. “They didn’t want me to get any ideas.”
“Ideas? How much harm could a book do?”
“A lot. They thought I’d get it in my head that the outside world was somewhere I belonged.”
“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.
