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Haven wasn’t sure what he meant by that. Her cheeks reddened from the intensity of his stare, but before she could get her thoughts in order, Dominic’s voice rang out. “Colpo di fulmine.”
They both jumped, glancing toward the doorway. Carmine pulled his hand away. “What?”
“Colpo di fulmine.” A slow grin spread across Dominic’s face. “I don’t know why I didn’t see it hit sooner.”
Carmine’s expression shifted. “No fucking way.”
“Yep,” Dominic said. “Kaboom!”
Carmine stormed from the room as Dominic laughed, taking a seat on the bed where his brother had been. “That boy is full of surprises.”
* * *
Colpo di fulmine. The thunderbolt, as Italians call it. When love strikes someone like lightning, so powerful and intense it can’t be denied. It’s beautiful and messy, cracking a chest open and spilling their soul out for the world to see. It turns a person inside out, and there’s no going back from it. Once the thunderbolt hits, your life is irrevocably changed.
Carmine never believed in it. Colpo di fulmine, love at first sight, soul mates . . . he thought it was all bullshit. Love was just people deluded by lust, pussy blinding men from using common sense.
He still wanted to think that. He wanted to deny it existed. But a twinge of something deep inside of him—past the thick steel-reinforced, Kevlar-coated, barbed-wire fence surrounding his heart—suggested otherwise. And when he saw Haven’s limp body on the floor, he couldn’t ignore it anymore. This peculiar girl had come out of nowhere, and he was afraid she’d leave as quickly as she’d appeared. That she’d vanish from his life before he had a chance to know her. His chest ached at the thought, his insides on fire, and the girl who caused it was oblivious to it all.
In other words, Carmine was royally fucked.
He bolted out of the house and drove to the next town, scrounging up enough change in his car to buy a cheap fifth of vodka with his fake ID. He pulled over alongside the road and drank alone in the darkness until his mind was fuzzy and he felt nothing.
He passed out eventually and awoke the next morning, his head pounding viciously. Throwing on his sunglasses, he drove home doing the speed limit, not wanting to get pulled over since alcohol likely still coursed through his veins. He was sure his father would be about as thrilled to post bail in the middle of the afternoon as the cops would be about the loaded Colt .45 pistol concealed under his driver’s seat.
When Carmine walked into the house, he found Haven asleep on the couch in the family room, and something twisted inside of him at the sight of her. She had goose bumps on her arms so he grabbed a blanket from the closet and carefully covered her before going upstairs to shower.
He grabbed some crackers from the kitchen to put something in his stomach and headed back toward the family room when Haven called his name. He ran his hand through his damp hair as their eyes met. She looked at him imploringly, and it was an invitation he couldn’t refuse.
He took a seat beside her. “You feeling better today?”
“Yes,” she said, shifting a few inches away from him. “Dr. DeMarco said it was a stomach virus. I might be contagious, though, so you should keep your distance.”
“I’m not worried about it,” Carmine said. “If you give it to me, I’ll get a few days off school.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be in school now?”
“Yeah, but I’m not really known for doing what I’m supposed to do.”
She smiled. “Rebel.”
It surprised him how relaxed things were between them. He expected tension. Haven was quiet for a bit, her gaze drifting to his bare chest. Carmine realized she was staring at his tattoo. “Time heals all wounds.”
Her eyes shot to his. “What?”
“My tattoo. ‘Il tempo guarisce tutti i mali.’ Time heals all wounds.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean to stare.”
“It’s fine. The one on my arm is a cross draped with the Italian flag, and ‘fiducia nessuno’ is on my wrist. It’s usually covered.” He pulled off his watch and turned his arm over so she could see the words scrawled across the veins in small script. She lightly traced the ink with her fingertips. Tingling shot up his arm from her touch, and he closed his eyes briefly at the sensation.
“What does it mean?”
He pulled his arm away and put the watch back on. “Trust no one.”
“Did they hurt?”
He shrugged. “I’ve felt worse pain.”
