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* * *
When Haven regained consciousness, she was on the floor in her bedroom, bound to the post of the bed. Dr. DeMarco stood a few feet away, watching, waiting. She let out a sob as reality slammed into her, but Dr. DeMarco raised his hand to silence her cries. “Did you really think you could get away? Didn’t you learn your lesson last time you tried to run? I’ve told you before—you can’t outsmart me.”
“I didn’t . . . I, uh . . .” Her cries muffled her words. “I don’t want to die.”
Dr. DeMarco grew rigid before snatching a roll of duct tape from the nightstand. She shook her head frantically as he tore off a piece, but it didn’t deter him from covering her mouth. “I want you to think about how good you have it here. Think about how lucky you are to still be alive.”
He walked out, leaving her alone.
* * *
Nine years.
Nearly a decade had passed since the fateful day that changed Carmine’s life—the day none of them talked about—and it still affected him like it was just yesterday. Nobody knew, though. Nobody knew he cried, or that he still couldn’t sleep at night, but for the first time in nine years, Carmine wished someone did.
The moment he walked in the door from school that afternoon, he knew something had happened. It was a feeling in the air, a stifling silence, a sense of danger that made his adrenaline pump overtime, charring his nerves as it ran through his veins.
Carmine headed upstairs, looking around, and found his bedroom door open when he reached the third floor. A cool breeze swept through his room, the window wide-open and curtains rustling. His heart rate spiked. This was bad. Real fucking bad.
The voice behind him was icy, detached. “How did she know?”
Carmine turned around, seeing his father near the stairs, nonchalantly leaned against the wall with his silver revolver tucked into his pants.
“How did she know what?”
“How did she know your window opened, Carmine? Because it’s my house, and I didn’t know!”
Carmine turned back to the window. Oh, shit. “Where is she?”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes.”
His father stared at him hard. “Why?”
Carmine blanched. Why? “Because it does. You’re a lot of things, Dad, but . . . Christ, this? I didn’t think you were this fucked up!”
Vincent’s eyes narrowed. “Do you have something to say?”
“Yeah. Nothing’s gonna bring her back.”
Vincent’s calm mask slipped. “What?”
“You heard me. It’s not gonna change anything! She’s still gone!”
Those words broke something inside Vincent, severing his tenuous grip with sanity. He grabbed his gun and aimed at Carmine’s head.
“You won’t shoot me,” Carmine said. “I look too much like her.”
Vincent’s hand shook, confirming it. “Stay away from the girl.”
He meant it as a threat, but Carmine only felt relief. It meant that Haven was still there, somewhere . . . but he had no intention of keeping his distance from her.
* * *
Time went by torturously slow for Haven as she held her position in the dark bedroom. Her muscles ached, nothing alleviating the tension. She cried until exhaustion took hold, sleep whisking her away.
A noise startled her awake later, the pain explosive the moment she opened her eyes. She faintly saw a form lurking in the shadows, her brow furrowing when she made out the sorrowful green eyes. Carmine knelt in front of her and wiped her tears before running his fingertips across the duct tape covering her mouth. “La mia bella ragazza, I’m sorry this happened to you.”
