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“You could say that.”
Kelsey shook her head. “You’re better off without him, whoever he is.”
“Carmine,” Haven mumbled. Something about saying his name aloud, acknowledging he existed . . . that they had once existed together . . . loosened the tight knot in her gut just a bit.
“Breakups suck,” Kelsey said. “I’ve never really been a one man kind of woman because of that. My dad always says ‘don’t put all your eggs in one basket, honey,’ so I figure, why put all my hope in one man? I like to play the field a little, see what’s out there.”
* * *
Haven would come to learn during the next few weeks, as she got to know Kelsey more, exactly how much of an understatement that was.
Every few days there was a new love interest, boy after boy coming in and out of the apartment above hers. Peter, Franco, Josh, Jason . . . Haven stopped keeping track eventually. She would hear them tromping along upstairs behind Kelsey, the sound of their heavy footsteps echoing through the connected apartments, and she would smile politely if she ran into them in the foyer, but she didn’t bother to say hello.
The faces all blurred together over time, a mash-up of a man Haven had no interest in getting to know.
School started during those few weeks. Classes and studio sessions swallowed up Haven’s time—painting, drawing, and art history taking up most of her days. After school was over, instead of heading home, she would go to the library and lose hours inside those thick walls, drowning in books and studying text. It monopolized her attention, but she flourished under the stress.
For yet again in her life, she had a strict schedule. Yet again, she had a list of things to do, and if it wasn’t done she knew there would be consequences. Failing wasn’t an option because, in Haven’s world, failing was as good as giving up on life.
16
The knock on the office door was so timid Corrado barely heard it over the music in the club. He ignored the faint tapping, his gaze trained on the dingy briefcase on the desk in front of him.
After a minute or so, another knock sounded. Still weak. Hesitant. Again, Corrado ignored it.
Mafiosi knew they were supposed to carry themselves with confidence, especially when dealing with the most dangerous of men. He didn’t care if his men were staring down Lucifer personally, surrounded by brimstone and hellfire leading them straight to eternal damnation. They needed to keep their composure, be prepared to fight, and never ever let their fear show. The streets were ruthless and their rivals wouldn’t hesitate to make a move at the first sign of weakness. Vulnerabilities were exploited, and the worst thing they could do was come off as uncertain. It didn’t matter if they were wrong—they needed to always appear right.
And Corrado, most certainly, was not convinced.
It took a while for the third knock to come. It was louder, more determined. “Come in,” he yelled, sitting back in his chair and glancing at his Rolex as Remy Tarullo entered, tentatively shutting the door behind him.
“You wanted to see me, sir?”
“I did,” he stated. “I told you to be here at nine. It’s nine oh three. You’re late.”
“But I was here,” he said defensively. “I was out in the hall.”
Corrado raised his eyebrows. “You have the audacity to make excuses?”
“No, I, uh . . .”
“I’m not interested in what you have to say. It’s meaningless to me. I don’t care if you’re run down in the parking lot. You had better drag your mangled body in here with enough time to be in my office when I tell you to be in my office. Nothing short of death is reason enough to be late. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, sir.”
Corrado could smell his fear. It reeked, filling the office with the sickly-sweet scent of sweat and panic. Remy was tall and skinny with shifty eyes, but they were more about his sudden fear and less about deception. Was he hiding something? Maybe, but he didn’t let it show. He had been called into a Capo’s office—a wise man knew those situations didn’t often end well. But he came, shoulders square, head held high.
What he lacked in brains he made up for in guts.
Remy was a decent earner and good at what he did, never once getting caught, which was why he had entrusted Carmine to his crew.
“Word around is you’re the best at picking locks,” Corrado said.
“Uh, yes,” he said. “Not to brag or anything, but I’ve yet to find a lock I couldn’t pop on the first date.”
Remy grinned, trying to break the tension, but Corrado didn’t find it funny. He just stared him over, pondering whether he was the right one for the job.
Tense silence ensued. Remy stood in place, making no move to sit. “Aren’t you going to have a seat?” Corrado asked.
