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Smiling, Tess waved for him to continue.
“It’s hard to believe it’s been so long since we’ve talked. I’m doing okay and have been busy, but I won’t bore you with details. Please tell everyone hello for me the next time you talk to them, and tell them I miss them. I hope college is going well for all of you.”
He looked up. “Twinkle Toes says hi and said she misses you motherfuckers. She hopes you aren’t fucking up in school.”
Carmine cracked a smile as his brother glanced back at the note. “I don’t know what you’re supposed to give for weddings. Someone told me people register at stores for household things, but I didn’t think Tess would want a blender. So I got something both of you can enjoy. I’d suggest opening it in private, but I don’t think she’ll be embarrassed either way.”
Tess snatched the box from Dominic, tearing the paper off and opening it. She glanced inside, shifting some tissue paper around, and laughed. “I knew it.”
“Holy shit, Twinkle Toes is kinky!” Dominic reached for the box and pulled out some lingerie, drawing attention as he waved it around. Tess grabbed it, her cheeks tinged red as more people looked, and threw it back in the box.
“You’re such a douchebag sometimes,” she said, storming away. Dia smiled and excused herself, following her sister.
“Looks like she was wrong,” Dominic said. “Tess was embarrassed.”
“Didn’t realize it was possible,” Carmine said.
“Me, either. I’d send her a thank-you note for that, but she didn’t say where she was living.”
She didn’t, Carmine realized. No indication at all of where she was.
Dominic got up to go after his wife and Carmine sat there for a moment, finishing his drink alone as reality crept back in, ruining his brief moment of contentment. He left the wedding hall, not bothering to say good-bye to anyone, and took the long way home. He strolled down the street to his house, slowing as he spotted his father sitting on the bottom step. His brow furrowed as he drew near, seeing the lit cigarette between his fingers. “When the fuck did you start smoking?”
Vincent shrugged, flicking his ashes on the concrete. “When did you?” he countered, pointing at some old cigarette butts littering the yard.
“They’re not mine,” he replied. “Most of them, anyway. Remy smokes.”
“Ah.” Vincent pulled out a pack of cigarettes and handed one to Carmine along with a lighter.
He lit it, taking a drag as he stared at his father. “It’s kinda fucked up to be smoking with you, a doctor.”
“I’m not a doctor anymore.” He let out a bitter laugh. “Can’t have a suspected member of La Cosa Nostra wielding scalpels.”
Carmine felt guilty for bringing it up. “Sorry.”
Vincent raised his eyebrows. “Did you just apologize to me?”
“Maybe.”
Vincent smiled. “Yeah, I’m sorry, too. It doesn’t really matter, though—not anymore. It is what it is.”
“Can you get reinstated after the trial? Go back to practicing medicine?”
He cut his eyes at Carmine incredulously, not bothering to entertain the question. “I actually started smoking after your mother died. I drank, too. A lot. That’s the biggest reason I couldn’t face you kids for almost a year. I know you blamed yourself, and it was difficult to see you, but I didn’t want you to see me, either.”
“What changed?” Carmine asked curiously. It was something he had always wanted to know, but a question he had been too damn self-absorbed to ask. “What made you pull yourself together?”
Vincent took a long drag. “I tried to murder Haven.”
That response made Carmine choke on a puff of smoke. “What?”
“The night I killed the Antonellis, I tried to kill her, too. My gun jammed and she slept right through it. But I realized that night your mother would have been disgusted. I wasn’t doing her memory any justice. So I pulled myself together before anyone else got hurt.”
Carmine tossed his cigarette on the ground and stomped it out. He wasn’t sure whether it was the smoke or his father’s admission, but his chest suddenly ached. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the flask and took a drink, trying to dull the pain. Vincent watched him curiously so he held it out to him, offering his father some. He hesitated but threw his cigarette down and took it. He grimaced from the hot liquid, but it didn’t stop him from taking a second swig.
“I’ve failed you a lot, withheld when I should’ve been honest, and it’s to the point where all I have left to give is the truth,” Vincent said quietly. He looked like a broken man, utterly defeated. “I remember the face of every person I’ve killed. I see them everywhere I go, and I know they aren’t there, but the memory of what they looked like in their final moment lingers. The fear, the anger, the heartbreak—it follows me everywhere. I remember the way your mother looked, too. The way she looked when I saw her that night in the alley.”
“So do I,” Carmine said. “I remember the sound of her screams.”
