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Carmine grabbed the gun he kept tucked under the seat and stuck it in his waistband before getting out of the car. He headed toward the building and grabbed the door but it wouldn’t budge, so he pressed the square black doorbell underneath the mailbox. A loud buzzer went off and he cringed at the obnoxious noise, hearing commotion inside before the door opened.
A light-skinned black man stood before him, a tattoo on his neck and his hair halfway braided. Carmine could see the gleam of gold teeth in his mouth, his neck and ears framed with diamonds. He didn’t look to be someone Salvatore would ever do business with. He briefly wondered if he had the wrong address.
The man stepped to the side before Carmine could consider fleeing, motioning for him to come in.
The interior was just as raggedy as the outside, everything covered in wretched-smelling filth. Carmine surveyed it with disgust as the guy slammed the door behind them and staggered across the room. He reached into his pocket for a pack of cigarettes, sticking one in his mouth and another behind his ear before crumpling the empty pack and tossing it on the floor.
“DeMarco’s kid, right?” the man asked. “You don’t look like your daddy, though. You sure you’re his? I think your mama might’ve fucked around.”
Narrowing his eyes, Carmine’s hands violently shook as he reached for his gun.
The guy caught on and put his hands up defensively. “Damn, you might be his boy, after all. Neither of you can take a joke.”
“Don’t talk about my mother,” Carmine spat as the man turned his back to him and opened a cabinet.
“Whatever you say,” he muttered. “Tell me something . . . do you have a girlfriend?”
“Excuse me?”
“You fucking deaf?” he asked, turning back around. Carmine tensed when he saw him grab a Glock 22 from the cabinet and point it without hesitating. Carmine aimed his gun quickly, his heart racing wildly in fear as they locked in a showdown. The amusement had faded from the guy’s expression, his eyes sparking with anger. “I asked if you had a girlfriend.”
“Yes,” Carmine said, trying to keep his composure, but the guy was clearly unstable. The thought that it could be a setup ran through Carmine’s mind but he pushed it back, not wanting to consider that Salvatore would do that to him. Not now. Not like this. He hadn’t done a damn thing to deserve any punishment.
“What’s her name?” the guy asked. “And don’t lie to me. I can find out on my own, but I don’t think you want me to.”
“Haven,” he said. “Her name’s Haven.”
“Good.” The guy lowered his gun and grabbed a duffel bag from the cabinet. Carmine took it from him hesitantly, keeping his gun aimed just in case. “You have twelve hours to bring me my money. If it isn’t here by seven tonight, at a minute after seven I’m gonna be in my car and on the way to visit Haven to make her pay me for it. Understand?”
“If you ever fucking touch—”
“I said do you understand?” he snapped, raising his gun again.
Carmine took a step back on instinct. “Yes.”
“Good. Now get out of my fucking shop before I shoot you for the hell of it.”
Shoving open the door, Carmine bolted outside in haste, the duffel bag feeling like it weighed more than him. He tucked the gun back away as he sprinted to his car, fumbling with his keys and cursing as he got the door unlocked.
He heaved the duffel bag over to the passenger seat and sped off, wanting to get away from there. A few miles away, he glanced in the bag curiously and saw it was full of guns and ammunition. Slamming the breaks, stunned, he whipped the car into the parking lot of a nearby restaurant. He stared at the bag, wondering what he was supposed to do. He wasn’t sure if Salvatore had told him, considering he hadn’t paid attention, and he suddenly worried he was missing something.
Carmine grabbed his phone and scanned through the list of contacts, stopping at his father’s name. He hit the call button and waited as it rang.
“Carmine?” Vincent answered, sounding concerned. “Where are you? I saw your car was gone this morning.”
“I, uh . . . I think I need some help.”
“With what?”
“I’m in Charlotte,” he said. “I got a call this morning to pick up something from some guy. He gave me this bag and said he wanted his money by tonight, but I don’t know what the fuck I’m supposed to do about any of it. What money?”
o;Look, Corrado was clinically dead. The human body is resilient, but the brain is vulnerable. It’s rare for someone to make a full recovery if they’re down for more than three minutes.”
“How long was Corrado down?”
“Four.”
Carmine seemed speechless, his mouth open but no words coming out.
