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“Was there anyone else?” Vincent asked. “Maybe someone less desirable, like a . . . monster?”
Haven remained still, staring at him, before softly whispering, “Carlo.”
Vincent was stunned. “You know his name.”
“I heard Frankie say it the day of the auction,” she replied. “He wanted my master to sell me to him. Terrified me. I thought he’d do it.”
“Thank God he didn’t.”
“Yeah, but he still taunted me over the years. I’d see him when he came to Blackburn. He’d stand there and stare at me. Just stare. He always hurt my mama. He always . . .” She paused, angry tears glistening from her eyes. “He did things to her, but never me. He just watched me all the time, like he was waiting for when the time was right.”
“And you saw him when you were in the warehouse?”
She nodded, wiping her eyes as a tear fell down her cheek. “I imagined him, I guess. Standing over me, just staring as usual, like the time still wasn’t right. He looked older, but it was definitely him. I’d never forget that face.”
Haven let out a bitter laugh while Vincent remained stoic. He hadn’t wanted to believe it, but something about her words made him wonder if she hadn’t imagined it at all.
“Thank you,” Vincent said. “I just needed to hear you confirm it.”
“You’re welcome.” Haven eyed him peculiarly. “Are you sure you’re okay, Dr. DeMarco? Won’t the people who monitor you track me here now?”
“I don’t have my ankle monitor on anymore.”
Her eyes widened. “Is your trial over?”
He stared at her, realizing at that moment how cut off she was from everything. He had been following her for weeks, gathering the courage to approach her, unsure how she would react to a wanted man showing up at her doorstep . . . a man most people suspected to be dead. But she didn’t even know. She knew nothing.
Standing, Vincent stretched his aching back. “It’s not over yet, but it will be soon. Nothing to worry about.”
“Okay.”
“Anyway, I should be going. I’ve taken up enough of your time.”
Haven walked him to the door, the two of them silently hesitating in the foyer. There was so much Vincent still felt he needed to say, the words stuck on the tip of his tongue. He nearly managed to force them out, overpowering his lingering pride and overabundance of shame, when the front door to the brownstone thrust open behind them. A female’s laughter carried through the downstairs.
Vincent immediately dropped his head, his eyes darting to the girl. She looked at him with surprise, and familiarity struck Vincent as he vaguely recognized her.
Senator Brolin’s daughter.
“Oh, wow,” she said, a grin lighting up her face. “Another one?”
rugged, stepping forward. “Kelsey invited me.”
“Oh.” It took a second for those words to sink in. “Oh! So you and her . . . I mean, you guys . . . ?” She paused, brow furrowed. “What happened to Fred?”
“It’s nothing like that,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m not interested in her.”
“You’re not?” Guys were always interested in Kelsey.
“Nope.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know. I guess my interests are elsewhere.”
“Where?” she asked. He cocked an eyebrow at her playfully, and a warm blush rose to her cheeks. “Oh.”
Gavin laughed, turning from her to the painting. “It’s nice.”
