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Carmine said nothing. Regardless if he remained silent or told his side of it, he knew he would be on the losing end.
Salvatore realized he wasn’t going to get an answer from him and turned to Carlo. “Maybe you’ll be more forthcoming.”
“I was just put off by young DeMarco’s attitude,” Carlo said. “I’ve never heard someone speak so vulgar and disrespectfully.”
Salvatore turned back to Carmine curiously, but before he could speak, unexpected laughter rang out beside them. The sound of it nearly made Carmine’s heart stop. He quickly looked in the direction it had come from, in utter disbelief as his eyes fell upon his father. Vincent DeMarco stood about twenty feet away at the corner of the house, dressed from head to toe in all black. He wore a new Italian suit, which was covered by a long trench coat, sweeping at his ankles and exposing a pair of black dress shoes that shone under the moonlight. His dark hair was slicked back, his face freshly shaved.
“Now Carlo, you know that’s not true,” Vincent said, taking a few steps toward them. “You act like this organization is filled with saints. My son’s hardly the first to have a smart mouth.”
“Ah, Vincent,” Salvatore said, confusion evident in his voice. His shoulders were tense, his expression hard as if chiseled in stone. It didn’t happen often, but the Boss had been caught off guard. “I was wondering if I’d ever see you again.”
None of them knew how to react. Carmine just stared at his father as Carlo placed his hand on his gun under the table.
“You had to have known we’d see each other again, Sal. It would be rude of me to take permanent leave and not say good-bye to you.”
“True.” Salvatore eyed him cautiously, desperate for the upper hand. “Come, have a seat. We’ll chat.”
Vincent lingered, slowly shaking his head. “I’m fine where I am.”
Sal subtly shifted in his seat to get a better view. “You know, you’ve been gone for a while now. I was worried something happened to you.”
“I’m sure you were.”
“I was, honestly,” Sal said. “Especially when you skipped out on the trial. I was deeply concerned what that meant for your future.”
“Ah, yes, that. I figured there was no use going through the charade.”
“Can’t say I’m surprised, Vincent. Disappointed, yes, but not surprised.”
“Well, you always did know me well,” he said. “It’s a pity I never really knew you, though. I thought I did, but I was wrong.”
Sal laughed, a tinge of nervousness to his forced chuckle. “What you see is what you get with me.”
“I wish that were true,” Vincent said. “I always thought you were a man of your word, a man who saw the world as black and white. I never realized how much you skirted in the gray area to suit your needs.”
“What makes you think such a ridiculous thing?”
“Haven Antonelli.”
A gasp involuntarily flew from Carmine’s lips at the sound of her name. Salvatore’s gaze flickered to him, anger in his eyes, before his attention shifted right back to Vincent. “What does that girl have to do with this?”
“Everything,” Vincent said. “Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about.”
Salvatore stared at Vincent with disbelief, but whether he was truly dumbfounded or just shocked at being called out wasn’t clear. Carmine’s heart beat rapidly as his eyes darted between the silent men. All of them were on edge, shoulders squared, poised for a fight.
“Go inside, son,” Vincent said. “I’d like to speak to your godfather alone.”
Pushing his chair back, Carmine started to stand when Salvatore slammed his fists down on the table in front of them. “Stay where you are!”
Carmine knew he couldn’t disregard a direct order from the Boss. Glancing at his father, he shot him an apologetic look as he forced himself back into the chair.
Panic flared in Vincent’s expression, and Carmine knew it then. Whatever was about to happen was not going to be good.
“I still fail to see what the Antonelli child has to do with anything,” Salvatore said, turning his attention back to Vincent. “Enlighten me.”
“Are you aware she’s an artist?”
“I couldn’t care less what she is,” Sal said. “She’s nothing to me.”
