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5
Merry Christmas!”
Haven jumped at the unexpected voice and spun around from the kitchen window. Celia stood just inside the doorway, smiling warmly, her eyes bright and awake with enthusiasm, even though the sun had barely started to rise outside.
“Uh, Merry Christmas,” Haven said. “Good morning.”
Strolling over to the pantry, Celia rooted around, pulling out what she would need to make Christmas dinner. She was dressed in a gray long-sleeved dress and a pair of matching heels, her shiny dark hair cascading down her back and her makeup freshly applied. It was the complete opposite of how she had appeared when Haven last saw her in Chicago a mere month ago. Her glow was back, compassion and love radiating from her like warm sunlight.
Longing struck Haven’s chest. It made her think of her mother. Oh, how she missed her, especially on days like this, days when she needed someone to talk to, someone who truly knew her and would know what to say.
“Isn’t it awfully early for you to be awake?” Celia asked.
“I guess so.” Haven turned back to the window. The darkness gradually faded with every second that passed, making Carmine’s car more visible in the front yard. “I couldn’t sleep. I had a lot on my mind last night.”
“Like?”
“Like everything.”
Celia laughed. “Well, that certainly clears it up.”
Haven managed a smile as she peeked at Celia, her good mood infectious. “It’s just that Carmine got back really late last night. He was gone all day, told me he had shopping to do, but he didn’t bring any bags home.”
“Ah, shopping.” Celia sighed knowingly. “Corrado used that one. Of course, he knew enough to stop by a store and buy something before coming home—usually throwing in some flowers to butter me up. I kind of miss those days, believe it or not. He doesn’t bother anymore.”
“With flowers?”
Celia laughed again. “With excuses, kiddo . . . although, flowers again would be nice. It’s been ages.”
Haven toyed with the hem of her shirt, mulling over Celia’s words. “Doesn’t it bother you to be lied to, though?”
“At first it did. I would get so angry with him, thinking it meant he didn’t trust me. I told him I wanted us to have the kind of relationship where we told each other everything.”
“What changed?”
“He told me everything one day. I never asked him again.” She closed her eyes at the memory, pausing to shake her head. “I think it’s easier for them to not bring that stuff home. It helps to know they have a sanctuary, that one place they can go and not have to be Mafiosi for a while. I’ll never be able to forget the things he said that day, the look on his face as he talked, as much as I wish I could. I don’t like my husband killing, and while I selfishly prefer it to him being killed, I learned that day that I don’t want to hear about it, either.”
Haven wasn’t sure what to say. “I can’t even think about Carmine being that way. That’s not him. That’s not the boy I know. He doesn’t . . . kill.”
“You’re right,” she said. “It wasn’t Vincent, either, believe it or not. Maura was afraid the man she loved would disappear, but they won’t if they have a reason not to. Carmine will always be the same person deep down inside. He’ll see things he’ll wish he could forget, and he’ll have a lot of guilt over things he can’t control, but don’t we all? Your love will still save him at the end of the day.”
Haven frowned. “It doesn’t feel like it anymore.”
“That’s because you’re scared,” she said, wrapping her arms around Haven in a hug. She stroked Haven’s hair with her hand, just like her mother had when she was younger. The ache in her chest intensified. “Neither of you seem to realize fear can be a good thing. It’s healthy and keeps us safe, warns us of danger. When you stop fearing things, you stop fighting. You lose motivation. You lose perspective, and you never want to do that.”
A throat cleared behind them. Celia let go of Haven and turned to look, tensing. Corrado leaned against the door frame, his arms crossed over his chest. “Am I interrupting?”
Haven dropped her gaze to the floor. She hadn’t seen him since they had shown up. He had remained upstairs, secluded from the family. “No, sir.”
“Of course you are,” Celia said. “We were having girl talk.”
“So I heard,” he said. “I thought we agreed you would stay out of it.”
“And I thought you knew me better than that,” Celia replied. “You really can’t be that dense, Corrado.”
Haven gaped at Celia, stunned anyone would speak to him that way.
“Pardon me for hoping you’d listen to common sense for once,” he countered. “Meddling in other people’s affairs—”
