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“Oh no, I couldn’t.” Haven furiously shook her head. “I couldn’t impose like that.”
Corrado let out a sharp bark of laughter. “As much as I’ve already done, a change of clothes is hardly an imposition.”
That silenced her immediately.
“Come,” he insisted. “No excuses.”
Haven quietly followed him to his house and upstairs to the bedroom he shared with Celia. She glanced through the closet, pulling out a plain black dress she found in the back. It was slightly too big but fit better than she expected.
She borrowed a pair of shoes, too, some simple black heels that pinched her toes, a size too small but good enough for the moment. She did little else to prepare, in and out in less than twenty minutes.
Corrado waited downstairs for her, peering out the front door at the black town car parked along the curb. They climbed into it, and Haven shifted anxiously around on the leather seat.
“I’ve tried,” Corrado said quietly a few minutes into the drive. “I’ve done everything within my power for Carmine, but it seems to be beyond my reach. He’s too stubborn and reckless. The way he’s going, he’s doomed.”
Doomed. That word rippled through her, a cold chill striking her bones. “You’ve given up on him?”
“It doesn’t matter . . . not when he’s already given up on himself.”
Before Haven could respond, Corrado’s cell phone rang. He pulled it out, letting out a long exhaustive sigh as he answered the call. “Moretti speaking . . . Yeah, it’s all settled. I’m certain it’ll go according to plan.”
He hung up quickly, slipping his phone back away as his attention once more turned to her. “Is this visit temporary, or do you need to retrieve your things from New York?”
She blanched. “Well, I . . . I don’t know.”
He turned away from her, his eyes focusing straight ahead. “Let me know when you figure it out.”
* * *
The long, gold-toned casket stood out strikingly on the grassy knoll, a makeshift memorial of colorful flowers surrounding it on all sides. A crowd of mourners gathered, dozens of people dressed in their most expensive black clothing, their heads bowed and gazes cast away, as if avoiding having to face reality. Sorrow and misery wafted around them, the atmosphere stifling with pain lingering in the air.
Haven paused a few yards away from the service, her knees weak. Dr. DeMarco’s cold body lay in that box, his heart no longer beating and the life expelled from him. He was gone, never again to open his eyes and see another day.
The air seemed to be forced from Haven’s lungs at the thought, dizziness blurring her vision. She took a few steps to the side to lean against a tall maple tree in order to catch her breath as Corrado continued on, infiltrating the crowd. She scanned them as she composed herself, catching brief glimpses of Celia and Dominic, but the others were shielded from view.
She wanted to go closer, desperate to see Carmine, but her feet wouldn’t move no matter how hard she tried to make them.
“Vincenzo was a loyal man,” the priest declared, clutching a Bible to his chest as he stood behind the casket. “He was a husband and a father; a son and a brother. He wasn’t a perfect man, he made mistakes, but no man is perfect. We all sin; we all fall victim to temptation. Vincenzo was no different.
“Greed, lust, gluttony, sloth, wrath, envy, pride—the seven cardinal sins. He struggled with them, trying to balance the good and evil in his life, and many times he failed. But just because he succumbed to evil doesn’t mean he was evil. Vincenzo visited me often before his life came to an end. He expressed remorse for all of the hurt he had caused, and because of that I am certain of one thing—despite his flaws, Vincenzo Roman DeMarco was a true Man of Honor.”
Sobs rang out from the crowd, but Haven couldn’t decipher who they came from. When the priest finished a few minutes later, mourners took turns placing long-stemmed red roses on top of the casket, one by one saying their final good-byes to the man inside. Haven caught a glimpse of Tess and Dia, but the family stood in the front and remained mostly blocked.
Haven picked at her nails nervously as the crowd dispersed, chipping away at the pale pink polish when Carmine finally came into view. He wore a black suit, his hair slicked back and head bowed as he stared into the massive hole in the ground. People spoke to him as they passed, but he didn’t acknowledge them. He just stood still, a cold marble statue, unmoving and unwavering, looming in the pathway as everyone moved around him.
She watched Celia rub Carmine’s back before she and Corrado walked away. Corrado steered her in Haven’s direction, her footsteps faltering as a look of surprise passed over her face. She smiled warmly as she approached, pulling her into a hug. “You look great, kiddo. It’s been way too long.”
“Thank you,” Haven said quietly as she let go, seeing Celia’s face was flushed, her makeup was smudged from crying. “I’m so sorry for your loss, Celia.”
“Me, too, sweetie,” she whispered, glancing back over at Carmine, frowning, before looking at Haven again. “Go on,” she said, motioning toward him. “Make sure he gets home safely, okay?”
Corrado put his arm over Celia’s shoulder, nodding at Haven in approval before leading her away. Haven remained in place for a moment as she stared at Carmine, wondering if she even knew the person in front of her anymore. He seemed so different, from his stance to the way he was dressed, all of it foreign. His slumped shoulders screamed with defeat, as he stood seemingly oblivious to anything in the world around him.
Haven took a few steps in his direction but stopped again when he broke his stance, grabbing a rose from the closest display and slowly approaching an adjacent grave. He crouched down in front of the headstone and laid the rose on the ground before running his fingers along the words engraved on the worn white marble.
Haven started his way again, her curiosity fueling her, but stopped after a few steps when realization struck. He had once told her his mother was in Hillside.
Her heart pounded rapidly as she suddenly felt like she was invading his privacy. The memory of him sitting in front of his piano, slumped down and crying on the anniversary of her death came to mind. Pain ripped through her chest.
