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“What?”
“When you pulled the trigger, you said ‘Forgive me.’”
Corrado shook his head. “I wasn’t asking him.”
Starting the car up again, Corrado pulled away from the curb. “We have one more thing to take care of tonight, so pull yourself together.”
They drove across town to the run-down strip club, the one he had been to before when Corrado killed Remy. The crummy lot was packed, the back row filled entirely with familiar sedans. Corrado parked along the side of the building, climbing out and glancing around cautiously. “Are you registered to vote?”
“Uh, no,” Carmine said as he got out of the car.
Corrado nodded, as if that answer didn’t surprise him, and motioned for Carmine to follow him inside. The club was packed, the air thick with smoke. They slipped by the bouncer without saying a word, Carmine keeping his attention on his uncle as they headed to the back room.
“Voting’s important,” Corrado said, pausing at the cellar door. “People like to feel like they actually have a say in what happens, even if it’s just an illusion.”
Corrado opened the cellar door and voices filtered out instantly, but they quieted once they descended the stairs. Carmine hesitated on the bottom step, looking around the small grimy space with shock. There were at least twenty-five men present, mostly Capos from what he could tell—the highest-ranking men left within the collapsing organization. They all looked at Corrado as he entered and he nodded toward another man, who cleared his throat to gain everyone’s attention. “We all know why we’re here. Nominations?”
A few people said Corrado’s name, while others just murmured in agreement.
“Any others?”
The basement remained completely silent.
“Any objections?” the man asked. “Speak now or take it to the grave.”
Carmine looked around. The men appeared nervous, their shifty eyes everywhere except for on Corrado. The room once again remained silent, no one speaking up.
The entire scene was strange to Carmine.
“Moretti it is, then,” the man said. “This meeting never happened.”
Corrado turned back around, motioning for Carmine to go right back up the stairs without having spoken a single word. They headed out to the parking lot, pausing beside the car not more than five minutes after arriving. “Like I said, people like to believe they have a choice, even if they really don’t.”
Corrado got in the driver’s side and Carmine slipped into the passenger seat, eyeing him warily. “You’re the Don now?”
“Yes.”
“What would’ve happened if someone objected? Would they have been allowed to leave?”
“They would’ve certainly left the room,” he replied. “Just in a dozen pieces.”
* * *
Carmine listened for sounds as he opened the front door, noting the house was completely silent, but the glow from the television illuminated the living room. Haven lay on the couch fast asleep, her shoes kicked off and sitting on the floor in front of her.
Carmine walked over and crouched down, stealthily slipping his gun under the couch before pushing some stray hair from her face. She stirred a bit but still slept, and he remained there for a moment, just watching her breathe.
If he hadn’t been sure before, it was at that moment he knew it. It was then, watching her sleep, that he felt it. He didn’t know what would happen in the future, but somehow they would make it if they gave it a try.
He fought back tears again, still unable to get himself under control. Life overwhelmed him, tugging him in opposite directions while he stood stagnant, trying to remain whole. He was surrounded by violence and death, the ugliness eating away at him, but then, on the other side, there was her. She was peace, and hope, and pure fucking beauty. She was the good that he hoped would overpower the bad.
“Haven,” he whispered, running the back of his hand along her cheek. “La mia bella ragazza.”
She stirred again and opened her eyes, blinking rapidly with confusion. It seemed to strike her where she was, a sleepy smile curving her lips. “You’re back.”
“And you waited.”
“Of course I did. I told you I wouldn’t run from you, Carmine.”
