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He considered the question. “Delicate.”
“O’Bannon still pushing his luck?”
More like Sal pushed him over the edge first. “It’s only a matter of time, I figure, before he tests us again.”
“You let us know when that happens,” he said. “Anything you need, you just ask. We’re all friends here.”
Corrado nodded, picking up his glass to take a sip as the conversation once more switched to things of no consequence. Although his expression remained stoic, his eyes hard and dark as he portrayed the cold man they knew him as, satisfaction glowed inside of him.
He glanced down the table, his eyes connecting with Johnny Amaro, boss of the Amaro family and one of the few men Corrado had considered a true personal ally over the years. His family had run that faction since the beginning, passed down from father to son for decades. Johnny raised his glass in silent celebration.
Nailed it.
* * *
Cardboard boxes packed the living room of the downstairs apartment in the brownstone on Eighth Avenue, stacked one on top of another and filled to the brim. They were sectioned off into two piles: some to take along, others to leave behind. Haven’s life was once more being categorized and evaluated, things disposed of as she moved on with life.
A bittersweet sensation collected in her chest, happiness and sadness colliding as she finished packing her things to move to Chicago. It was getting to follow your dreams, only to have to turn your back on others. It was breaking one promise in order to keep another, a feeling she suspected Carmine could relate to.
“You know, you don’t have to do this,” he said, standing in the middle of the room, his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “We can work something out.”
She glanced at him. “Like what?”
“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “We could commute.”
“Commute?”
“Yeah, you stay here, I stay there. We visit when we get the chance.”
“Is that what you want?”
“No.”
Haven laughed to herself, placing the last of her books in a box. She picked up the journal belonging to Maura and opened it, haphazardly flipping through the pages as she considered his words. She came to a page about halfway through, reading an inscription in red marker at the top of the page.
Sometimes I lose perspective, but it helps to stop and look around. I may not have it all, but I have more than enough. And enough, it seems, is more than most have.
Haven set the book in the box before closing it. “We have something a lot of people don’t have, you know.”
“What?”
Smiling, Haven shoved the box of books to the side along with the other belongings she planned to keep. “A chance. We aren’t promised tomorrow, so we shouldn’t take today for granted.”
Carmine helped her pack the rest of her things before excusing himself to make a call. He slipped to the bedroom as Haven stood in the living room, surveying the boxes. A commotion rang out in the foyer of the building, and Haven swung around just as the front door to her apartment thrust open, slamming into the wall.
Kelsey appeared, her wide eyes frantic like a mad woman. Haven was about to greet her friend when she bolted forward, yelling hysterically. “What the hell? Where have you been? What happened? What are you doing?” Kelsey spun in a circle, pointing at the boxes. “Are you moving? Really? Are you in some kind of trouble? Why haven’t you called?”
The bedroom door yanked open then as Carmine burst in. “What’s with the fucking shrieking?”
Kelsey blinked rapidly as her attention darted to him. “Who are you?”
Carmine narrowed his eyes. “Me? Who the hell are you?”
Haven let out a deep sigh as she waved between the two of them. “Carmine, this is my friend Kelsey. Kelsey, this is my, uh . . . Carmine.”
The two stared at each other, neither one acting as if they had heard her. Kelsey’s expression softened eventually, though, her eyes turning from panicked to suspicious. “I might’ve heard about you once or twice.”
“Likewise.”
