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“So you are?” Kelsey asked. “You’re moving?”
Haven turned to her friend, guilt flaring inside of her. “I am.”
“Why?” Kelsey’s eyes darted from Haven to Carmine. “Let me guess . . . because of him.”
Carmine stood there, arms folded across his chest, mouth twitching like he was fighting the urge to interject.
“No, not because of him,” Haven said. “For him.”
“Is there a difference?”
“A smart man once told me there was.”
Kelsey sighed. “Look, Hayden, I—”
“Hayden?” Carmine interrupted, brow furrowed. “What the fuck?”
Haven frowned as she explained. “That’s my name here.”
“Why?”
“Corrado’s idea,” she muttered. “He picked it.”
“Wait, what?” Kelsey shook her head in confusion. “Your name here? Jesus, is that not your real name? Who are you?”
Uh-oh. “I can explain.” Haven paused. “Well, actually, no I can’t.”
“You can’t?”
She slowly shook her head. Kelsey’s attention moved to Carmine, who shrugged just as his phone rang. “I can’t explain either,” he replied, glancing at the screen before holding his phone up. “But maybe he can.”
* * *
An hour later, after awkward bouts of strained conversation between the three of them, Corrado showed up at the apartment. He stood in the middle of the living room as Kelsey sat on the couch, watching him warily.
“Do you know who I am?” he prompted.
“An officer of some kind?” she asked. “Isn’t that what we decided?”
Corrado smirked. “I’m Corrado Moretti. My father, Vito, died in prison while doing a life sentence for a murder commissioned by Antonio DeMarco.” He pointed to Carmine. “Antonio was his grandfather. His name’s Carmine DeMarco, and his father, Vincent, died in a shootout at Salvatore Capozzi’s house.” He pointed to Haven. “Salvatore was her great-uncle. Her name’s Haven Antonelli, and her father, Michael . . . well . . . let’s just say it all comes full circle.”
Kelsey gaped at him, her mouth hanging open.
“We’re a family,” he continued. “Sometimes we fight, and sometimes we go our separate ways, but at the end of the day, we’re still a family. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”
After a few seconds of hesitation, Kelsey nodded. “I grew up in New York. I know all about the, uh . . .”
“The family,” Corrado said, finishing her sentence for her.
“The family,” she repeated. “My dad, he . . .”
“He’s a senator who was ushered into Congress based on his last name. His father—your grandfather—was the senior senator from New York who headed a special committee to investigate organized crime. It was because of his committee that my father was eventually convicted.”
“I, uh,” Kelsey stammered. Something flashed in her eyes. Fear? “I didn’t—”
“I don’t believe in punishing the son for the sins of the father,” Corrado continued, cutting her off. “Your father doesn’t believe in it, either. He and I have a mutual understanding of sorts about it.”
“You do?”
