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“I did what I had to do,” Corrado said. “Had I let them live, had I let them continue as they were, my family would’ve been jeopardized. So no, it doesn’t bother me, but losing one of you? That might.”
Corrado stood, heading for the door, and nodded politely to John Tarullo before disappearing outside.
* * *
After taking a shower and putting on some comfortable clothes, Haven made her way downstairs and saw the light on in the kitchen. Carmine stood in front of the refrigerator with the door wide open, glaring inside of it, home from wherever he had been while she was at school. She didn’t ask, and he didn’t tell.
“Can’t find anything?” she asked.
“Nope.” He shut the door, his eyes scanning a takeout menu stuck to the front of it with magnets.
“I can make something,” she offered. “You have to be tired of eating out.”
He chuckled in amusement, cocking an eyebrow suggestively. “Depends on what I’m eating out.”
“Pervert.” She could feel the heat rising into her cheeks, knowing it was useless to try to hide it.
“Yeah, but you love it,” he said playfully.
“I do.” There was no use denying it—he knew Haven well.
Carmine laughed as he turned away, his attention going back to the menu. “I’ll just order Chinese. It’s late and you shouldn’t have to cook, especially considering you already cleaned the kitchen once tonight. Don’t think I didn’t notice that shit. I could’ve done it, you know. I would’ve.”
“I know you would’ve,” she said truthfully. Carmine never did certain things, like laundry or mopping, but he was good at picking up after himself. He didn’t enjoy it, but he did it for her. “I didn’t mind it.”
“Well, thank you.”
He grabbed the cordless telephone from the wall and dialed a number quickly. “Yeah, I need a delivery. The name’s Carmine DeMarco,” he said when they answered, pausing briefly as they looked up his name. “Yes, that’s me. I need an order of the pork mu shu wraps, some Mongolian beef, the kung pao chicken, and two orders of your won ton soup. I don’t know, large? Oh, and some egg rolls. How many come in an order? Two? Is that it? That’s a fucking rip off.”
He glanced at Haven, raising his eyebrows. “Did I miss anything?”
“Uh, no.”
“Yeah, that’s it. And don’t forget the fortune cookies,” he said into the phone, his brow furrowing. “What do you mean you don’t have any fortune cookies? You’re a Chinese restaurant. You have to have fortune cookies. What? No, I don’t care if they’re complimentary. Don’t give me that bullshit. I don’t feel fucking complimented right now. Find some.”
He ended the call, slamming the phone down on the counter, making Haven flinch. He pulled open the freezer door and looked inside. Haven knew immediately what he was doing, having acted on impulse out of frustration. He stared at the empty spot where the vodka bottle had once been stored before slamming the door again and opening the refrigerator.
Haven grabbed the can of Coke from his hand and gently rubbed his back. “Fortune cookies aren’t that serious,” she said, nudging him aside to grab a glass from the cabinet. Carmine leaned against the counter and watched as she made a cherry Coke. “You don’t even eat them. You think they taste like cardboard.”
“Yeah, but you do,” he replied. He fidgeted and appeared agitated, rubbing the palms of his hands on his pants anxiously. “You like them.”
She smiled softly as she handed him his soda. “Well, thanks for thinking of me, but it was unnecessary. Just like sending that limo for me was unnecessary.”
“Maybe the cookies weren’t, but the limo was definitely necessary,” he said, taking a sip of his drink. “You couldn’t walk home.”
“No, but I could’ve taken the bus,” she replied. “I kind of like it, anyway. I never got to go to school and ride the bus or anything. Makes it feel authentic.”
He stared at Haven doubtfully. “You weren’t taking the bus home.”
“Why? It’s not that big of a deal.”
“It is a big deal,” he retorted, raising his voice. “The bus stop isn’t close to the house so you’d still have to walk in the dark.”
“It’s just a few blocks over,” she replied, hoping to reassure him so he would calm down. “It would’ve only taken a few minutes if I cut down the alley by—”
Haven stopped speaking abruptly when it struck her what she was saying. Carmine stood frozen, his body rigid. The bus stop was near the old theater a few blocks away, down from where Carmine’s piano recital had been held that October night in 1996. The alley was the one Carmine had taken with his mother, the one he hadn’t gone near since.
“Okay,” she conceded. The odds of something actually happening to her were slim, but once again it was more about his peace of mind. “No bus at night, but I still want to take it during the day.”
