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“For only the second time in my life,” he muttered.
“Exactly, so you should be proud. It’s quite the accomplishment for you.”
“Funny,” he said sarcastically. “I wanted to do the shit right, though.”
“You did,” she insisted. “It was very you, Carmine. I wouldn’t have had it any other way.”
The song ended, and everyone converged onto the dance floor. Dominic immediately pulled Haven away and Dia took her place without hesitation, rattling on excitedly through two songs. He stole Haven back on the third, wanting to be with his bride, and they danced until it was time to cut the cake. The incident was a disaster, turning into a full-blown food fight as they flung frosting around and tried to smash pieces in each other’s faces. More of the cake ended up on people than in their stomachs as they laughed and wrestled.
Afterward they got cleaned up, and Carmine took his seat as Haven prepared to throw her bouquet. Dominic sat beside Carmine, still stuffing his face.
“Seriously, bro, a Catholic wedding?” Dominic asked, his words mumbled with his mouth full. “Did you take confession beforehand? I bet that took hours.”
Carmine shoved him, knocking the cake off his fork. “We talked about eloping, but it didn’t feel right. She dreamed about this her entire life and I couldn’t let her memory of the day be of some fat jackass in an Elvis suit.”
“Makes sense,” Dominic replied. “I figured you guys would get married like Mom and Dad did . . . something small and intimate.”
“Yeah, we thought about that, too,” he said. “It was my idea to have the big wedding, though. Nothing about us is traditional and I wanted to at least do this, have this one thing, so we could say we did shit right. And quite frankly, I wanted the whole world to see it. She spent her life in hiding, thinking people were ashamed of her and that she was worthless. I wanted her to be seen.”
Dominic smiled, amused by something. Carmine ran his hand through his hair anxiously. “I know that probably sounds fucking stupid . . .”
“No, it sounds, I don’t know . . . sweet? Almost as sweet as this cake.”
A throat cleared behind Carmine then. He turned, freezing when he saw Corrado. He hadn’t heard him approach, which wasn’t surprising considering he had a knack for sneaking up on people. “Sir?”
“I need to see you in my office, Carmine,” he said, his tone matching his expression. Stiff. Emotionless. Tense.
“Now?” he asked incredulously. “Can’t it wait?”
“No.”
Corrado walked off, leaving Carmine nervously sitting there beside his brother. He rocked in his chair for a few moments, purposely delaying it, before getting up and following his uncle down the hallway. When he reached the office, he saw his uncle sitting behind his desk. Carmine stepped inside and closed the door.
He waited for Corrado to tell him to have a seat, but he didn’t.
“A man’s word means as much as his blood,” Corrado said. “It’s an old Sicilian expression your grandfather used to say. Your word’s your salvation. What a man says, what he swears to, carries as much weight as who he is and what he does.”
Carmine stared across the office, keeping a straight face despite the anarchy going on inside of him. He watched as his uncle reached into a desk drawer, pulling out a small caliber .22 handgun and a large knife. The blade was serrated, six inches in length. Corrado placed them on the desk in front of him before closing the drawer.
“You gave your word over two years ago,” he continued. “In exchange for help, you bartered your freedom. You promised allegiance, and that’s something I take seriously. When I gave myself to the life decades ago, I knew it was for as long as I breathed. Some men have it handed to them, like Vincent, but I fought hard to prove myself. Antonio made me. He made me prove I was dedicated, that I wanted it, and I did. I like to think that’s why I’m still alive today and your father’s no longer with us.”
A light laugh escaped Corrado’s lips. It sounded to Carmine a lot like amusement mixed with cynicism. “It only took a few months for your grandfather to give me his blessing to marry his only daughter, but it took years before he trusted me enough to let me inside his organization. Because to men like us, it comes first—before our families, before our friends, before everything, it’s La Cosa Nostra.”
he had no desire to go there again.
Haven reached under the table and grabbed his thigh, forcefully stilling his leg. He glanced at her cautiously and she smiled, no signs of anger in her expression. She could usually tell when he was struggling. “Are you okay?” she asked.
“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” he replied. The tension started receding from his body as he gazed at her. She glowed, and his chest swelled with emotion at the twinkle of happiness in her eyes, hoping she saw the same thing shining back at her. She meant everything to Carmine. His love for her was stronger than anything else, more potent than the drugs or alcohol had ever been. She was his world, his fucking life, and now she was his wife.
His wife . . . who would have ever thought Carmine DeMarco would have a wife?
“You should eat your food,” she said quietly, her smile turning mischievous as she turned her attention back to her plate. “You’ll need the energy later.”
He groaned at the insinuation and stabbed the meat on his plate. It seemed to be some kind of pork, but he wasn’t entirely sure. Celia had handled the caterers because neither Haven nor he really cared much about the formality of receptions. He was all about ordering some pizza and letting the motherfuckers help themselves, but evidently that wouldn’t fly with the company they kept. “Don’t worry, Haven. I’ll have plenty of energy for you.”
“Oh, I’m not worried,” she said as she took a bite. “You should be, though.”
He laughed as he started eating, already feeling better. The shakiness was usually fleeting, although the thoughts were always in the back of his mind.
