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Sleep evaded Haven that night as she lay in bed, ringing in the New Year by staring out the foggy window. Fireworks went off in the distance, noise permeating the air as people in Charlotte celebrated, but Haven did nothing.
She hardly even moved.
When the early morning sun started to peek through, she gave up on finding sleep and quietly crept to the living room. The photos were all gone, the cream-colored walls vacant except for the subtle orange glow enveloping the apartment from the sunrise. Dia had taken them down sometime in the night, a few stray pieces of tape remaining. Haven pulled them off, rolling them together in a ball in her palm.
“Morning.”
Haven turned, watching as her friend strolled out of a bedroom behind her. Dia wore a pair of orange polka-dotted pajamas, her hair knotted at the top of her head. She rubbed her eyes and yawned as she made her way toward the tiny kitchen.
“Good morning,” Haven said quietly, glancing back at the empty walls. “Your pictures are gone.”
“Yeah, I thought it would be easier if you didn’t have to see them,” Dia mumbled sleepily, opening the fridge and pulling out a jug of milk. She poured herself a glass and saturated it with a mountain of chocolate syrup. “Are you hungry? I think I have some cereal around here somewhere.”
Haven shook her head as Dia started toward her again. “No, thank you.”
“Well, if you get hungry, help yourself to anything in the kitchen,” she said. “I don’t have much right now, but I’ll grab some groceries on my way home.”
Haven eyed her curiously. “Way home from where?”
“School,” she replied, sipping from her glass. “I have to register for my classes today and buy my books.”
“Oh.”
“I’d stay with you, but I technically already missed registration, so it’s my last chance,” she continued. “But if you don’t want to be alone, I can—”
“It’s fine,” Haven said, cutting her off. She didn’t want to be a burden. “I have things to do today anyway. You know, like unpacking and . . . things.”
Haven forced a smile, but Dia didn’t look convinced. “We can do something together when I get home. Maybe order a pizza and watch a movie? It’ll be fun. We can have girl talk.”
“Yeah, sure,” Haven said. “Sounds great.”
Dia smiled warmly, giving her a quick hug before going about her morning ritual. Haven lingered in the living room, absentmindedly rolling the small ball of sticky tape between her fingers. Once Dia left, Haven headed back into the bedroom and shut the door, leaving her things in the boxes in the living room.
* * *
There was no pizza that night. No movie. No girl talk. There wasn’t even sleep.
Days passed in a blur of insomnia and exhaustion, thrusting Haven deeper into depression. The nights were tortuous but the days weren’t much better as Haven walked around in a stupor. She felt like she was drowning, slowly slipping away as she grasped desperately to the surface, just waiting for something to pull her back up.
Pain was something Haven knew well. She had always had a high tolerance for it, keeping her head held high as she faced unimaginable torture, but this feeling brewing inside of her now was different. The heart-clenching, suffocating dread was enough to knock her off her feet. She had been frightened before, certainly, but this was the first time she truly felt lost. Until then, her life had been an endless cycle of do-this-and-do-that; there was always a task, always a purpose, always a point. But not anymore. Her future was empty. A blank canvas. There was nowhere for her to escape from. There was nobody looking for her.
She was free, she realized, and freedom terrified her.
* * *
Luna Rossa sat back off the highway, partially shielded by rows of trees. The brick building, massive in size while subtle in style, blended into the surroundings of the quiet south Chicago neighborhood. The rustic tan sign above the door displayed the name in deep red cursive letters, the only indicator of its true nature the word lounge below it in gold. No flashing lights or neon signs attempted to lure passing visitors inside.
While it appeared welcoming, almost quaint at first glance, Luna Rossa catered to a certain crowd. The dark sedans spread throughout the parking lot hinted it was the type of place you didn’t visit unless someone invited you to.
Carmine always found it strange that his uncle owned a social club, but standing in front of it for the first time, it made sense to him. The place was low-key, a lot like Corrado.
Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Carmine opened the door and stepped inside the building. The bouncer eyed him peculiarly, taking in the sight of his faded jeans and Nike’s, but he didn’t move or say a word as Carmine strolled through the crowd. It was a Thursday, and men in suits lingered around with a few younger women clinging to their sides. Goomahs, he realized. Mob mistresses. Luna Rossa was La Cosa Nostra’s hideaway, their home away from home. It wasn’t a place where a man took his wife—it was a place he went when he had something to hide.
And it was easy to hide there. The dark wood with red trim, the lighting dim, concealed secrets and masked sins. Cigar smoke infused the air as Frank Sinatra crooned from tall speakers positioned along the side, blending with the sound of friendly chatter and laughter in the club.
Carmine felt completely out of place as he made his way to a large corner booth in the back. The noise coming from it was louder than the others, the table covered in an array of bottles of alcohol. Sal sat in the middle of the group, a young brunette woman snuggled up to his right. Beside her was another girl, a blonde no older than twenty, while half a dozen men surrounded them on both sides.
Carmine cleared his throat nervously as he approached. “Salvatore.”
