He ended up reloading twice, not a single bullet hitting its intended spot. She came close, though, her eyes twinkling with excitement every time she squeezed the trigger. He tried to imagine how she felt wielding something so powerful, imagining the adrenaline surging through her veins.
Hitting the target after the third reload, Haven shouted and turned to Carmine, forgetting to lower the gun in her excitement. Carmine ducked, throwing his hands up protectively as she aimed at his forehead. “Watch what you’re fucking doing!”
She lowered the gun. “I’m sorry!”
He dropped his hands. “Never aim a gun at someone unless you’re willing to shoot that motherfucker.”
She nodded in understanding and turned away, firing a round that grazed the target. She smiled, trying to hold in her excitement. Sighing, Carmine walked up behind her and placed his hands on her hips. He pulled off the earmuffs and tossed them on the ground before lining her back up to the target. “You’re doing really good.”
She aimed with a look of determination on her face. He could feel her body tense in anticipation, her muscles firm and arms vibrating. He placed a light kiss on her earlobe without thinking, and she whimpered. Losing focus, she squeezed the trigger, a round echoing through the trees.
“Oops,” she said as birds squawked in the distance.
He laughed and nuzzled into her neck. “Better the birds than me.”
The walk home was a lot harder than Carmine remembered the walk to the clearing being. By the time the house came into view, the sun had set and he was utterly exhausted. The two of them headed for the stairs, but hadn’t made it to the second floor when there was a knock at the door. Haven continued upstairs as Carmine disabled the alarm, finding Max on the porch. “What’s up?”
“Is your dad home?”
“No. He’s in Chicago.”
“Shit, I need to give something to him,” Max said, reaching into his pocket for an envelope.
“I’ll take it for you,” Carmine said, holding out his hand, not questioning him. He didn’t want to know what type of business Max had with his father. Max dealt drugs to save money for school, which alleviated some of Carmine’s guilt when he bought from him. He felt like he was doing it for a good cause, like participating in a coke-a-thon to send a deserving kid to the Ivy League.
La Cosa Nostra, though, avoided the drug trade.
“Thanks, man. I told him I’d have it to him, and, well, I don’t want to be late with your father.”
Carmine took the envelope and said good-bye to Max before closing the door. He went into the office under the stairs again and took the large painting off the wall, exposing the safe underneath. He pulled out his keys and stuck the small golden one into the lock, punching in the code as he turned it. The safe unlocked, and a folder slipped out as soon as he opened it, papers spilling onto the floor. Bending down to pick them up, the word Antonelli caught Carmine’s eye on one of the papers. He froze, a coldness washing through him when he read genetic testing across the top.
His mind worked fast as he debated what to do, time ticking away, his opportunity dwindling. Curiosity overrode his logic as he grabbed the test results.
Besides Haven’s, there were no names, but it indicated a conclusive mtDNA match from somewhere. Written along the side, in his father’s messy scrawl, were the words CODIS partial match confirmed. Carmine kicked himself for not paying more attention in science class.
He shoved the papers back into the folder and placed the envelope in the safe, locking it all up before heading upstairs.
Loud noises woke them later that night, doors slamming on the floor below. The bed shifted as Haven sat up, wide-eyed. “What was that?”
“I have no fucking clue,” Carmine said, glancing at the clock. Three in the morning. He climbed out of bed when he heard heavy footsteps in the library, heading right for them. Dread hit him when the door flung open, Vincent appearing in the doorway.
Even in the darkness, his rage was obvious.
“Go to your room, girl,” he barked, not taking his eyes off Carmine as Haven bolted out of the room. “What’s wrong with you? Do you have a death wish?”
No matter what answer Carmine gave, he’d be wrong.
“I thought you were smarter than this. Did you honestly think today was a good idea? You can’t be that dense! And I know you’re up to something, son. I know you, by God, but I’m telling you right now—whatever it is won’t work.”
Carmine said not a word.
“I don’t want you stepping foot in my office or the basement again. You have no business in there anymore. And I know what you saw, too. What you read. I can’t imagine what ideas are floating around in that head of yours, but don’t dare act on it. Whatever it is, don’t do it.” Vincent paced, muttering to himself. “If you weren’t turning eighteen soon, I’d send you back to the academy tomorrow. I already have half a mind to get rid of the girl.”
“You aren’t gonna do a goddamn thing to her,” Carmine said. “You’re gonna leave her alone.”
“I’ll do anything I want with her! Have you not been listening to me? You’re going to get yourself killed! You may not care about your life, but I can’t let you throw it away. I’ll do whatever I have to do to make sure that doesn’t happen, even if it means her being collateral damage.”
Carmine clenched his hands into fists, those words driving him to the brink. “Fuck you! I’ll kill you if you hurt her again!”
“Maybe you will,” Vincent said. “In fact, I don’t doubt it, but at least your mother’s sole will still have his light. She would’ve never wanted you involved in this.”
“Don’t use Mom as an excuse to justify your bullshit! I love Haven! Accept it!”
“I can’t!” Vincent stepped toward him. “You’re just a child, Carmine.”
“I may be seventeen, but I’m not a kid. I haven’t been a kid since I got shot because of you!”
“You don’t know what you’re saying. You don’t know the devastation that girl has inflicted on my life! Just look at us! Look what she’s causing!”
“She’s not causing it, you are! You’re the one who brought us into this life! You paid money for her—for a fucking child—and you wanna blame her for this?”
Vincent shook his head. “I tried to help her! I’ve done everything I could for that girl, and none of it’s enough. Nothing’s ever enough! It’s impossible! Worthless! You don’t know how much I’ve suffered because of that little bitch!”
The moment the word escaped his lips, Carmine’s composure slipped. Red flashed before his eyes as he struck, his fist connecting with his father’s mouth. “Don’t call her that!”
Before Carmine even realized his father had moved, Vincent was on him. He slammed him into the wall, the force of the blow knocking the wind out of Carmine. He gasped for air as his father pinned him against the desk, knocking things on the floor as the two of them scuffled.
Dominic burst into the room, hearing the commotion, and grabbed his father’s shoulder. It registered with Vincent what he was doing, and he quickly pulled his hands away. Backing up, he swiped his fingers across his bloody mouth. “Why couldn’t you trust me, Carmine? Why couldn’t you let me handle this?”
“Why couldn’t you give me a reason to?”
“Keeping you safe isn’t a good reason?”
Carmine didn’t hesitate. “My safety means nothing compared to hers.”
Standing in the doorway of the bedroom, Haven surveyed the damage from the fight as Carmine grumbled, opening his desk drawer and grabbing a bottle of liquor. He grimaced as he took a drink and kicked the desk drawer closed before plopping down in the chair and staring at the floor in the darkened room.
Unable to take the tension, Haven busied herself by picking up things that had been knocked over. She plugged in the alarm clock and tried to set it, but she gave up with the numbers still flashing twelve. Grabbing the picture frame from the floor, she winced as a small shard of broken glass stabbed her thumb. Blood oozed from the cut as she set it down on the desk.
“Christ, you’re bleeding.”
Carmine tried to grab her hand, but she pulled away. “You broke the picture frame.”
He groaned. “So? Just stop cleaning. None of that shit is important!”
“It is important.” She fought back tears. “It’s your mama.”
She continued picking up the rest of the stuff, having no idea what else to do. Frustrated, Carmine snatched the bottle of liquor from the desk and flung it at the wall. It shattered, glass and alcohol spraying everywhere. Haven flinched, closing her eyes as her tears slipped through, flashes of memory striking her as hard as fists. Michael’s anger, the shattered glass, and the revolting stench of spilled liquor.
“You’re worthless,” he had screamed, spitting the words at her. “You can’t do anything right, girl! You’re the worst thing I ever did!”
She reopened her eyes, watching the annoyance fade from Carmine’s face. “I shouldn’t be yelling at you. None of this is your fault.”
“It is,” she said quietly. “I’m tearing your family apart.”
Carmine knelt beside her, grabbing a notebook and tossing it on his desk. “This family was torn apart when my mom was killed, so unless you wanna take credit for that, you can drop that bullshit.”
Haven lay in bed with Carmine later, brushing her fingers along his swollen knuckles as guilt ran rampant through her. No matter what he said, she believed she had caused it.
She didn’t sleep much, the peace she had found over the weeks tainted as Carmine slipped in and out of consciousness, thrashing around with nightmares.
In the morning, she headed downstairs in a daze and pulled things out for Easter dinner. The Mercedes wasn’t parked in its spot in the driveway. She wondered if there was even a point in cooking with Dr. DeMarco gone.
The morning flew by, morphing into afternoon, before eventually shifting into early evening. The boys made their way downstairs, tension lingering in the house, but she was too exhausted to deal with what it meant. She stood in front of the stove, going through the motions like she’d been taught to do, while Carmine sat on the counter, staring at her. Dominic bounded into the room, grabbing one of the deviled eggs she’d made. “You feeling all right today, Haven?”
“She’s on autopilot,” Carmine said, answering for her. “Happy Easter to us all.”
She said nothing, a faint sound outside drawing her attention. Glancing out the window, she stared at Dr. DeMarco’s car as it came to a stop. Carmine leaped down from the counter and wrapped his arms around her protectively, when the front door opened and Dr. DeMarco headed their way. He paused a foot from them, his voice strained. “Let me see your hand, Carmine.”
“Excuse me?”
“You put too much stress on your fourth and fifth fingers when you hit me. I’ll be surprised if you didn’t fracture them.”