“Fuck you.”
Dominic sighed exasperatedly. “Just let him look at your hand and get it over with, bro.”
Carmine stayed still for a moment before pulling his hand from Haven’s hip. Dr. DeMarco’s expression remained blank as he eyed his son’s hand, and Carmine winced a few times as he pressed on his knuckles. “You’ll be fine.”
“Like I said . . .” Carmine pulled his hand away. “Fuck you.”
* * *
Haven carried the food to the table once it was done and planned to go to her room, but Carmine stopped her, pulling out a chair and motioning for her to sit. The tension mounted through dinner. No one wanted to be there, none of them wanting to deal with it, but it couldn’t be avoided anymore. The wheels had been set into motion.
A fork clanged as Dominic cracked first. “We have to clear the air. We need to have a sit-down.”
Dr. DeMarco scoffed. “You know nothing about sit-downs.”
“You’re right, but we’re going to have our own version,” Dominic said. “No one leaves the table until we get some answers.”
“There are some questions I can’t answer,” Dr. DeMarco said.
“That’s fine,” Dominic said. “If you can’t answer something, tell us. Plead the fifth—it’ll be good practice. But things can’t keep going like they are, Dad. We used to feel like a family—a dysfunctional-as-hell one, but still a family. And now it’s every man for themselves.”
Dr. DeMarco stared at his plate. “Fine. Family meeting.”
The word family struck Haven. She jumped to her feet. “May I be excused, sir?”
Dr. DeMarco waved her away, while Carmine slammed his hands down on the table. “Sit down, Haven. This involves you, too.”
She froze, having no idea what to do until Dr. DeMarco pointed at her chair. “Take your seat.”
She sat down, folding her hands in her lap, but wished she had left anyway when Dominic started the conversation. “First of all, Dad, what’s your problem with Haven?”
“Why do you think I have a problem with her?” Dr. DeMarco asked.
Carmine scoffed. “Maybe because you fucking threaten her?”
“Calm the hell down,” Dominic said, pointing at his brother. “There’s no yelling in my sit-downs. Let me handle this.”
Carmine grumbled under his breath and crossed his arms over his chest.
“That’s better.” Dominic turned to their father. “Maybe because you fucking threaten her?”
Dr. DeMarco shook his head. “I have nothing against the child.”
“But you said . . .” she started before she realized what she was doing. She shut her mouth, nervous she had spoken out.
“I said what?” Dr. DeMarco raised his eyebrows. “Be out with it.”
“You told those men I wasn’t worth it.”
“You’re right, and I won’t take it back. Doesn’t mean I have a problem with you, though.”
Carmine fidgeted, fighting to remain silent, while Dominic continued with his questions. “So if you don’t hate her, what’s the big deal about her and Carmine being together?”
“Because there are complications they don’t understand,” he said. “I’ve told them they can be together for the time being.”
Carmine couldn’t restrain himself any longer. “Can’t you see how unfair that is? We can be together ‘for the time being’? What the hell does that mean?”
“It means until I figure things out, I can’t give you any guarantees on the future.”
“What things?” Carmine asked. Dr. DeMarco didn’t answer. “Fine, I’ll figure it out myself. Just tell me who she’s related to.”
“I can’t. If they find out you know, you’re going to get hurt. I need you to understand that.”
“What’s the big deal?” Dominic asked. “She has family . . . isn’t that good?”
“No, it’s not. He’ll expect her to be handed over, and she wouldn’t be safe with him.”
Haven’s mind furiously tried to work through what he’d said.
“No one’s taking her,” Carmine said. “I won’t let it happen.”
“You think I don’t know that? You’ll follow right behind, and I can’t have you both being taken down. I’m trying to find a way out where you walk away from this, but you’re making it difficult.”
“Do I know him?” Carmine asked.
“I can’t answer that.”
He laughed dryly. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
“Mind your own business!” Dr. DeMarco said. “You have to forget all about the DNA test!”
“Why can’t you?” Dominic asked. “Forget about it. Let the information die.”
“Because three can keep a secret if two of them are dead. That’s why. People know. You have no idea the dilemma this has put me in, how hard it has made helping her. Carmine has no regard for his own life. He made that clear again last night. Threatening him won’t affect him, but threatening her will. And it’s not an idle threat. If it comes down to it, I’ll choose my blood.”
Haven’s heart thumped hard in her chest as Carmine snapped. “You’re stupid if you think I’d just move on with my life if something happened to her.”
“I know you think that—”
Carmine growled. “Don’t pretend to know my feelings! Stop treating me like a child!”
Dr. DeMarco slammed his hands down on the table. “Then grow up! I know how you’re feeling, because I felt the same way when I was your age! I know what you’d risk for her, but I can’t let you. I have to at least try for your mother!”
Carmine’s eyes narrowed. “Mom has nothing to do with this.”
“Your mother has everything to do with it! She loved her!”
Carmine blanched at that, his eyes darting to Haven before going right back to his father. His mouth flew open, like words were trying to force themselves out, but there was nothing but silence.
“Your mother was too naïve,” Dr. DeMarco continued, his voice somber. “She’d insist there was a way out of this where no one got hurt, but she’d be wrong. Someone’s going to get hurt. I just hope it’s neither of you.”
The tension returned after the turn in conversation. Carmine’s voice shook when he spoke. “Who did it?”
“Who did what?” Dr. DeMarco asked, not bothering to look up from his plate.
“You know what. Who killed her? We’re clearing the air here. I wanna know who shot me.”
“Their names don’t matter.”
“Then why did they do it?” he asked. “The least you can do is tell me what caused it all.”
“There’s no point, Carmine. What’s done is done.”
Carmine laughed dryly. “Don’t give me that. I have a right to know whose fault it is.”
“I don’t know.”
“What the fuck do you mean you don’t know?”
“I mean I don’t know who to blame!” Dr. DeMarco said. “Your mother—God, I loved your mother, but she went behind my back and did things she knew she shouldn’t have done.”
“What things?” Carmine asked. “Why did she do them?”
“Why did your mother do anything? She wanted to help.”
“Help who?”
“It doesn’t matter, Carmine.”
“Yes, it does,” he said. “I wanna know who was so important she’d risk everything for them. I wanna know who she’d throw her life away for!”
His anger frightened Haven. Dr. DeMarco stared at his son, his expression blank but gaze intense. Carmine’s enraged expression softened as his brow furrowed, and he broke eye contact. Dropping his head down, he ran both hands through his hair and blinked a few times.
“You’re too much like your mother, Carmine,” Dr. DeMarco said quietly. “I can’t let history repeat itself. Not anymore.”
Carmine pushed his chair back, throwing his napkin down on the table and bolting from the room without waiting to be excused.
“Is this sit-down adjourned?” Dr. DeMarco asked. “I’d hate to walk out in the middle of it.”
“Yeah, it’s over,” Dominic said. “It was a failure, anyway.”
Dr. DeMarco stood, patting his son on the back. “We’re walking away from it with our lives intact. We’re not always that lucky in real sit-downs.”
* * *
A flood of emotion rushed through Carmine as he locked himself in his bedroom. Horror. Shock. Love. Longing. Gratitude. Anger. Remorse. He kicked the bed frame as he walked by it, tugging his hair so hard his scalp throbbed. A ton of weight pressed against his chest, crushing him with the force of the truth.
It was Haven. She was the reason his life had been shattered.
He tossed things around, trying to release some pressure, his thoughts convoluted as he shifted blame, trying to find logic where none could be found. Everything was supposed to be easy for him, so why did it feel so fucking complicated?
He snatched the picture frame from his desk and stared at the photograph of his mom, a streak of Haven’s blood smeared on the broken glass. Tears of resentment stung his eyes. Nothing had changed, but everything seemed different.
He threw the frame down and stepped into the bathroom, his gaze falling on his muddled reflection in the mirror. His bloodshot, sorrowful eyes reminded him of her, and the last thread of control he’d been holding on to snapped.
His fist connected with the mirror. It cracked, shards of glass flying as he pounded on it in a rage, not slowing down until it was obliterated, his reflection gone from sight. Emotion swirled through him again as he slid down to the floor, drawing his knees up to his chest. His anger gave way to despair as the tears started to fall. He surrendered to it, not having the willpower to fight anymore.
The anguish took over as he put his head down. He let himself slip under and wallow in the misery of what he’d lost.
* * *
Darkness cloaked the bathroom when Carmine resurfaced. He walked to the sink, glass crunching under his shoes. The cuts on his hand stung as he washed away the blood.
Grabbing a bottle of vodka from his stash, he went down the stairs, seeing the light on in his father’s office. He didn’t bother to knock before stepping inside, kicking the door closed behind him. Plopping down in the leather chair, Carmine took a drink of the liquor.
“I never wanted to tell you,” Vincent said. “I thought it would be cruel. Your mother asked me to save her, but Frankie Antonelli wouldn’t let the girl go. So I told her to drop it, but she didn’t. She couldn’t. I realized what she was doing too late. I was too late.”
It all hit Carmine hard, and he blinked rapidly to ward off the tears. “Did she figure out the secret? Is that why they killed her?”
“She was on the right track, had even hired a private investigator, but I don’t think she had enough time to put the pieces together. She would have, though. It was only a matter of time.”