Sempre: Redemption

39

Haven sat in the car along the curb, her stomach churning as she stared at the blue door of the old house. She had only seen it once before, sitting on the bottom step with Carmine by her side. More than a year had somehow passed since that day . . . more than a year since she had laid eyes on him. She wondered if he would be happy to see her, or if he would be angry she came.

So many scenarios flooded her mind as she got out of the car and made her way across the street. She tried to push back her anxiety as she stepped on the porch, but before she could even knock her name was called from down the street. Her vision blurred, her heart rate skyrocketing as she turned around, watching Corrado’s leisurely approach. “Sir.”

“I’m glad to see you’re well.” He eyed her intently, a serious expression hardening his face. Haven immediately grew paranoid, wondering if it was wrong for her to be there.

Panic crept through her at the prospect that she could be in danger. “I didn’t know if I should come.”

“It was nice of you to show up,” he said as he stepped closer. “I apologize for not calling. By the time I had a chance, you’d informed me of your intention to come, so I assumed someone else told you.”

“I saw it on the news,” she said quietly. “They said there was a massacre.”

Corrado scoffed at the word. “It was hardly a massacre. If it was, no one would’ve survived, but Carmine and I walked away.”

“Carmine?” she gasped, horrified. “He was there?”

“Yes,” Corrado said. “And as you can probably guess, he isn’t taking it very well. After Maura’s murder, he didn’t speak to anybody for a long time. It seems he’s dealing with his father’s death the same way.”

“Oh God.” The burn flared in her chest as her eyes filled with tears. “He saw them both die.”

“He did.”

“Is he, uh . . . ?” She motioned toward the door behind her. “Is he home?”

Corrado shook his head. “He’s already gone to the service with my wife.”

“Oh.”

“You’re welcome to join me,” Corrado said. “I’m waiting on the car service to pick me up. Plenty of time to meet them at the cemetery.”

Haven looked down at herself, eyeing her wrinkled shirt and dirty jeans. She had had them on since yesterday morning, having not taken the time to change before leaving. “I don’t really have anything with me to wear.”

“God doesn’t care what you wear, Haven,” Corrado said. “It wouldn’t matter to Vincent, either. But if it would make you feel better, I’m sure there’s something in my wife’s closet that would suffice.”

“Oh no, I couldn’t.” Haven furiously shook her head. “I couldn’t impose like that.”

Corrado let out a sharp bark of laughter. “As much as I’ve already done, a change of clothes is hardly an imposition.”

That silenced her immediately.

“Come,” he insisted. “No excuses.”

Haven quietly followed him to his house and upstairs to the bedroom he shared with Celia. She glanced through the closet, pulling out a plain black dress she found in the back. It was slightly too big but fit better than she expected.

She borrowed a pair of shoes, too, some simple black heels that pinched her toes, a size too small but good enough for the moment. She did little else to prepare, in and out in less than twenty minutes.

Corrado waited downstairs for her, peering out the front door at the black town car parked along the curb. They climbed into it, and Haven shifted anxiously around on the leather seat.

“I’ve tried,” Corrado said quietly a few minutes into the drive. “I’ve done everything within my power for Carmine, but it seems to be beyond my reach. He’s too stubborn and reckless. The way he’s going, he’s doomed.”

Doomed. That word rippled through her, a cold chill striking her bones. “You’ve given up on him?”

“It doesn’t matter . . . not when he’s already given up on himself.”

Before Haven could respond, Corrado’s cell phone rang. He pulled it out, letting out a long exhaustive sigh as he answered the call. “Moretti speaking . . . Yeah, it’s all settled. I’m certain it’ll go according to plan.”

He hung up quickly, slipping his phone back away as his attention once more turned to her. “Is this visit temporary, or do you need to retrieve your things from New York?”

She blanched. “Well, I . . . I don’t know.”

He turned away from her, his eyes focusing straight ahead. “Let me know when you figure it out.”

The long, gold-toned casket stood out strikingly on the grassy knoll, a makeshift memorial of colorful flowers surrounding it on all sides. A crowd of mourners gathered, dozens of people dressed in their most expensive black clothing, their heads bowed and gazes cast away, as if avoiding having to face reality. Sorrow and misery wafted around them, the atmosphere stifling with pain lingering in the air.

Haven paused a few yards away from the service, her knees weak. Dr. DeMarco’s cold body lay in that box, his heart no longer beating and the life expelled from him. He was gone, never again to open his eyes and see another day.

The air seemed to be forced from Haven’s lungs at the thought, dizziness blurring her vision. She took a few steps to the side to lean against a tall maple tree in order to catch her breath as Corrado continued on, infiltrating the crowd. She scanned them as she composed herself, catching brief glimpses of Celia and Dominic, but the others were shielded from view.

She wanted to go closer, desperate to see Carmine, but her feet wouldn’t move no matter how hard she tried to make them.

“Vincenzo was a loyal man,” the priest declared, clutching a Bible to his chest as he stood behind the casket. “He was a husband and a father; a son and a brother. He wasn’t a perfect man, he made mistakes, but no man is perfect. We all sin; we all fall victim to temptation. Vincenzo was no different.

“Greed, lust, gluttony, sloth, wrath, envy, pride—the seven cardinal sins. He struggled with them, trying to balance the good and evil in his life, and many times he failed. But just because he succumbed to evil doesn’t mean he was evil. Vincenzo visited me often before his life came to an end. He expressed remorse for all of the hurt he had caused, and because of that I am certain of one thing—despite his flaws, Vincenzo Roman DeMarco was a true Man of Honor.”

Sobs rang out from the crowd, but Haven couldn’t decipher who they came from. When the priest finished a few minutes later, mourners took turns placing long-stemmed red roses on top of the casket, one by one saying their final good-byes to the man inside. Haven caught a glimpse of Tess and Dia, but the family stood in the front and remained mostly blocked.

Haven picked at her nails nervously as the crowd dispersed, chipping away at the pale pink polish when Carmine finally came into view. He wore a black suit, his hair slicked back and head bowed as he stared into the massive hole in the ground. People spoke to him as they passed, but he didn’t acknowledge them. He just stood still, a cold marble statue, unmoving and unwavering, looming in the pathway as everyone moved around him.

She watched Celia rub Carmine’s back before she and Corrado walked away. Corrado steered her in Haven’s direction, her footsteps faltering as a look of surprise passed over her face. She smiled warmly as she approached, pulling her into a hug. “You look great, kiddo. It’s been way too long.”

“Thank you,” Haven said quietly as she let go, seeing Celia’s face was flushed, her makeup was smudged from crying. “I’m so sorry for your loss, Celia.”

“Me, too, sweetie,” she whispered, glancing back over at Carmine, frowning, before looking at Haven again. “Go on,” she said, motioning toward him. “Make sure he gets home safely, okay?”

Corrado put his arm over Celia’s shoulder, nodding at Haven in approval before leading her away. Haven remained in place for a moment as she stared at Carmine, wondering if she even knew the person in front of her anymore. He seemed so different, from his stance to the way he was dressed, all of it foreign. His slumped shoulders screamed with defeat, as he stood seemingly oblivious to anything in the world around him.

Haven took a few steps in his direction but stopped again when he broke his stance, grabbing a rose from the closest display and slowly approaching an adjacent grave. He crouched down in front of the headstone and laid the rose on the ground before running his fingers along the words engraved on the worn white marble.

Haven started his way again, her curiosity fueling her, but stopped after a few steps when realization struck. He had once told her his mother was in Hillside.

Her heart pounded rapidly as she suddenly felt like she was invading his privacy. The memory of him sitting in front of his piano, slumped down and crying on the anniversary of her death came to mind. Pain ripped through her chest.

She immediately took a step back.

Carmine must have sensed her movement, because his body stiffened at that moment, his shoulders squared and head held high as if on alert. Something in the atmosphere shifted—the afternoon sun disappeared behind a thick cloud, encasing the cemetery in gloomy shade. A cool breeze blew through, ruffling Haven’s dress and causing a shiver to run the length of her spine.

It felt like it happened in slow motion as Carmine turned in her direction, their eyes locking across the way. She finally saw his face, taking in the deep frown on his lips and dark bags under his bloodshot eyes. His blank expression changed as he stared at her, distinctive emotions flashing across his face that matched the ones surging inside of her. Shock, disbelief, confusion, desperation, fear, longing, hope, sorrow, grief . . . all of it hit Haven at once as she stared at the broken boy she had once given her heart to—a heart she had never quite got back.

She loved him, just as much as she ever had, and when she saw that same feeling reflected back at her, it all came together. Because despite everything that was different, despite everything that felt unfamiliar, despite the pain and heartbreak, the love was still there.

Finally, something felt right again.

He hesitantly took a step toward her, his movement causing Haven to break into a run. She kicked her shoes off in the grass as she sprinted in his direction, shaking and crying as she rammed right into him. He braced himself in an attempt to keep his footing and wrapped his arms around her, staggering a few steps from the force of the collision. His body violently shook as a strangled sob tore from his chest.

Neither spoke, the lump in Haven’s throat making it impossible for anything to escape but cries. She closed her eyes as he held her, reveling in his familiar scent and body warmth. Despite how vulnerable she knew he was, how shaky the ground was beneath his feet, she felt secure in his arms, like all of her wandering had come down to that moment, in that place, where she finally felt like she was home again.

He was her home. He always had been.

She wasn’t sure how long they stood between his parents’ graves, clinging to each other, all of their hurt, and pain, and heartache expelled through each shuddering breath, each salty tear staining their cheeks. It could have been minutes or hours, but it felt as if time had stopped for them once again.

“La mia bella ragazza,” he whispered, his voice cracking.

The words sent a pang of longing through her body, and she closed her eyes as the electricity of his touch coursed through her veins. “Oh, Carmine.”

He pulled back to look at Haven, his face wet with tears and hair a disheveled mess. She reached up to run her hand through it, cringing as her fingers got tangled in a stiff nest of hair product. “Your hair.”

A sad smile lifted the corner of his mouth, and although he didn’t respond, she knew he understood. He reached out and wiped the tears from her cheeks, her eyes fluttering closed from his touch. He ran his fingertips down her jaw, his hand gently exploring her face, before he tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear.

Wiping his tears, Haven explored his face much like he had hers, eyeing the small mark on his cheek peculiarly as she ran her pointer finger across it. She had never seen it before. “You have a scar.”

“You’re beautiful.” He cracked a smile as the blush rose into her cheeks. “You still blush, too.”

“You still make me,” she whispered, surveying him. “You’re wearing a suit.”

Glancing down at himself, he grimaced. “I still hate them, but it’s a funeral.” His voice cracked on the word and he turned away, taking a deep, calculated breath. He gazed past her at something. “You wore high heels.”

“I still hate them, but it’s a funeral,” she said, repeating his words. “You’re not wearing Nike’s.”

“I wish I was,” he muttered. “These fucking shoes hurt my feet.”

She stifled a laugh. “You still say that word.”

“What word?” He raised his eyebrows when she didn’t respond. “I guess you still don’t use it.”

Haven shrugged.

They stood there for a while longer trading observations. It might have been trivial, given the weight of the circumstances, but it was their way of reconnecting. They memorized each other again, becoming acquainted with the things that had changed in their absence as the comfort and familiarity settled back in. Countless times she wondered what she would say if she ever saw Carmine again, musing about what he might possibly say in response, but she never considered that it would be so seamless for them.

They had both changed, and it was obvious, as she stared into his deep green eyes, that there was a darkness lurking inside of him, but it hadn’t consumed him. Carmine’s spirit might have been broken, but his soul remained intact. It was like meeting him for the first time all over again, but knowing in her heart exactly who he was from the beginning.

He was Carmine Marcello DeMarco . . . and even broken, he was beautiful.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” he said, pulling Haven into his arms again. He buried his face in her hair and inhaled deeply. “This has to be a fucking dream.”

“It’s not a dream,” she said. “I’m really here.”

“For how long?”

She hesitated. Carmine’s phone rang then, tension sweeping over them as he motioned for her to stay where she was. She eyed him warily as he stepped away, bringing his phone to his ear and speaking quietly to ensure she couldn’t overhear.

A sinking feeling settled into the pit of her stomach. She knew the easy couldn’t last, that the seamless would have snags. He was a part of that life, and there were things about him she couldn’t be involved in—things she could never know. Carmine harbored secrets that would never be spilled.

Not wanting to appear to be eavesdropping, Haven took a step away and quietly gazed at the headstone that marked his mother’s grave.

Maura DeMarco

April 1965–October 1996

“Ama, ridi, sogna—e vai dormire”

She had only been thirty-one, too young to be ripped from the world. Dr. DeMarco had lived more than a decade without his wife. Haven couldn’t begin to imagine how he had felt waking every morning to face the realization that he would never have it back, he would never feel the spark again.

“Sorry about that,” Carmine said, interrupting her thoughts. ”It was—”

“I don’t need to know,” Haven cut him off, but she heard him mutter Corrado’s name regardless.

An awkward silence lingered before Carmine sighed. “Ama, ridi, sogna—e vai dormire,” he said, reading the line chiseled into the stone. ”It means ‘Love, laugh, dream, and go to sleep’.”

Haven smiled softly. “I like that.”

“Me, too,” he mumbled, a sad smile tugging his lips. “That’s what she did.”

“She was an amazing woman.”

“She was. Too bad I couldn’t take after her more. Instead, I’m like him.” Tears brimmed his eyes, sudden anger flowing out with those words. “Vincent DeMarco’s son, so that makes me the fucking enemy. As much as I hate it, it’s true. I’m one of them.”

“You aren’t.”

“I am. You don’t even fucking know.” He shook his head. “You wouldn’t be able to look at me if you knew.”

“You only did what you had to do.”

“You don’t even know what I’ve done,” he said. “What I’ve stood by and watched without saying a goddamn word. I’ve watched people die and kept my mouth shut like they didn’t matter, like they didn’t fucking count. What kinda person does that?”

“Me,” Haven said quietly. “Did you forget about Frankie killing that girl? Number 33—that’s all I know about her, a number written on a piece of paper someone stuck to her. She’s dead and I don’t even know her name. I never did anything to help her.”

He shook his head. “That’s different.”

“How?”

“He would’ve fucking killed you.”

“Are you saying they won’t kill you if you don’t go along with it?”

“It’s still not the same,” he said, the aggravation clear in his voice. “You were born into it, but I chose this life. I chose to be this fucking person.”

“For me,” she said. “If nothing else, that makes you good.”

“Good,” he sneered. “They talked today about how good my father was, about all the people he helped, but what about the bad? He helps a few people and suddenly all the ones he hurt are forgotten? What about what he did to you? What about what he did to me? He opened fire on a house and I had to see that shit! Then he . . . then he fucking tried to . . .”

He shook as he fought for control, on the verge of hyperventilating. Haven rubbed his back, her tears steadily falling. He hurt, and she had no idea how to make it any better.

“He’s gone,” Carmine said after a moment. “He went out in a blaze of glory, and I can’t help but hate him for it because now he’s gone, too! And the worst part is that I wasn’t surprised, because he did exactly what I would’ve done. I would’ve killed every single one of those motherfuckers. I’m just like my goddamn father.”

Haven grabbed his arm to calm him down, his moods shifting so quickly she had a hard time keeping up. He shrugged away from her, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a silver metal flask.

Bringing it to his lips, he closed his eyes and shuddered as he took a drink. “I owe you a lot of apologies, but sorry doesn’t seem good enough.”

“Your intentions were always good,” Haven said, not liking his self-loathing. Based on his demeanor, he had been beating himself up for a while.

“How’s that saying go—the road to hell is paved with good intentions? Makes sense, I guess, since I’m heading that way.”

She winced. “Don’t say that, Carmine.”

“Sorry, you’re right,” he said quickly, taking another drink from his flask. “I shouldn’t be saying this shit to you. I just . . . I’m sorry. I’m glad you’re here. You didn’t have to come. You don’t owe my family anything, but it’s good to see you.”

His words lacked the emotion he had had just minutes before. “It’s good to see you, too. I’ve missed you.”

“Yeah?” He glanced at Haven. “I’ve missed you, too. You look good, tesoro.”

Her heart started acting erratically, a fluttering in her stomach as the word tesoro escaped his lips. He tried to run his hand through his hair but cringed, a white bandage covering it. “What happened to your hand?”

He shoved it back in his pocket as if to hide the injury. “Corrado shot me.”

“He shot you? Why?”

“You’d have to ask him.” He grew quiet again and Haven knew he was holding back. “That’s where the scar on my face came from, too. Someone shot at me. Wasn’t Corrado that time, though . . . some Irish fucker.”

Haven stared at him as that sank in. “That’s scary.”

“That’s life,” he said, shrugging as if it weren’t a big deal. “That’s my life now, anyway. Thank God it’s not yours.”

Silence lingered between them as he took sips from his flask, his eyes looking everywhere but at her. She could see the sadness, the yearning for something he felt he couldn’t have. It made her chest ache.

“A guy named Gavin asked me out a few months ago,” she blurted out.

Carmine froze with the flask to his lips, cringing at her words. Tension rolled from him in waves. “Did you go out with him?”

“Once, but it could never work.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because he could never know me,” she said quietly. “I had friends, but they didn’t know me, either. No one did. They don’t know where I came from or what I went through. They only know the cover story, the girl I pretend to be . . . the girl everyone wants me to be . . . the girl I still sometimes wish I could be. They think the world I came from only exists in movies.”

“That’s the point,” he said. “You can be whoever you want to be.”

She sighed. “Don’t you get it, Carmine? I am that girl. I always will be, and believe it or not, I like her. I like being her. I like me.”

“I like you, too,” he said, “but you deserve more than this life, Haven.”

“Well, so do you.”

He groaned. “I chose this shit.”

“Then why couldn’t I?” she asked. “Why did you choose for me?”

“Because I’d be goddamned if I was going to let you throw everything away for someone like me. You’re better than my kind.”

Haven shook her head with disbelief. “Your kind? How can you say that? You, the boy who told me over and over again that I’d overcome my label . . . how can you label yourself? You wanted me to go out there and explore my options. I did that, Carmine, and I loved it, but I was lonely. Do you know what it’s like to stand in a crowded room and still feel like you’re the only one there? Do you? Because that was how it felt to me.”

“I couldn’t be something you settled for, Haven.”

“You think being with you would be settling? I’ll always be a part of your world. I’ll always have someone keeping tabs on me, making sure I don’t break my silence. My house got broken into and I couldn’t even call the police, I had to call your uncle! How do I explain that to people? It’s not normal—I’m not normal! Being out there in the world alone, spending my life pretending to be someone I’m not . . . that’s settling, Carmine. Does it even matter what I want?”

Carmine sighed exasperatedly, taking another drink. “Of course it matters.”

“Then why’d you do it?”

He stared at her, his eyes boring into hers intensely. “What do you do when the thing you want most suddenly feels like it’s just beyond your fingertips?”

The question caught Haven off guard. “What?”

“You wrote that in your journal,” he said. “I couldn’t hold you back.”

A bitter laugh of disbelief erupted from her chest. “That’s why you did it? Are you kidding me? The answer to that question isn’t to give up, Carmine. You don’t just quit. You keep trying. You keep reaching. All I ever wanted was someone to see me, to love me, to understand me. I didn’t have to hide from you; I didn’t have to pretend to be someone I wasn’t. You know me, the person no one else will ever know. I wanted to be with you, I thought we’d be together, and then you left! You walked out on me as I slept!”

Haven shook as all of the hurt came pouring out in her words, everything she had kept bottled in for the past eighteen months erupting in a cloud of anger.

“I wanted what was best for you,” he said. “I wanted you to have a chance.”

“A chance?” she asked. “You asked me for a chance once. Do you remember that? I gave it to you, and I don’t regret that for a second. I’ll never regret it. If you didn’t love me, that’s one thing, but—”

“Of course I loved you!” His eyes filled with tears. “I didn’t want to get you killed!”

“You’re not your father, Carmine, and I’m not your mother.”

“I know that,” he spat.

“Do you? You’re so busy trying to stop history from repeating itself that you’re completely ignoring what’s right in front of you!”

He wiped his eyes. “And what’s that?”

“Fate,” she said. “You came into my life because you were meant to be in my life. It wasn’t an accident! So don’t push me away, because I fucking love you, Carmine DeMarco, and you’re just hurting yourself doing it!”

Frantic, Haven wrapped her arms around her chest, trying to hold herself together. Carmine stared at her in a daze, but the moment a sob escaped from her throat he snapped back to reality. He wrapped his arms around her tightly. “Oh, tesoro,” he whispered into her hair. “I fucking love you, too.”

They clung to each other again until Carmine’s phone shattered yet another moment. He groaned as he reached for it and glanced at the screen.

“Sir?” His voice was even as he answered, his eyes refusing to leave Haven’s face. “Yes, sir. Thirty minutes. I got it.”

He hung up, giving Haven a curious look.

“You have to go?” she guessed.

He nodded. “You, too. We’re expected at the gathering.”

“Was that Corrado?” she asked, surprised when he nodded. “It sounded serious, like, you know . . . work.”

He smiled sadly. “Corrado is work to me. He’s my boss first and family second. I can’t tell him to fuck off anymore. I’d hate for him to shoot me again.”

Haven glanced at his hand instinctively. “I still can’t believe he did that.”

“Yeah, well, I can. He’s threatened to kill me more times than I can count, so it was only a matter of time.” Haven looked at him with horror and he chuckled nervously. “I deserved it. I’ve fucked up a lot.”

“How? I mean, if you can . . .”

“Maybe later.” He glanced at his watch. “We’d be here all night if I tried to explain, and we’re down to twenty-eight minutes now.”

He glanced around briefly, his eyes darting between his parents’ graves as he pressed his hand against Haven’s back to lead her away. “I guess I was wrong.”

“About?”

“Probably most of it, really, but I was referring to you not saying fuck,” he said, shaking his head. “I can’t believe you cursed at me.”

Neither spoke during the drive. So much time had passed that Haven knew it would be impossible for them to just pick up where they had left off, unrealistic to expect to have back exactly what they had once shared. It was still there, though, buried beneath the surface. It would take time to unearth it and nurse it back to health.

If he was willing to try, that was.

They made their way into the Morettis’ house when they arrived. Carmine was on edge, his hands shoved into his pockets and body tense. He kept his head down, retreating further into himself with each step. He walked inside without knocking, stopping in the foyer. She stepped in behind him and saw Corrado standing by the bottom of the stairs.

He glanced at his watch. “Thirty-nine minutes.”

Late.

An animated voice carried through the hallway as they headed toward the living room. Haven smiled at the familiarity, recognizing Dominic. Carmine paused in the doorway and she stopped behind him, glancing past him nervously. The large room was packed with people and she spotted Dia right away, sitting on the couch. Tess was beside her but mostly blocked from view by Dominic, who stood directly in front of her. Celia sat in a chair near the door beside an older woman.

There were at least two dozen others, people Haven didn’t recognize, but each of them listened intently as Dominic spoke. He told a story about a fishing trip they went on when they were children, about how Carmine had dumped out all of the worms they had caught the night before.

Gazing at Carmine, Haven saw no flicker of emotion in his face, no recognition as Dominic recounted the story. He stood tensely right inside the doorway, his hands still shoved in his pockets with his head down. Haven realized then, looking at him, that he knew exactly how she had felt on her own. He knew what it felt like to stand in a crowded room, surrounded by people, yet feel utterly alone.

Haven slid her arms under his from behind, shoving her hands in his pockets with his. She laced their fingers together as she laid her head against his back. Carmine didn’t move or speak, but his body relaxed from the contact.

Stories were shared, one after another, until the room grew quiet, a somber feeling taking over as no one seemed to know what else to say. Haven pulled away from Carmine and felt him tense again as she cleared her throat. “I think I have something to share.”

“Twinkle Toes!” Dominic bounded across the room the second he noticed her and pulled her into a hug. “I’m glad you’re here!”

“Put her down, Dominic,” Tess said sternly.

Dominic put Haven back on her feet, smiling sheepishly. Dia and Tess both said hello to her before Celia chimed in. “Go on, Haven. I’d love to hear what you have to say about Vincent.”

Not everyone seemed as confident as Celia about hearing Haven speak. Corrado watched her apprehensively and she noticed a few others were, too, all of them likely aware of what Dr. DeMarco had done to her.

“About a year and a half ago, when I was living in Charlotte, I wasn’t doing so well. I guess you could say I was, uh . . . homesick.” She glanced at Dia, who smiled knowingly. “I wanted nothing more than to run back to what was familiar to me, and Dr. De—err, Vincent knew that. I hit bottom one night and did something stupid out of desperation, and he came to talk to me. He said he knew I was scared but that I needed to give life a chance. He told me to show those who had doubted me that they were wrong, that I was strong enough to make it, and after I did, if I was still homesick, he’d help me find my way home. He promised when I was ready he’d help me, even if it was the last thing he did.”

She took a deep breath and glanced at Carmine, their eyes connecting. “He probably thought he’d have to break his promise, but he didn’t, because he did exactly what he said he would. Now that I’m ready, he helped me find my way home. I just wish it hadn’t really been the last thing he did.”

A tear slid down her cheek as she stared into swirling deep green eyes that seemed to beckon to her. He opened his mouth like he was going to speak, but no sound escaped as he moved his lips. It didn’t matter, though, because she knew what he was trying to say.

Welcome home.

The woman sitting beside Celia spoke up then, her voice laced with cynicism. “Who is this girl? How’d she know Vincenzo?”

“This is Carmine’s, uh . . .” Celia trailed off. “Well, Mom, this is Haven Antonelli. She’s—”

“Antonelli? You mean that little slave girl?”

People cringed and gasped, shaking their heads and muttering under their breath from secondhand embarrassment, but Haven just nodded. “That’s me.”

“I’ll be damned.” The woman surveyed her. “I guess we can’t really call you that, though, can we? No, Federica’s grandbaby isn’t a slave. She’s family.”

Dozens of eyes shot straight to the woman at those words, a deathly silence falling over the room.

“What did you say, Gia?” Corrado asked, blinking with shock.

“I said she’s Federica’s grandbaby,” Gia replied. “What, you didn’t know?”

“No, I knew, but how did you?”

Gia waved him off. “Antonio told me ages ago. He was planning to kill that Salamander when he found out, but he never got the chance. God got to my husband first, I guess.”

Corrado gaped at her. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

“You never asked,” Gia said, shrugging. “Besides, you all think I’m crazy, anyway. Would you have believed me?”

A minute of tense silence passed before Corrado shook his head. “No, I probably wouldn’t have.”