Sempre: Redemption

47

Just a few more.”

Carmine tried to stop squirming, but the suit was beginning to suffocate him. It felt like they had been standing there for hours as the photographer snapped picture after picture, posing them in every position imaginable in order to get a good shot. He did his best to keep his eyes focused on the camera, but his attention was drawn to the woman beside him.

“Relax,” Haven said quietly, sensing his discomfort.

“I’m trying,” he muttered.

“Everyone smile!” the photographer shouted. Carmine smiled on demand, ready to get it over with, and he snapped off a few pictures in quick succession. “That’s a wrap.”

He exhaled in relief and loosened his tie. “That shit took forever.”

“It wasn’t that bad.” Haven laughed. “It was only like twenty minutes.”

Carmine grabbed her hips and she yelped as he quickly pulled her to him. “You’re wrong, Haven DeMarco. It was that bad, because it was twenty minutes that I couldn’t do this.”

He smashed his lips to hers, kissing her deeply, and Tess groaned. “I don’t want to see that.”

“Then stop fucking looking,” he spat, pulling away from Haven long enough to get the words out. He went right back to kissing her.

“We’re heading inside,” Dominic said, patting Carmine on the back. “Don’t keep everyone waiting too long.”

They stood there for a while, continuing to kiss, as everyone else filtered into Luna Rossa for the reception. Eventually she pulled away from him, panting as she tried to catch her breath, her cheeks flushed. “Maybe we should go inside.”

“Fuck that,” he said, trailing kisses down her jaw line as he made his way to her neck. “Let’s leave.”

“We can’t leave, Carmine,” she said. “These people are here for us.”

“So?” he whispered. She laughed, pushing away from him, and he sighed. “Okay, you’re right. We need to go in.”

“See?” she said, grabbing his hand. “It’ll be fun.”

“Yeah, but I think we’d have a lot more fun if we were alone right now.”

“Maybe so,” she said. “There will be plenty of time for that later, though.”

“I sure as fuck hope so.”

She started to walk away, tugging on his arm, and he begrudgingly moved from his spot. They were met by loud applause the moment they stepped inside. Haven blushed and ducked her head, and Carmine chuckled as they walked down the path toward the head table that had been set up. She thanked everyone as they took their seats, waiting for the staff to bring out the food. Plates were set in front of them as someone came over with a green glass bottle and filled their glasses. Carmine nodded in greeting as he poured the bubbly liquid in his glass, picking it up and bringing it to his nose. He grimaced at the smell and Dominic laughed from his seat nearby, swirling his drink around in his glass.

“Never thought I’d be at my little brother’s wedding drinking sparkling white grape juice,” he said, shaking his head.

“We have white jasmine sparkling tea, too,” Haven chimed in. “And vignette wine country sodas. They look just like champagne but are alcohol free.”

Carmine sighed and set his glass down without taking a drink, not liking the turn the conversation was taking. It was an open bar for the guests—Corrado’s gift to them, he had said—but Carmine was still banned from drinking in the place.

They stopped discussing it when everyone had their plates. Carmine picked up his fork and poked at the food, his stomach queasy. His palms were sweaty and he started shaking his leg under the table, feeling uncomfortable in his own skin.

The compulsion to drink still lingered in Carmine. He craved the liquor, his body screaming for just a little taste to keep it satiated. He could practically feel the burn in his throat, needing a little of that warmth in his chest again for old times’ sake . . . just enough to keep the panic attack at bay.

He knew that didn’t work from experience, though, because he had given in to it before. It begged for a tiny sip but that was never enough, because once he got it, he wouldn’t be able to stop. A sip turned into two, which turned into an entire bottle, which eventually led to waking up the next morning with a splitting headache, a very pissed off boss, and no recollection of what the fuck happened the night before.

Yeah, 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.

He was taking a drink when Dominic stood, tapping the side of his glass with his fork, calling for everyone’s attention. “I think everyone here knows who I am but in case you don’t, my name’s Dominic. I’m Carmine’s older and wiser brother, although he’d never admit that. He has, however, admitted that I’m the best man, and as the best man it’s my duty to stand up here and try to embarrass his ass,” he started. “There’s so much I could say about Carmine, so many words out there to describe him that it’s almost impossible to know where to start. He’s stubborn, foolish, finicky, moody, erratic, quick to judge, and even quicker to react. I tend to think he’s pretty ugly, too, but that’s just my personal opinion.”

“Fuck you,” Carmine muttered, running his hand through his hair.

“I forgot to add he has a foul mouth, which you all got to witness today. The priest is probably blessing the church again right now,” he said humorously. “Some lesser-known qualities about Carmine are that he’s protective over the people he loves, and he fights for what he believes in. He comes off as being selfish, but he’s probably the most selfless person I know.

“And then there’s Haven, who has to be the most patient person alive to put up with him. At first she and Carmine seemed to be complete opposites, the timid, naïve girl that was experiencing everything for the first time and the jaded, reckless boy who was pretty much sick of it all. I don’t think any of us could’ve predicted that these two people from different ends of the spectrum would meet in the middle, but they did. They balanced each other, found peace in each other, and together they managed to find love. I know that sounds cheesy, like I’m quoting a damn Julia Roberts movie or something, but it’s the truth. What they have is rare.”

Carmine glanced at Haven and she smiled, reaching under the table to take his hand as Dominic continued.

“I don’t know if you all know this, but in high school my brother was kind of a hotshot football player,” he said. “I’m not trying to be cliché or anything, but one thing my own marriage taught me is that relationships are like football in a lot of ways. It’s a team sport and you have to work together to be successful. There are highs and lows, good plays and bad calls, and if you’re going to step out on the field, you need to be ready to play the game. Big mistakes get you benched, and, depending on how bad you screwed up, they can cost you a fortune before you’re allowed back on the playing field. There will always be rivals, people trying to knock you out of the game, but if you’re lucky, you’ll end up with a nice ring to show for your hard work. But it’s not over there, you know. That’s when it really starts, because for the rest of your life you’ll be trying to prove to everyone that you, out of everyone, deserved to be given that ring.”

He paused, snickering to himself. “That’s not the biggest way relationships are like football, though. No matter what you do, no matter what happens, the point of both is to score as much as you can. Without scoring, the entire thing is really just a waste of time.”

Carmine chuckled as Tess flung her napkin at Dominic. He laughed and playfully blew her a kiss before diving right back into his speech. “I think I should wrap this up. My old lady’s throwing penalty flags,” he joked, holding his glass up. “So on behalf of my wife, Tess, and I, I want to toast the couple. To Carmine, who couldn’t do better, and to Haven, who quite frankly, couldn’t do worse.”

They raised their glasses in toast as Carmine kissed Haven. The DJ spoke up, announcing it was time for the first dance. Panic flashed in Haven’s eyes as he took his jacket off. She hesitated before letting him lead her out onto the empty dance floor. He could tell she was uncomfortable with everyone watching, but she tried her best not to let her nerves show.

He pulled her to him when “18th Floor Balcony” started playing, his hands on her hips guiding her as they started swaying to the music. She put her arms over his shoulders, her fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck as she stared into his eyes. He could see the tears she fought back, her eyes sparkling under the lights.

“I love you,” he said quietly.

“I know you do,” she replied, her smile growing. “I love you, too.”

“I’m sorry for fucking up the ceremony.”

“Don’t be silly. You didn’t mess it up.”

“I cursed at Father Alberto, Haven,” he said. “I broke the third commandment. Or maybe it’s the second . . .”

“It’s the third,” she said. “And it’s not that big of a deal. I mean, that’s not the only commandment you’ve broken and I’m sure it won’t be the last one, either.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” he asked, laughing when she shrugged nonchalantly. “Yeah, well, I didn’t break any others standing in the middle of a church.”

“True, but it could’ve been worse,” she said. “You managed to make it through the entire thing without saying the F word.”

“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.”

Picking up the knife, Corrado eyed it intently, running his fingers carefully along the blade. “Before we’ll welcome you in, you first have to bleed for us. Nowadays it’s usually a simple prick of the trigger finger, a tiny droplet of blood on a piece of paper. Painless, leaves no lasting scar, no mark identifying them as a man of honor. But back in my day, it was real. Did you know that?”

Carmine swallowed, trying to wet his painfully dry throat. “Yes, sir.”

“So did you bleed for Salvatore?”

“No,” he said. “All he wanted was my word.”

Corrado continued to gaze at the knife. “Give me your hand.”

For a brief second, Carmine blanched in fear, but there was no hesitance in his steps. He knew there couldn’t be. He extended his right hand and Corrado grabbed it, roughly yanking him closer and pinning it against the desk.

“A man’s word means as much as his blood,” Corrado repeated. “Sal only wanted your word, but I require your blood.”

Carmine squeezed his eyes shut when he felt the knife against his skin. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to stay silent as the jagged blade cut into him. It slowly sliced across his palm, a searing burn igniting his hand as it tore into his flesh.

When it was over, Carmine opened his eyes again and relaxed, but he was too soon. Corrado grasped his hand tighter, violently closing it into a fist. Stabbing pain shot up his arm and he couldn’t hold back the strangled grunt that forced its way from his chest. Tears of agony stung his eyes, but none fell down his cheeks.

“You asked me to give Haven away, and I agreed,” Corrado said, still holding him there, “but I wasn’t just talking about walking her down the aisle. You want her? You love her? You’ve bled for her. She’s yours.”

He pushed him away from the desk and pulled out a rag to wipe the blood from his knife. Carmine clutched his wounded hand to his chest, keeping it fisted. After Corrado’s knife was clean, he placed it back in the drawer.

“I’ll give you the girl, but you can’t have the organization,” Corrado continued. “You’ll never prove yourself worthy of the oath, and nothing you can do will change my mind. You’ll never be a man of honor. You’re not cut out for this life, and I refuse to just hand it to you like Vincent had it handed to him.”

Carmine stared at him as those words sunk in. He had no clue what to say, or if a response was even warranted. His words weren’t cruel, no anger was in his voice. It was emotionless, spoken matter-of-factly. He would never be one of them. That was that.

“As far as I’m concerned, your personal debt to La Cosa Nostra has been satisfied,” Corrado said. “You owe nothing more.”

Carmine blinked rapidly. “That means . . .”

Corrado waved dismissively. “It means you’re free to go.”

Free. That word echoed through Carmine’s mind so feverishly he nearly forgot about the throbbing in his bleeding hand. “Go where?”

“Wherever you want,” he replied. “You should probably consult Haven first, though. Something tells me she wouldn’t be so forgiving the second time around.”

Dumbfounded, all Carmine could do was blink and nod in agreement.

Corrado stood up from his desk and walked around to face his nephew. Grabbing his arm, he pried his hand open and pressed the rag against the wound. The bleeding had slowed, but it still stung ferociously. After cleaning it up, Corrado wrapped it with a white bandage. “Now get out of here. Walk away.”

Carmine started to turn but stopped, those words washing through him, comforting the ache inside of him. Walk away.

“I’m tired of running,” Haven had said. “I want to be able to walk away.”

Without even thinking about it, he flung himself at Corrado, wrapping his arms around his uncle in a hug. Corrado’s body remained rigid as he just stood there, caught off guard by the display of affection. The hug was over in a matter of seconds.

“Can I ask you something, Uncle Corrado?” Carmine asked when he reached the door.

“Yes.”

Carmine motioned toward the .22 still laying on the desk. “What was the gun for?”

His answer was immediate. “In case you hesitated.”

Carmine’s brow furrowed. “Would you really have shot me for that?” he asked, pausing for two beats before shaking his head, not giving him a chance to respond. “Actually, you know what? Don’t answer that. I don’t even wanna fucking know.”

He opened the door and stepped out of the office, the sound of Corrado’s laughter following him.

Corrado sat in his office after Carmine left, staring at the gun. It wasn’t even loaded.

After a moment, he picked it up and opened his desk drawer. He dropped the gun in, staring down at it as it clanked against the unlabeled VHS tape. He had nearly forgotten it was in there, but the words he had heard as he watched it were ones he would never forget. He could still hear Frankie’s voice and see his flickering face as he confessed.

“In the spring of ‘73, Carlo offered Ivan Volkov thirty thousand dollars to take out Salvatore’s brother-in-law. He wasn’t the first one hired. Seamus O’Bannon was approached first, but he wanted nothing to do with killing a man’s family.

Carlo and I . . . we tailed Ivan. We didn’t think he’d really do the job, and we were right. When he showed up at the house, he realized Federica and the baby were home. He left, I guess to come up with a new plan, but Carlo said we’d gone too far to walk away.

He shot them. Killed them both. Then he went into the baby’s room. She was sleeping. He pointed his gun to her head, but I couldn’t let him do it. I took her instead. I mean, I get it. Leave no witnesses. But what kinda witness does a baby make?

I took her to Sal, and all he had to say was, “I don’t care what happens to her as long as I don’t have to look at her face.” But I had to look at her face, and I have to look at her daughter’s face, and I can’t do it anymore. Every time I see them, I feel the guilt all over again. I want to be rid of them, I want to never have to see them again, but something stops me every time.

If they disappear, no one will ever know who they are. No one will ever know what we did . . . what he did. But they’re proof. And someday, somehow, I know it’ll come back to haunt him, but I think he knows it, too.

I think he’s going to have me killed next.”

Corrado stepped out of his office a few minutes later, pausing when he reached the main floor of the club. The place was still quite packed, the guests dancing the night away and drinking heartily at the bar. Half of them didn’t even notice the bride and groom had left, too wrapped up in their own lives to even take a look around them.

It was something Corrado was used to in people. Selfishness. They thought only of themselves and their own desires, their ego too big for them to be able to reach past it. Corrado wasn’t innocent of it himself. For many years, he only saw black and white. It was his way or no way, and his way was always right.

But somewhere along the line, that changed. Maybe it was his own death that did it, or maybe it happened when he delivered death, but one day he opened his eyes and finally noticed the gray between the layers. It was subtle, but it was there, and once he saw it, he couldn’t look away.

The others, though, would never see it. They would never understand. They were all built one way, put together piece by piece like droids—no conscience, no remorse, no guilt. They lost track of the things that mattered over time, and without realizing it, Corrado had, too.

He strolled through the club, grabbing a long-stemmed red rose from one of the dark glass vases on the tables. Twirling it in his hand, he strolled up to his wife and held it out to her. “For you, bellissima.”

Her eyes widened as she took the flower from him. “Wow, what did I do to deserve this?”

“Nothing,” he replied, smirking as he added, “and everything.”

A smile lit up her face as he took her arm, leading her past the others into the center of the dance floor. He motioned to the DJ and the vibrating bass of a pop song abruptly cut off, Sinatra’s version of “Luna Rossa” starting up seconds later.

His hands firmly grasped her hips as he pulled her close. Celia wrapped her arms around his neck, clutching the rose along his back. They swayed to the music, staring into each other’s eyes.

“So Carmine and Haven ran out of here awfully fast,” she mused.

“Did they?”

“Yes. Carmine looked like he was injured. I asked what happened, but he told me not to worry about it. He looked happy, though. Ecstatic, even.”

“Huh.”

“Do you know anything about that?”

“Maybe.”

She continued to stare at him, questions clouding her confused eyes. She wouldn’t ask, and he knew it. He appreciated her restraint. But this time, he felt she deserved an answer. This time, he felt she needed to know.

Leaning down, he softly kissed her mouth, a bit of her red lipstick smudging on his dry lips. She laughed, wiping it away with her free hand as he whispered, “I didn’t do anything except help him.”