It may not have been as horrifying had Carmine not recognized the man.


The house was silent when Carmine made it home, the notebook tucked in the crook of his arm. He headed upstairs, mentally exhausted from the day, and hesitated on the second floor when he saw the door to his father’s office open. Carmine strolled over to it, curiously pausing in the doorway.

Vincent sat at his desk with his phone to his ear, unaware he was no longer alone. He impatiently drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair, periodically huffing as he listened to whomever was on the line.

“That’s not acceptable,” he said, his expression severe. “I understand your situation, but you need to understand mine. I have a family to consider, and you may not care about them, but I do. This is my life we’re talking about so don’t patronize me! I don’t need you to make this out to be something it isn’t, and I don’t appreciate being lied to. Find another way.”

Another brief pause ensued, followed by a sharp, angry laugh from Vincent. “Then count me out.”

Carmine shifted position, caught off guard by the serious conversation. The movement drew his father’s attention. Panic sparked in Vincent’s eyes. He hung up without giving the person a chance to respond and eyed Carmine carefully, but he offered no explanation.

“Who was that?” Carmine asked.

“Lawyer.”

Carmine narrowed his eyes. “What were you doing, bribing your way out of trouble?”

“More like settling things before they tie the knot on my noose.”

“That bad?” They may not have been close over the years, but Carmine didn’t like the thought of losing his father.

“Yes, it’s that bad, son,” Vincent said. “We used to be able to talk our way out of anything, but our power has even less influence than our money these days.”

Curious about his father’s bitterness, Carmine took a seat without waiting to be invited. “Can I ask you something?”

Vincent leaned back in his chair. “Sure.”

“Do you regret getting involved?”

“Yes . . . and no. I’ve made plenty of mistakes, and those I do regret, but taking the oath for your mother . . . I can’t regret that. I wish I wouldn’t have had to, but I did. And I’d do it again.” Vincent paused. “You know, I was furious when I found out what you’d done, and as much as I still hate it, I get it, son. It’s genetic, I guess—ingrained in your DNA. You would’ve sacrificed for her eventually, someway, somehow. You are your mother’s child, after all.”

“I’m apparently yours, too.”

Vincent smiled sympathetically. “Is there a reason you asked? Are you regretting—?”

“No way,” Carmine said. “It’s just, Christ . . . I know it was necessary, but I feel like I fucked everything up by doing it.”

“I felt that way, too,” Vincent said. “I initiated to free your mother, and all I did was take her from one dangerous world to another. It was dressed up pretty and called another name, but it wasn’t much different. Your mother never got a chance to live a life where no one knew her . . . where no one knew what she’d been. She never got to invent herself.”

Carmine nodded. “That’s what I thought.”

Vincent drummed his fingers again. “Don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t trade the years I had with your mother for anything, and I surely wouldn’t give up you boys. You’re the only thing I ever did right in life. But I’ll never forgive myself for not giving her a chance. I know she loved me, and having a family made her happy, but I don’t think she even realized she had another option. I did it all to give her choices, and then I never told her she had them. I can’t help but wonder, all these years later, how different things would be had I let her go.”

“Mom wouldn’t have left you,” Carmine said.

“She didn’t know any better,” he said. “And that’s the point, really. She never got to choose to be with me.”

“That’s why I feel like I fucked up,” Carmine said. “I figured I could keep those parts of my life separate, do what I had to while still giving her everything she wanted, but I don’t know if that’s possible anymore. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do about it and I’m running out of time, considering I’m expected in Chicago after Christmas.”

“I’m not surprised,” Vincent said, reaching into a drawer and pulling out a gold key. He fiddled with it for a moment before pushing it across the desk to Carmine. “The key to the house in Chicago.”

Carmine carefully picked it up. “Why are you giving it to me?”

“You’ll need somewhere to stay, won’t you?”

He wanted to argue, to give the key back, but he couldn’t. It was true. He hadn’t thought about what he would do once he got there. “Uh, yeah. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” he replied. “Are you going to be okay?”

“Oh, I’ll be fine. It’s Haven I’m worried about. I grabbed this notebook of hers today, and I can tell you after reading it that she’s a fucking mess.” He flipped through pages haphazardly, shaking his head when he reached the drawing titled monster. Laughing bitterly, he held up the sketch for his father to see. “Look at this shit.”

The drumming of Vincent’s fingers ceased instantly, his posture rigid as his expression went blank. Carmine’s hair bristled at his father’s posture. Vincent stared at the notebook intently, like he was memorizing the mangled face.

“She’ll be okay,” Vincent said after a moment. “She has nothing to fear from him.”

“Maybe not, but she calls him a monster, like he’s the fucking Chupacabra. She’s terrified, and that’s the kind of people I’ll have her around. Monsters.”

“Carlo’s a friend of ours.”

Carmine scoffed. “He’s no friend of mine.”

“On the contrary, son . . . he is. He’s been in the organization for years. Salvatore initiated him right after your grandfather passed away.”

It struck Carmine then why he recognized the guy. He remembered exactly where he had seen him. “We have to tell Sal.”

“Tell him what?”

“That one of his men is dirty,” he spat. “He was involved in the kidnapping. He was in that warehouse!”

“What makes you think he was there?”

Carmine stared at his father incredulously. “Haven saw him. He had to be there!”

“No, he didn’t.” Vincent shook his head. “He wasn’t even in Chicago.”

“Yes, he was. I saw him! They were arguing in Sal’s office, but when I showed up, he left.”

Vincent hesitated. “That doesn’t mean he was in on anything.”

“Then how the fuck did she draw him?”

Sighing, Vincent flipped the page in the notebook and paused, holding it up. The color drained from Carmine’s face as he stared at another drawing, this one just as in depth as the other—except, instead of a monster, he was staring at an angel.

The drawing of his mother struck something deep inside him, seizing his heart in a vice grip and constricting his chest.

“The same way she drew Maura,” Vincent said quietly. “From memory. She’s already told me she hallucinated in the warehouse, and Carlo has a face no one would forget—clearly, considering you remember him and you rarely notice anyone except for yourself. It’s not a far stretch to say she saw him as a child.”

Carmine rolled his eyes, not buying that explanation. “What if you’re wrong?”

“I’m not,” Vincent said.

“But what if you are?” Carmine asked again. “What if he was in on it all?”

“He wouldn’t be. His loyalty to Sal is unwavering. He’d do anything for the Boss, would never betray him, and Sal feels the same way about him. It’s just not plausible. You can ask Corrado if you don’t believe me.”

“And you can ask Haven,” Carmine said, his father’s unwillingness to even consider the idea annoying him. It was certainly nothing new, but it grated on his nerves now more than ever. “I’ll leave you alone now so you can call back whoever it was you were really talking to. I have my own shit to figure out.”

He stood to leave when his father cleared his throat. “Ascoltare il tuo cuore, Carmine. Just remember that, and I’m sure you’ll do the right thing . . . whatever that may be. Like I said, you are your mother’s child.”

Ascoltare il tuo cuore. Listen to your heart.

If it weren’t so distressing, Carmine might have seen the irony of what his mother had always said. A person couldn’t escape fate, because what was meant to be would always be. No matter how hard Carmine tried to avoid the Mafia, he came back to it in the end.

And Haven had been destined for freedom . . . his mother made sure of that.

Carmine stepped out of his father’s office and pulled his cell phone from his pocket, scrolling through his contacts until he came upon his friend, Dia. He dialed her number, listening as it rang and rang, and let out a deep breath when her voicemail picked up. “Call me when you get this.”

5

Merry Christmas!”

Haven jumped at the unexpected voice and spun around from the kitchen window. Celia stood just inside the doorway, smiling warmly, her eyes bright and awake with enthusiasm, even though the sun had barely started to rise outside.

“Uh, Merry Christmas,” Haven said. “Good morning.”

Strolling over to the pantry, Celia rooted around, pulling out what she would need to make Christmas dinner. She was dressed in a gray long-sleeved dress and a pair of matching heels, her shiny dark hair cascading down her back and her makeup freshly applied. It was the complete opposite of how she had appeared when Haven last saw her in Chicago a mere month ago. Her glow was back, compassion and love radiating from her like warm sunlight.