“I won’t,” she said, her voice trembling as she raised her arms, letting him pull her dress over her head. He was in a stupor as he gazed at her, the contrast between her scarred skin and the dark undergarments striking. The strong, feisty girl suddenly seemed fragile, and he could never live with himself if he somehow broke her.
She reached over and unbuttoned his top button, but he grabbed her hands. “Relax, okay? Let me worship you.”
Her lips curved at his words. He unclasped her bra, tossing it on the floor, and gazed at her as he grazed his hand across her breasts. A blush started on her cheeks and trickled the whole way down her body.
She lay on the bed when he finished undressing her, fisting the comforter. Loud moans bounced off the cabin walls as he caressed every inch of her flesh with his tongue. Her body writhed, her legs vibrating as she melted for him. She smelled sweet like nectar he was desperate to consume. A starving man, craving her like nothing before.
She cried out when her body exploded in pleasure, the sight of her pushing Carmine over the edge. He shrugged off his shirt, discarding it with Haven’s clothes, before kissing her deeply. She wrapped her arms around him, her breathing erratic as he unbuckled his pants and dropped them to the floor. “We can stop—”
Her voice was a ball of fire. “I don’t want to stop.”
Relieved, his excitement outshined his fear. Hovering over her, he kissed her jaw and nipped at her neck, his heart thumping hard in his chest at the warmth radiating from her. Her hands on his skin were electric as she ran her fingers lightly over the scar on his side. She tilted her head as he kissed the dip in her throat, his lips moving along her collarbones.
His nerves flared as he reached between them to grasp himself. “I’ll go slow, okay?”
She clung to him, her brittle fingernails digging into his back, her body rigid when he pushed inside of her. A whimper escaped her throat as he stilled his movements to give her time to adjust. “Tanto gentile e tanto onesta pare la donna mia,” he whispered, the words from Dante’s La Vita Nuova flooding from his lips. “Quand’ella altrui saluta, ch’ogne lingua deven tremando muta, e li occhi no l’ardiscon di guardare.”
His voice was breathy from anticipation as he tried to soothe her, her body relaxing more with each word. He moved again and sparks flew through his body at the sensation.
“That was beautiful,” she said.
“The poem or the penetration?” he asked, not thinking before saying the words. “Shit, I shouldn’t have said that.”
“I meant the poem, but the other part’s nice so far too,” she said shyly. “And you should’ve said that, because that’s who you are.”
“Yeah, well, I’m trying to be tender,” he said. “You deserve to be romanced.”
“I don’t need romance. I need you.”
Her eyes fluttered closed. Electricity coursed through him from where they were connected, goose bumps popping up as shivers ripped down his spine. As he made love to her, he finally felt what that meant. They were experiencing something together, an intensity he’d never felt before. It was all of her, every inch of her body, inside and out, merging with his.
“Only you,” she whispered, as if she could read his mind. “It’ll only ever be you, Carmine.”
Her words ignited a fire inside of him, stirring up the possessiveness that demanded they belong together, forever, just like this. They moved together deliberately, falling into a perfect rhythm. Her noises grew louder, and he grabbed one of her hands, linking their fingers together as he pressed it into the mattress.
“I love you,” she said breathlessly.
A noise escaped his throat involuntarily in response, a rumbling growl as hunger swirled through him. “Ti amo. Christ, I love you, Haven.”
There was an ache in his chest, originating in his heart, the pain of all-consuming, overflowing love, so powerful it took his breath away. He continued to fill her and took her other hand, placing it above her head on the bed. His body weight rested against her as he hitched her knees up. Nuzzling into her neck, he tasted the saltiness of sweat as their bodies slid together smoothly.
Afterward, when the feelings subsided, she snuggled against him, her hand on his chest over his wildly thumping heart. They lay together, legs entangled, as they relished in the postcoital glow. He wanted to ask if she could feel his heart beating, but he kept his mouth shut, choosing instead to enjoy the silence.
Just two kids, together and in love. There was still nothing that needed to be said.
30
The weeks that followed their stay in the cabin flew by, half a year having elapsed since Haven had been forced to leave her mama behind. She adapted to the world outside the desert, little things that once intimidated her now a regular part of her life. She still kept up with her work, cooking and cleaning every day, but there was always time left over. She had never had time to do things leisurely, and the more she indulged, the more she couldn’t imagine ever going back.
Free time, Carmine called it. His choice of words made her laugh.
Drawing and painting, reading and crafts—her days were a flurry of unrestrained creativity. She had taken some notebooks from Carmine and filled pages with words, scribbling down everything on her mind. It was disjointed, riddled with errors, but it wasn’t meant for others’ eyes. She found it liberating, like a valve had been turned, the pressure inside her releasing. The nightmares came less often after that, like she had chased away the monsters with the power of her words.
She grew more comfortable being outside the house too. Carmine took her wherever he went, giving her cash so she could count it out and pay. She ordered her own food, picked out her own things, and spoke for herself whenever the opportunity arose.
Life hadn’t only changed for Haven—it shifted for all of them. Dr. DeMarco spent every weekend in Chicago while Dominic prepared for college, since he would graduate in a few months and head across the country with Tess. Even Dia was graduating, but she was staying close by in Charlotte.
Haven was in the kitchen early the morning before Easter Sunday, cleaning up breakfast as Carmine leaned against the counter, watching her as usual. “What do you wanna do today?”
She shrugged. “Whatever you want to do.”
“If I knew what I wanted to do, do you think I’d bother asking?”
“Yes.” She laughed. “You always ask my opinion.”
“Well, do you have an opinion this time?”
“We can hang out here.”
“We spend too much time in this shithole.” He paused, his expression brightening. “So, what do you wanna do today?”
“Whatever you want to do, Carmine.”
“I hoped you’d say that.”
Grabbing her hand, he pulled her to the downstairs office and punched in the code to unlock the door. He stepped inside, but she dug her heels in, refusing to follow. “I’m not supposed to go in there. Dr. DeMarco said some doors stay locked for a reason.”
“It is locked for a reason, just like I have a code for a reason.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because my father isn’t always home and sometimes we need shit in here.”
She stared at him, contemplating his words, before hesitantly stepping inside the room. Carmine placed his hand on her hip, kissing the nape of her neck. “See, that wasn’t scary.”
“It’s not the room I’m afraid of,” she muttered. “Why are we in here, anyway?”
“I’m gonna teach you how to use my gun.”
She gaped at him. “You’re joking.”
“Do I look like I’m joking? There’s nothing else to do, and I feel like blowing off some steam. Besides, do you know how sexy you’re gonna be shooting something?”
She wasn’t sure. “I don’t think your father would want me to touch a gun after I touched his.”
“You touched Nunzio’s,” Carmine said, matter-of-factly. “He didn’t get mad about that, did he?”
“I was protecting myself.”
“This is the same thing. You never know when you might need to shoot to protect yourself.”
She sighed. So persistent. “Okay, but why are we in here?”
Carmine pulled the rug out of the way and opened a trapdoor in the floor. “Targets. Ammunition. Safety shit. Depending on your mood, maybe a bulletproof vest for me.”
She gaped at him. “I’d never shoot you.”
“I know. Not intentionally, anyway.”
She cautiously walked over to the entrance to the basement, and Carmine held her hand as they headed down the narrow steps. “Terra di contrabbando,” he said when they reached the bottom. “Welcome to the land of contraband.”
Her eyes swept across the concrete room, taking in the massive crates. “Everything down here is illegal?”
“No, but it’s all pretty fucking unsavory,” he said. “The front ones are mainly alcohol.”
“What about the ones in the back?”
“Come on, I’ll show you. Just don’t touch anything.”
She followed behind him, coming to a halt when the guns came into view. Dozens of them hung on the wall in neat rows, arranged meticulously by size. “Whoa.”
Carmine covered his hand with his shirt as he dug through a box behind her. He tried to hand supplies to Haven, but she wasn’t paying attention as she gaped at the weapons.
“What can I say? My father loves his guns.” Carmine opened a cabinet and pulled out a box of bullets. “But you already knew that.”
She tore her eyes away from them. “Yeah.”
“You don’t have to be afraid of guns, though,” he said. “It’s the dumbasses with their fingers on the triggers that you have to worry about. As long as you stay away from them, no problem.”
She glanced at the weapons again. “What else is down here?”
“More guns, a shitload of casino chips, the dungeon . . .”
Her eyes widened. Dungeon?
It took the two of them an hour to reach a wide-open space tucked into the woods, the ground covered in an array of wildflowers, a line of tall pine trees surrounding it like nature had deliberately built a fence. Carmine dropped his backpack to the ground as Haven scanned the clearing, a look of awe on her face.
After setting up a target near the tree line, he positioned Haven’s body and grabbed his gun, explaining the safety and number of rounds. He told her to keep it steady and use her foresight to focus on the target, blocking out everything else.
Once she got it, he handed her the earmuffs and safety glasses. Taking a step away, he watched her aim, her hands shaking as she squeezed the trigger. He flinched as she popped off her first round, the recoil and expelled cartridge startling her. She screamed and nearly dropped the gun while he stared at the target—she hadn’t come close.
He put his arms around her again, holding the pistol with her hands on top of his. They fired off the rest of the rounds that way and she relaxed. After reloading, he handed her the gun and gave her some room. The first shot breezed by the target, closer that time, but her hands still shook.
