“Is this why we don’t see Grandma? Were you afraid she’d tell us the truth?”
A bark of laughter sounded through the room, and it took Vincent a second to realize it had come from him. “Uh, my mother . . .” He laughed again. “Let’s just say she has her beliefs. A slave was bad enough. An Irish slave was worthy of disownment.”
“So she was Irish? That part’s true?”
“Yes. Her father fell into some trouble with the Irish mob. They snatched Maura as collateral when she was six.”
“She was kidnapped? Didn’t people look for her?”
“Of course they looked for her, but more than two thousand kids go missing in this country every day. Your mother disappeared before the Internet or any agencies for missing children existed, and certainly before there were things like Amber Alerts. All they had was word of mouth, and once everyone stopped talking about her, it was like she’d never existed.”
“But what about her parents?”
“They were killed,” he said. “Maura was sold a few times and ended up with Erika Moretti.”
“Who freed Mom? Who vouched for her?”
“I suppose you could say I did. Your grandfather said if I wanted something in life, it was my responsibility to earn it. So I initiated, and I’m still paying for it today.” He paused. “Is that all you want to know? Because I’m exhausted and don’t have the energy for this conversation anymore.”
Carmine nodded, although Vincent could tell he wanted to know much more.
“I’ll talk to your brother, but whether or not you tell the girl is up to you.”
“I don’t think so,” he said. “She has enough on her mind.”
“I imagine she does,” Vincent said, glancing at the computer to see she still hadn’t moved. “Her mother’s life ended as hers began. Speaking of which . . .” Opening the right bottom desk drawer, he grabbed some files and held them out to Carmine. “Here’s the girl’s paperwork. It’ll take a while before the estate is settled, but no one will contest her inheritance. Technically it all goes to Corrado, anyway, but he’ll hand it over to her once it comes through . . . along with her freedom, of course.”
“That’s the best gift anyone could give her.”
“It’s not a gift, Carmine. It’s what she’s been entitled to all along.”
Rain splattered the window as it fell from the clouds hovering above. There was no sign of the moon or any stars tonight, nothing but blackness. Ominous, but fitting . . . it was how Haven felt on the inside.
Empty.
She might have been taking oxygen into her lungs as her heart pushed blood through her body, but a part of her had stopped existing. It had been a slow, torturous death, agonizingly painful as she withered away from the knowledge it had been her fault.
Glancing at the clock on the wall, Haven strained her eyes to make out the numbers. There was enough light for her to see the little hand past midnight, another day having begun.
September 10.
She watched the rain for a while longer before a shadow moved. Carmine stood a few feet away, watching her. “I think we should go to bed.”
Grabbing the book in her lap, she set it on the table and hurried to the room before he could say anything else. Carmine followed her and shut the door, pulling her body close to his when he climbed into bed.
“Buon compleanno, mia bella ragazza,” he said. “Happy birthday.”
43
Haven gazed across the room with blurry, tired eyes, seeing Carmine near the doorway, holding a small plate with a cinnamon bun on it. A single blue candle stuck out from the top. Haven could smell the fresh pastry, the subtle scent of something burned told her who had made them.
“You baked?” she asked, stunned.
Carmine looked sheepish. “I wasn’t gonna attempt a cake. These damn things were hard enough. It took me forever to figure out how to open the canister. I had to call Dia and ask.”
Haven smiled as he approached, her chest swelling with love to the point it was painful. Despite everything, he was still her world, her one and only. Part of her may have felt dead, but there was still another part of her that lived for Carmine.
“That’s sweet,” she said, taking the plate. “You didn’t have to. I told you—”
“I know what you told me,” he said, “but I can’t ignore your birthday. You’ve never had one before. It’s special, so no arguing, because it’s rude to argue when people wanna do shit for you. It’s like, punching a gift horse or something.”
She laughed. “Looking a gift horse in the mouth?”
Rolling his eyes, he reached into his pocket for a lighter and lit the candle. “Yes. A caval donato non si guarda in bocca. Just take it with a smile, and it’ll be over before you know it.” The moment he pulled his hand away, Haven blew out the flame. “Eager, are we? Did you make a wish?”
Her brow furrowed as he pulled the candle from the pastry. “A wish?”
“You make a wish before you blow out the candle,” he said. “It’s the whole point. But you’ll get another chance later with Dia.”
She tensed. “What?”
“We’re gonna spend the night in Charlotte with Dia for your birthday. Come on, did you seriously think you’d get out of dealing with her? We’re pretty much her only friends.”
He looked at her imploringly, pleading for her not to argue.
Haven tore the cinnamon bun in half, sharing it with him. The bottom was black and hard to chew, but she said not a word about it as she choked down her piece. Once Carmine finished his, he grabbed a stack of papers and handed them to her.
“What is this?” she asked.
“That, tesoro, is your life.”
Haven scanned the top paper, a certificate of citizenship, and tears formed when she saw her name. She flipped through the others as her emotions ran rampant, but the papers did nothing but confuse her. Wills, codicils, executors, beneficiary distribution, uniform transfers, custodians, residuary estate, fiduciary . . . “What does all this mean?”
“That’s your inheritance. It’ll take a few months before you see anything from it. Actually, it should’ve taken months for the rest of it, too, but Corrado somehow got it pushed through within a few days. I don’t know how he does it. Extortion, probably.”
She stared at him. “Inheritance?”
“Yeah, property and money and shit. I mean, I understand you’re not gonna wanna keep the house, but you can sell it or—”
“What?” she asked. “What house?”
He stopped speaking and looked at her with surprise. “Uh, the house in Blackburn.”
“Are you saying that house belongs to me?” He nodded, and she blinked a few times as she tried to absorb the information. “I don’t want it. I don’t want anything that belonged to those people.”
Frowning, Carmine grabbed her hand. “Look, don’t think of it as them giving you anything, but after what you’ve been through, you kinda deserve this. It’s like atonement. And I’m not saying any amount of money will make up for it, because it won’t. But after all of the torture and everything you lost, you’re at least entitled to this. Does that make sense?”
“Yes.”
“And money will help with these things,” he said, grabbing the papers and shifting them around so the citizenship certificate was back on top.
“What happens to me now? I’m still here . . .”
“My father said you can stay here as long as you want, but you don’t have to.”
“But where else would I go?”
“Wherever you want,” he said. “I told you that. California, New York, Timbuktu, Bum Fuck Egypt . . . You name it, we’ll go. Or you can go alone. Whatever you want.”
Tears streamed from her eyes, and she clutched the papers as her hands shook. Carmine pulled her down onto the bed as emotion took control and rocked her body in his embrace. Overwhelmed, she didn’t know what to think. “I don’t want to go anywhere without you, Carmine.”
They stared at each other, his green eyes a flurry of emotion. He wiped the tears from her cheeks before his fingertips brushed across her lips. She let out a shaky breath as he kissed her, finally let go of the papers. They dropped to the bed as she ran her fingers through his unruly hair.
“Ti amo,” he whispered against her mouth. “La mia bella ragazza. I want you to marry me.”
She gasped. “Marry you?”
“I don’t mean today or tomorrow. It doesn’t have to be this year or, fuck, next year. But someday, when you’re ready, promise you’ll spend your life with me?” His words made her stomach flutter. “Look, I know I’m doing this shit all wrong, but—”
“Okay.” Her voice cracked. “Yes.”
He stalled. “Yes?”
“Of course I will, Carmine!”
His face lit up as he smashed his lips to hers feverishly, and she laughed into his mouth, kissing him back. The outside world melted away as his hands roamed her body, his fingertips causing sparks to ignite across her skin. Knowing she was free and had a life of her own, and that despite everything she’d been in the past, he still wanted her for the future, made her insides burst into flames of passion.
It was early evening when Carmine pulled into a parking lot across from the dingy brick apartment building in the city. The old elevator vibrated as it took them to the sixth floor, and they headed down a narrow hallway to apartment sixty-seven.
Carmine reached up to knock, but the door opened before he could. Dia stood before them, wearing a pair of ripped jeans and a blue top, her hair a mixture of black and purple streaks. “Happy birthday!”
She ushered them inside, and Haven froze the moment she stepped into the front room. The walls were a cream color, the paint barely visible due to the hundreds of photographs wallpapering every inch. The apartment was decorated in colors so vibrant the large bunch of birthday balloons blended in. There were presents next to them and a small, round cake.
Gratitude and guilt battled for control. “You shouldn’t have.”
“Don’t be a buzzkill,” Dia said, pulling her over to the table. Haven sat down as Carmine leaned against the wall and gazed at her.
Dia stuck candles into the cake and lit them, stepping off to the side to belt out the birthday song. Haven stared at the flickering flames, remembering to make a wish this time.
Please, she silently pleaded. Bring my mama back to me.
Taking a deep breath, Haven blew out the candles and watched the puffs of smoke rise from the smoldering wicks. Dia pulled them out before thrusting a present at her, making her flinch.
“Sorry,” Dia said quickly. “I’m just excited for you to see it.”
Haven opened the package and pulled out a small copper box with a glass window on the top of it. Inside the window was a four-leaf clover, along with red hearts and shiny silver beading.
“It’s a reliquary box,” Dia said. “You’re supposed to store your favorite things in it.”
