Sempre: Redemption (10 page)

Haven shook her head as Dia started toward her again. “No, thank you.”

“Well, if you get hungry, help yourself to anything in the kitchen,” she said. “I don’t have much right now, but I’ll grab some groceries on my way home.”

Haven eyed her curiously. “Way home from where?”

“School,” she replied, sipping from her glass. “I have to register for my classes today and buy my books.”

“Oh.”

“I’d stay with you, but I technically already missed registration, so it’s my last chance,” she continued. “But if you don’t want to be alone, I can—”

“It’s fine,” Haven said, cutting her off. She didn’t want to be a burden. “I have things to do today anyway. You know, like unpacking and . . . things.”

Haven forced a smile, but Dia didn’t look convinced. “We can do something together when I get home. Maybe order a pizza and watch a movie? It’ll be fun. We can have girl talk.”

“Yeah, sure,” Haven said. “Sounds great.”

Dia smiled warmly, giving her a quick hug before going about her morning ritual. Haven lingered in the living room, absentmindedly rolling the small ball of sticky tape between her fingers. Once Dia left, Haven headed back into the bedroom and shut the door, leaving her things in the boxes in the living room.

There was no pizza that night. No movie. No girl talk. There wasn’t even sleep.

Days passed in a blur of insomnia and exhaustion, thrusting Haven deeper into depression. The nights were tortuous but the days weren’t much better as Haven walked around in a stupor. She felt like she was drowning, slowly slipping away as she grasped desperately to the surface, just waiting for something to pull her back up.

Pain was something Haven knew well. She had always had a high tolerance for it, keeping her head held high as she faced unimaginable torture, but this feeling brewing inside of her now was different. The heart-clenching, suffocating dread was enough to knock her off her feet. She had been frightened before, certainly, but this was the first time she truly felt lost. Until then, her life had been an endless cycle of do-this-and-do-that; there was always a task, always a purpose, always a point. But not anymore. Her future was empty. A blank canvas. There was nowhere for her to escape from. There was nobody looking for her.

She was free, she realized, and freedom terrified her.

Luna Rossa
sat back off the highway, partially shielded by rows of trees. The brick building, massive in size while subtle in style, blended into the surroundings of the quiet south Chicago neighborhood. The rustic tan sign above the door displayed the name in deep red cursive letters, the only indicator of its true nature the word
lounge
below it in gold. No flashing lights or neon signs attempted to lure passing visitors inside.

While it appeared welcoming, almost quaint at first glance,
Luna Rossa
catered to a certain crowd. The dark sedans spread throughout the parking lot hinted it was the type of place you didn’t visit unless someone invited you to.

Carmine always found it strange that his uncle owned a social club, but standing in front of it for the first time, it made sense to him. The place was low-key, a lot like Corrado.

Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Carmine opened the door and stepped inside the building. The bouncer eyed him peculiarly, taking in the sight of his faded jeans and Nike’s, but he didn’t move or say a word as Carmine strolled through the crowd. It was a Thursday, and men in suits lingered around with a few younger women clinging to their sides.
Goomahs
, he realized. Mob mistresses.
Luna Rossa
was
La Cosa Nostra
’s hideaway, their home away from home. It wasn’t a place where a man took his wife—it was a place he went when he had something to hide.

And it was easy to hide there. The dark wood with red trim, the lighting dim, concealed secrets and masked sins. Cigar smoke infused the air as Frank Sinatra crooned from tall speakers positioned along the side, blending with the sound of friendly chatter and laughter in the club.

Carmine felt completely out of place as he made his way to a large corner booth in the back. The noise coming from it was louder than the others, the table covered in an array of bottles of alcohol. Sal sat in the middle of the group, a young brunette woman snuggled up to his right. Beside her was another girl, a blonde no older than twenty, while half a dozen men surrounded them on both sides.

Carmine cleared his throat nervously as he approached. “Salvatore.”

Sal looked at the sound of his name, his face lighting up.
“Principe!”

“It’s nice to see you.”

“You, too, dear boy.” Sal grinned widely as his hand swept across the table. “Join us. Have a drink.”

Instead of squeezing in with the mass of bodies, Carmine grabbed a free chair and pulled it to the other side of their table. “You know I’m not old enough to—”

He didn’t even finish before Sal’s mocking laughter cut him off. “Nonsense!” He motioned for the waitress. “Get my godson whatever he wants. Put it on my tab.”

The waitress paused beside him, smiling politely. “What can I get you?”

“Uh, vodka,” he said. “Straight up.”

“Bring him the whole bottle,” Sal chimed in. “Something from the top shelf, sweetheart. Nothing but the best for young DeMarco.”

Carmine forced a smile, but he got no satisfaction from Sal’s words. The waitress returned after a moment with a bottle of Grey Goose and a thick glass, setting it in front of Carmine before walking away. He wordlessly poured himself a shot, feeling Sal’s eyes on him as he swallowed it to ease his frayed nerves.

The burn was familiar. Warm. Numbing. He savored the sensation.

Sal’s focus shifted back to the others, the conversation at the table flowing freely between the men. It made little sense to Carmine so he sat back quietly, sipping on the liquor as he tried to disappear into the background. His mind wandered, his eyes drifting toward the two girls. They giggled, hanging on to Sal’s every word as if the bullshit he sprayed was made of pure gold. Carmine wondered what they saw in him, why they stuck around. Money? Presents? Did they get off on his power? Was it just for kicks? It sure as fuck couldn’t have been attraction.

“So,
Principe,
are you settling in?” Sal asked, capturing Carmine’s attention again. He tore his eyes from the girls and looked to his godfather, who stared at him with his eyebrows raised.

“Yeah.” He poured another drink. “I’m moving into my parents’ old house.”

“And you have all of your things?”

“They arrived today.”

“And the girl?” Sal asked. “Has she arrived?”

Carmine tensed, his glass to his lips. He set it down after a moment without taking a drink, afraid the liquor wouldn’t make it past the lump in his throat. “Uh, no. She’s not.”

Sal’s expression fell as concern clouded his face. Pulling his arm from around the brunette, he leaned closer to the table, his high-pitched voice uncharacteristically low. “What do you mean she’s not?”

“She’s not coming,” Carmine clarified.

“Never?”

“No. She’s, uh . . . not with me now.”

Tension swept over the table. Sal remained strangely still, just staring at Carmine. Anger brewed in his dark eyes. The others sensed the shift in atmosphere and grew quiet, watching the two of them cautiously.

“You broke up?”

Carmine nodded.

“After what everyone risked for that girl, you’re not even together anymore?”

Again, he nodded.

“She’s off on her own? Free to do as she wishes?”

Another nod.

“And you’re not.”

Not a question that time, but Carmine nodded anyway.

After a bout of strained silence, Sal broke the tension by laughing once again, abruptly loud and genuinely amused. “Well, I believe there’s a lesson to be learned in there somewhere.”

“What’s that?” someone else asked.

“No matter how beautiful you think a woman is,” Sal said, “she’s never worth the trouble.”

The men erupted in cheers, toasting Sal’s words, while Carmine remained silent. Picking up his glass, he sipped the hot liquor, absorbing the bitterness into his bloodstream. He watched as Sal turned back to the young brunette, putting his arm around her again. He pulled her to him, whispering, “Not you, baby.”

She blushed and giggled, while Carmine grimaced.
Fucking sick
.

“There is an upside, though,” Sal declared, glancing back at Carmine. “You can join in the fun around here. There’s no reason for you to have to go home alone tonight. I’m sure Ashley’s friend, Gabby, would be happy to show you a good time.”

Carmine looked to the blonde when Sal motioned toward her. She smiled devilishly, her blue eyes scanning him slowly, surveying, and judging. “Absolutely.”

Shaking his head, Carmine looked away from her. “No, thanks.”

“Not your type?” Sal asked. “There are plenty more around here—redheads, blondes, brunettes, girls in all shapes and sizes. Just pick your poison.”

“I’m just . . . not interested.”

“My godson, not interested in a woman? Unheard of! Pick one. My gift to you.”

Carmine tried to think of a way to explain it that didn’t make him look susceptible. The last thing he wanted to do was expose his biggest weakness in front of so many. “I’m not in the mood right now.”

“You don’t have to be in the mood,” Sal said. “These ladies know what they’re doing. Ten minutes alone with one and you’ll be begging for more.”

“I don’t beg.”

“I seem to remember you begging me once,
Principe
. And correct me if I’m wrong, but wasn’t it because of a girl? A girl you’re no longer with, at that. Maybe you should’ve just left her where she was. Maybe we’d all be better off.”

Anger swept through Carmine. He clenched his hands into fists in his lap but fought to keep it from showing on his face. Sal stared at him, challenging him to react.

“Come on now, Boss,” Corrado’s voice rang out directly behind Carmine, startling him. Heavy hands clamped down on his shoulders, keeping him locked in place so he couldn’t turn around. “Cut the boy some slack. Even you know what it’s like to make mistakes. He’s just being cautious so he doesn’t make another.”

“I suppose that’s admirable.” Sal relaxed again as he took a sip of his drink. “The last thing I want is another careless man on my team.”

“Especially one that’s careless with a woman,” Corrado said.

Sal laughed bitterly. “Like his father. Vincent’s only flaw was his choice in females. Talk about a man who made mistakes . . .”

Carmine’s calm mask slipped, his eyes narrowing. He shifted forward a fraction of an inch at the insinuation about his mother, preparing to pounce without a second thought, but Corrado’s grip on Carmine tightened.

“You live and you learn,” Corrado said. “Carmine here will do both, hopefully . . . as long as he remembers his place. And I think right now, his place is at home. He hasn’t even unpacked and he’s already partying.”

“True, true.” Sal waved his hand dismissively at Carmine. “Get out of here.”

Corrado let go of Carmine, stepping to the side so he could stand up. He glanced around the table one last time before nodding his head. “Good night, sir.”

He briskly walked away, relief soothing his nerves as he bolted for the exit. As he approached the bouncer, the man suddenly jumped from his seat and stood at attention. Carmine’s brow furrowed at the reaction until he heard Corrado tell the man to relax. His uncle was right on his heels, walking out behind him.

“Thanks for that,” Carmine said quietly once they were outside, taking a deep breath of the cold night air. A cloud surrounded him as he exhaled.

“You’re welcome, but I won’t always be around,” Corrado replied. “You have to learn to control yourself, no matter what he says.”

“I know, but I just didn’t expect
that
. I mean, fuck, he flipped on me quick. It caught me off guard.”

“He’s testing you,” Corrado said, “and based on the little bit I saw, I have to say you’re going to fail.”

A
fter two weeks of fleeting hunger and fits of insomnia, Haven’s grip started to slip. Every time there was a knock at Dia’s door, a swell of hope ran through Haven that it was Carmine, but each time she would end up crushed all over again. She grew anxious, conjuring up wild scenarios of where he was and what he was doing. She couldn’t understand how he tolerated being away from her. If he loved her as he claimed, he had to feel the same pain she did.

Didn’t he?

She started imagining things that weren’t there again, whispered voices in the night calling out to her as she struggled to find solace in sleep. She heard noises in the apartment, footsteps outside her door, and loud bangs that sent her heart wildly racing. It got to the point where it felt like someone was always there, lurking around the corner, watching, waiting. She could hear them moving around but they were always out of sight, never within her reach.
He
was haunting her, his memory lingering everywhere she looked, while his absence cruelly taunted her.

Until, suddenly, one day, she saw him there.

Haven stood in place, staring at the vision in front of her. Carmine sat in a dark room in nothing but a pair of gray sweatpants, hunched over his piano with his fingers ghosting across the ivory keys. He didn’t press down on them. There was no music, no sound at all—nothing but strangled silence.

Nothing but him.

She reveled in the sight, the contours of his muscles and the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed deeply. His hair was a mess, overgrown and unkempt, sticking up in every direction and falling forward into his eyes. She could even make out the scar on his side, shining a shade lighter than his naturally tanned skin. She longed to touch it, to trace the old wound with her fingertips.

“Tesoro.”
He whispered the word in a shaky voice, as if saying it any louder would hurt too much.
“Ti amo.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. She clutched her throat, startled, unable to find her voice. It was gone.