Sempre: Redemption (30 page)

“She has someplace to go,” Cain countered. “She’s here, isn’t she?”

Anita scoffed. “Please, Cain. Nobody actually wants to be here. Not even our own daughter wants to be in this house.”

“That’s because you always give everyone the third degree,” he said. “I don’t even want to come here half the time because of your interrogations.”

“Oh, don’t give me that! That’s not why you don’t come home! Maybe you can lie to everyone else and have them believe the bullshit that comes out of your mouth, but not me.”

“Bullshit?” Cain slammed his hand down on the table. “You want to talk about bullshit, let’s talk about it.”

Back and forth they went, bickering, slamming each other with harsh words. Kelsey continued to eat, completely unfazed, while Haven flinched and cringed at their exchange of hostility. It went on forever until suddenly they both seemed to run out of things to say.

Silence strangled the room. Haven took a few bites of her food, forcing it down, grateful that was over.

Until Anita spoke again. “So Kelsey, sweetheart, how bad did you fail school this time?”

“I didn’t fail,” Kelsey said. “I made mostly As and Bs with one D.”

“What was the D in?”

“Painting.”

“How in the world?” Anita shook her head in disapproval. “Even a monkey could pass that class. Any idiot can slap paint on a canvas.”

The words were like a crack to Haven’s chest. She let out an involuntary gasp, stung by the insult. Cain’s eyes darted from her over to his wife. “Dammit, Anita.”

“Oh, you’re a painter?” she asked. “I’m sure your work is lovely, dear. Just lovely. My daughter, on the other hand . . .”

The bickering started all over again.

Haven breathed a deep sigh of relief when dinner ended. Kelsey excused herself to use the restroom while Anita grabbed the bottle of wine and darted from the room, leaving Haven alone with Kelsey’s father.

The staff came in to clear the table. Haven watched them curiously, forgetting Cain was there until he spoke. “They’ve been employed by my family for a long time.”

Haven glanced at him curiously. “What?”

“The staff. They’ve worked for me for years, since Kelsey was a baby. Christmas is completely voluntary, but since they get paid double on holidays they usually all choose to work part of their shift.”

“Oh.” Suspicion washed through Haven. “How did you . . . ?”

“How did I know you wondered?” he asked, nailing her question right away. “I didn’t grow up wealthy. My mother moonlighted as a dancer. My father was a conman. Needless to say, I know that look on your face well.”

“What look is that?”

“The look of not understanding how life can deal someone such a crummy hand.” Cain stood, tipping his head. “It was nice meeting you. You’re welcome here any time.”

He walked out, leaving Haven alone in the giant dining room. Kelsey returned after a moment, pausing in the doorway. “So?”

“So,” Haven said, standing up, “maybe you weren’t totally exaggerating.”

Kelsey laughed. “Told you. Terrible.”

Terrible? Maybe not, but they certainly reminded Haven of people she had tried to avoid since she was a kid.

Saint Mary’s Catholic Church was a ghost town on a Saturday night, the rows of pews leading up to the pulpit vacant. The Bibles were all closed, tucked into their wooden nests, awaiting tomorrow’s service when the words printed on their pages would once again become front and center in dozens of lives.

Lives that, when the moon shone in the night sky, casually and callously disregarded the commandments they swore to abide by in the Sunday morning sunlight.

Vincent slipped into the church under the cloak of darkness, shrouded in an oversize black hooded sweatshirt covered in thick snowflakes. He removed his hood once safely inside, exposing his dark unkempt hair. He hadn’t had a cut in weeks, nor had he taken the time to shave—his scruffy hair coated his jaw while baggy jeans hung loosely from his waist. He appeared to be quite the opposite of the clean-cut doctor he once was.

He strolled up the aisle toward the front of the church, stopping near the massive organ to the left of the pulpit. It didn’t take long, only a moment or two, before Vincent heard footsteps behind him in the church. They were subtle, undetectable to ears that weren’t trained to listen to the dangers carried on the wind.

He hadn’t seen Father Alberto in quite some time—not since he had spilled his soul, letting loose all of his deepest, darkest demons—but he needed the man now. He needed his guidance. He needed to know that sometimes it was okay to do something immoral in order to spare others from suffering. Two wrongs don’t make a right, he knew that, but he couldn’t help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, one inconceivable wrong could be forgiven if it set it all straight again.

Vincent bowed his head as he closed his tired eyes, sullenly making the sign of the cross. “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.”

“What else is new?”

Vincent’s eyes snapped open at the sound of the voice, low yet striking, entirely detached and frighteningly familiar. Guarded, Vincent’s heart pounded as hard as a bass drum when he turned around, coming face-to-face with the last person he expected to encounter: Corrado.

“I almost didn’t recognize you,” Corrado said, standing beside the front pew a few feet away. “You haven’t been stealing your son’s clothes, have you? It’s really not a good look.”

Vincent eyed his brother-in-law suspiciously. Corrado seemed relaxed, his hands in the pants pockets of his black fitted suit as he stared at him, awaiting a response.

“How did you know I’d be here?” Vincent asked.

Corrado shook his head. “Lucky guess. You’re quite predictable, to be honest. Just as predictable as your son.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing, Vincent,” Corrado replied. “Church sanctuary ended centuries ago. They can’t offer you protection anymore. Well, maybe protection from God, but not from man. Nothing can protect you from man’s wrath. Not the police and certainly not a priest.”

“I didn’t come for asylum,” Vincent said. “I came to get advice.”

“Ah, maybe I can help you, then. Please, continue. Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s been . . .” Corrado raised his eyebrows expectantly as he trailed off.

Vincent glanced around. Corrado was blocking the main exit of the church. There was nowhere for him to go, no way to leave unless Corrado allowed him to pass. “It’s been six months since my last confession.”

“Six months,” Corrado repeated. “I’m sure you have a bit of repenting to do then.”

Vincent scoffed. “Probably not as much as you.”

Corrado let out a laugh as he pulled his hands from his pockets. Vincent’s hair bristled when he saw the black leather gloves. It was a sight he knew well, the sight of the man at work. He was like a reaper, a malicious spirit ripping the life from men before vanishing undetected, leaving no trace of himself behind.

Corrado’s victims rarely knew what hit them. Most never even saw him as he snuck up on them in the night, firing a single shot through the base of their skull, severing their spinal cord and killing them instantly. It was neat and tidy, painless and quick. He was in and out and on to the next thing within a matter of minutes. Corrado wasn’t in the business of torture . . . unless you made him mad.

When Corrado got angry, when he took things personally, a different side of him emerged. The ugly, green monster burst forth, ripping through his calm skin, and nobody was safe from his rage when that happened. He never made a mistake, never got sloppy, but the otherwise unruffled man was no longer merciful. He would tear a man to pieces, slowly, methodically, until everything left behind was no longer recognizable.

“Did Sal send you?” Vincent asked, trying to keep his voice even.

Corrado shook his head. “I came on my own.”

Not business.
Personal
.

Corrado took a step forward then, tugging his gloves to make sure they were on tight, and Vincent instantly took a step away. He did it again, and again, and again, like the two of them were doing a deadly tango.

“I don’t want to believe it,” Corrado said, “but seeing you here—seeing you like
this
—I can’t help but wonder if it’s true.”

“It’s not how it seems,” Vincent said.

Corrado shook his head. “It never really is, is it? But that’s irrelevant, and you know it. You crossed a line, and it doesn’t matter why you did it or what you planned to do on that other side, the fact that you went over there is inexcusable.
Lupo non mangia lupo
. How many times did we hear your father say that when he was alive? How many times? Wolves don’t eat wolves. We don’t turn on our own.”

“You’re right,” Vincent said. “If you can’t trust your own kind, who can you trust?”

“No one, according to your son,” Corrado said. “
Non fidarsi di nessuno
. Did you even stop to think about how this is going to affect him? How this is already affecting him?”

Thoughts of Carmine made Vincent’s chest ache. “Is he okay?”

“Of course he’s not
okay
. He’ll never again be okay! It’s his job to kill you!”

Flinching from the hostility, Vincent took a few quick steps back. “You can’t let him do it.”

“I don’t plan to.” Corrado stealthily moved with him, not missing a beat.

A loud voice echoed through the cathedral then, stalling them both. Father Alberto stepped out of his office, scowling. Corrado backed up, putting some space between him and Vincent, as the priest swiftly approached. “Gentlemen, I’m not a man to judge, and I’ve never condemned you for your life choices, but there comes a point where enough is enough! You don’t bring that into the house of the Lord. This is a place of worship, of love, of acceptance. We’re always open, but only to those who check their sinning at the door.”

“You’re right.” Corrado shoved his hands back into his pockets. “This isn’t the time or the place for this.”

“And what, exactly, are you two squabbling over?” the priest asked. “You’re family!”

“It was a misunderstanding,” Vincent said. “That’s all.”

“Right, a misunderstanding,” Corrado agreed, clearing his throat. “If you’ll excuse me, I should be going. I have business to handle later tonight.”

Father Alberto raised his eyebrows at him. “I hope not too late. I expect to see you planted in one of these pews tomorrow morning.”

“I wouldn’t miss your service for anything, Father,” Corrado said, looking from the priest to Vincent. “It’ll all be finished before the sun comes up.”

He turned, casually strolling toward the exit as if he had not a care in the world. Vincent and Father Alberto both watched, remaining silent until Corrado disappeared outside into the night. Vincent sighed, running his hands down his face in exasperation.
Not good. Not good at all.

“Oh, Vincenzo, what have you gotten yourself into?”

“A situation with no way out,” he said quietly.

“I don’t believe that,” Father Alberto said. “There’s always a way out.”

“Alive?”

Father Alberto was quiet, staring at the door Corrado had disappeared out of as he pondered Vincent’s question.

“That’s what I thought,” Vincent muttered when the priest supplied no response. “I guess there are worse things to be than dead.”

“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest,” Father Alberto said, quoting Matthew 11:28. “As true as that may be, I don’t like you sounding so defeated. You should never give up.”

“I’m not giving up, Father. I’m giving
in
. I’ve fought against the current for a long time, but in the end I got swept downstream anyway. And I can’t keep swimming. I can’t. I’m too damn tired to do it anymore.”

“So, what, you just let yourself drown?” Father Alberto asked with disbelief.

“No,” Vincent said. “I wait for someone to throw me a lifeline, and then I drift away.”

“And what if no one does? Certain things are unforgiveable. Don’t do anything you’ll regret.”

“I have faith I won’t have to.”

Father Alberto shook his head. “You look terrible, Vincenzo. Come, I have an extra cot in the back for you to get some sleep.”

“I shouldn’t.”

“Then at least eat something and freshen up.”

He wanted to refuse, but the thought of food and a shower was too tempting to resist. Following Father Alberto to the back, he scarfed down two sandwiches and a bag of chips as the man sat across from him, studying him with his concerned eyes. “Is there a reason you came here tonight?”

“Advice,” he said. “My father used to have this saying: c
hi tace acconsente
. I just wondered what you thought about it.”

Chi tace acconsente
. Silence gives consent. Antonio DeMarco believed if you wanted something, if you believed in something, it was your responsibility to fight for it. If you remained silent, if you just stood back and did nothing, then you had no one to blame but yourself when nothing happened.

“I believe your father was a wise man,” Father Alberto said. “I may not have agreed with his choices, but I always admired his beliefs when it came to family and responsibility. And it’s true—if you stand for nothing, you’ll fall for anything.”

Vincent’s brow furrowed. “Is that scripture?”

Father Alberto smiled. “No, I believe it was Alexander Hamilton.”

“Thanks, Father.” Vincent stood. “I’ll take that shower now, if you don’t mind.”

Father Alberto showed him to the small bathroom. Vincent stripped out of his clothes, sighing as he pulled the simple gold necklace from around his neck, setting it on a shelf beside the towels. He squeezed into the shower, the stall so tiny he barely fit inside, and scrubbed with a bar of unscented soap. After washing his hair, he got out and dried off, putting his dirty clothes right back on again.

Vincent walked away, avoiding Father Alberto and any sort of good-bye as he made the inevitable journey to the exit. He covered his head with his hood again when he stepped outside, his hair still damp. A nice breeze hit his face as he stopped on the top of the church steps and peered out at the empty street.