Sempre: Redemption (33 page)

He wanted to puke. He wanted to cry. He wanted to sucker punch his uncle and snatch the fucking phone from him just to hear her voice one more time.

But he did nothing. He merely sat there, staring across the desk, straining his ears in hopes to hear something, anything . . . just a part of her again.

“I just called to tell you I’d be away for a while,” Corrado said. “It’s nothing to be concerned about, but I may be out of touch for a few months.”

Corrado was silent as he listened to her response. He pulled his phone from his ear after a moment, laying it on his desk as he pressed a button on the screen. Carmine’s stomach sunk, figuring he had hung up, until he heard her sigh through the line. It was subtle, barely inaudible, but it was there.
Speakerphone
.

“How’s school?” Corrado asked, sounding disinterested, his eyes glued to Carmine as he asked the question.

“It’s, uh, good,” Haven replied. “The new semester starts tomorrow. I’m all signed up for my classes.”

“That’s great.” Corrado tapped his fingers against the desk. “I hope you’re enjoying yourself and making friends.”

“I am.”

“Good,” Corrado said. “I’m glad you’re well. Take care of yourself.”

“You, too, sir.”

Carmine closed his eyes as his uncle pushed another button, this time ending the call. They sat in silence for a moment before Corrado addressed him. “I’m not going to be around to keep an eye on you, Carmine, so you better stay straight.”

“Where are you going?”

“Jail.”

Carmine blinked a few times. “What?”

“They’re revoking my bail as we speak,” he explained. “They think I had something to do with your father going missing.”

After a strangled bout of silence, Carmine forced the million-dollar question from his lips. “Did you?”

Corrado waved his hand, turning back to his stack of paperwork. “You’re dismissed, Carmine.”

T
he moment Corrado stepped in his house later that night, the succulent aroma of marinara assaulted his senses. He took a deep breath, inhaling it as he strolled toward the kitchen. Celia stood in front of the stove, the sleeves of her blouse rolled up to her elbows and her usually pristine hair pulled back in a sloppy bun. A blue apron was tied around her, protecting her clothes from splatter as she stirred the homemade sauce.

Corrado silently watched her, a ghost of a smile tugging his lips. She hadn’t heard him come in and continued to concentrate on her cooking, oblivious to her husband’s presence. Corrado loved these moments, when Celia was in her element and the world around her faded away. She glowed radiantly, beaming like the sun as she floated along. It was what had drawn him to her in the first place—her ability to bring light into such a devastatingly dark world.

He would miss it. There was no doubt about it. His world would soon be a much colder place.

He let out a deep sigh, not wanting to think about what would come tomorrow, and Celia jumped at the noise. Dropping her spoon, she spun around and clutched her chest. “You scared me! I didn’t know you were home.”

Corrado’s smile grew, but he said nothing as he took a few steps toward her. Carefully, he untied the apron from around her waist, and Celia eyed him skeptically as he tossed it aside. He reached up and tugged on the band securing her hair, making it fall loose. It was messy, an unruly wave cascading past her shoulders.

“What are you doing?” Celia asked as he took her hand.

“Taking you upstairs,” he said, “and getting you out of those clothes.”

She tried to dig in her heels to make him stop, but he was much stronger than her. “Corrado, hold on! I’m cooking!”

“So?”

“So my sauce might burn!”

“You can make more later.”

“But the stove is on!”

“Who cares?”

“Who cares?” she asked incredulously as he pulled her toward the stairs. “What if it catches on fire?”

“Then I’ll buy you a new stove.”

“It could burn down the whole house!”

“Then I’ll build you a new house.”

She laughed with disbelief. “It’ll burn down with
us
in it, Corrado.”

He glanced at her, cocking an eyebrow. “Do you really think I’d let that happen?”

Her comeback was snappy. “Do you really think you could stop it?”

Corrado was momentarily silent, still clutching her wrist as they stood near the bottom of the stairs. He pondered her question. Did he think he could stop it?

“
Bellissima
, I’d stop time for you. I’d give you the moon and the stars; I’d learn to defy gravity. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do, nobody I wouldn’t kill, if you asked me to. If you
needed
me to. Saving you from a fire would be nothing, purely instinct.”

She stared at him for three beats, not budging, before her body relaxed and she gave in. It wasn’t as if it was a hard decision for her—as much as Corrado would do for her, they both knew she would never deny him anything. Whatever he needed, come hell or high water, Celia would be there every step of the way.

Their hands linked together, Corrado took her upstairs to the bedroom. He shut the door behind them, locking out the cruel world that would tomorrow tear them apart, but today—
tonight
—it would just be her and him.

Hours later, Corrado descended the stairs and made his way to the dark kitchen. He turned off the stove and dumped the scorched sauce down the garbage disposal before rinsing out the pot. He scrubbed it for a minute but when it refused to come clean, he tossed the entire thing in the trashcan.

He headed back upstairs and showered, standing under the spray of hot water until it started to grow cold. He shaved then, using a thin razor blade under the bright lights of the quiet bathroom to remove the stubble along his sharp jaw. Afterward, he slicked back his thick hair before dressing in his most expensive black Brioni suit. With his Rolex affixed to his wrist and his Italian leather shoes on his feet, he wandered into the bedroom and gazed at his wife under the moonlight.

Celia snored lightly, snuggled up to his pillow. Corrado leaned down and kissed her forehead. “Sleep well,
bellissima
.”

He made his way back downstairs, using his cell phone to call for a car service to pick him up. It only took the town car a few minutes to arrive, and another few minutes for them to make it through the city. He tipped the driver handily when they arrived and he climbed out, waiting for it to leave before he started to move.

He strolled into Metropolitan Correctional Center shortly before three o’clock in the morning, his head held high and a swagger in his step. He may have been there to surrender himself to a bright orange jumpsuit and confinement in a rat hole, but he saw no reason why he couldn’t at least do it in style.

G
rip firmly, everybody, and use deep strokes. Up, down, up, down.”

Strangled laughter echoed through the small art room. It sounded like someone was choking on air.

“Experiment with light and hard touches. Play around with it. Find out what feels good to you.”

Kelsey leaned over, elbowing Haven as she whispered, “Do you think she does that on purpose?”

Haven’s brow furrowed. “Does what?”

“That’s it. Keep it up, guys. This is exactly what I like to see—your creativity exploding onto the canvas as I help you reach your peak.”

Kelsey coughed loudly, trying to hide another laugh, but others in the class were less successful at containing themselves. The professor didn’t notice, though, or if she did, she didn’t react.

“Art’s personal. It’s just you and your tools, making something out of nothing. It’s a sensual process. You’re creating love.”

“Yeah, definitely on purpose,” Kelsey said. “Miss Michaels is freaky-deaky.”

Haven felt the blood rush to her cheeks when she realized what the fuss was about. She dropped her paintbrush and stared at the random shapes and patterns on her canvas, everything suddenly looking sexualized.

“Beautiful work, Hayden. Absolutely stunning.”

Haven smiled softly, her blush deepening as the professor stopped beside her station. “Thank you.”

“It’s truly my pleasure.”

The rest of the class passed in a similar fashion, more immature snickering accompanying possible sexual innuendos. By the time they were dismissed twenty minutes later, Haven was flustered and about to jump out of her own skin.

She grabbed her things before bolting toward the exit, hoping to delay the inevitable awkward conversation with her friend, and made her way to the lobby from the seventh floor. Rushing out of the massive brick building, she collided with a form right outside the front doors. Haven bounced back from the force of it.

Monday was turning out not to be her day.

“I’m sorry,” she said at once, pulling away from the guy in front of her. He seemed startled, his feet locked in place and eyes wide. They were a strange blue color, bordering on steel gray. His skin was dark tan.

“No big deal,” he replied, letting go of her. His voice was high-pitched, a thick Brooklyn accent she heard often around New York. “You okay?”

“Uh, yeah,” she said, taking a step back. “I’m fine. This happens all the time.”

“What does?” he asked. “You running into strangers?”

“Yes.”

He let out a laugh, his face lighting up to expose a set of clear, deep dimples. “Gives new meaning to hitting on people, huh?”

She smiled at his joke, grateful that he didn’t seem angry. “I suppose so.”

He started to speak again, but she didn’t give him time. Hearing Kelsey’s laughter in the building behind her, Haven blurted out another quick apology before dodging past the man and into the crowd on the street.

Painting II, also known as Art from the Heart, had become Haven’s favorite class from the first day of the semester. It was the one hour where she threw caution to the wind and allowed herself to truly feel everything inside of her. There was no pretending. Not when painting.

Soul,
the professor had said. And Haven gave it every ounce she had.

“Do you think Miss Michaels gets off on da Vinci?” Kelsey asked on Wednesday as they strolled out of class together. “Maybe
The Last Supper
is porn to her. She kept gushing about it today.” She paused, crinkling her nose. “Gushing. Gross, now I’m doing it.”

Haven rolled her eyes. “It’s a religious painting. I doubt she finds it erotic.”

“Okay then,
Mona Lisa,
” Kelsey said. “That’s da Vinci, isn’t it? Or wait, maybe it’s Van Gogh. Picasso?”

“It’s da Vinci,” Haven said. “How are you an art student?”

“Totally other side of the industry,” Kelsey replied. “I design things on a computer, unlike you folks who make love to a canvas.”

“We create love on a canvas.”

“What’s the difference?” she asked dismissively. “Both sound kinky to me.”

Haven shook her head, looking away from her friend as they stepped out of the building. Her eyes immediately locked with a pair of blue ones, the same guy from two days ago. He smiled at her, giving a slight wave, and Haven blushed from the recognition.

“See, I’m right,” Kelsey said, noticing her suddenly flushed cheeks. “All of you artsy fuckers are turned on by it.”

Friday, when leaving class, the guy was there again, just as he was the following Monday and Wednesday. The cycle continued with curious looks, polite smiles, and subtle waves every other weekday at precisely one o’clock. He was always lingering just outside the building like he was waiting for someone or maybe something.

On Friday two weeks later, Haven was asked to stay after class. The halls were vacant by the time she left, the street clear of students. She walked out of the building as she situated her backpack, her footsteps faltering after a few feet. On the corner, leaning against the building, was the guy once again.

He glanced up as she approached. “Hey there.”

Haven smiled politely. “Hello.”

He pushed away from the wall and stopped in her path. “Remember me?”

“Yes.” Her heart raced at the blunt acknowledgment. She already preferred it when he didn’t say anything. “I didn’t hurt you, did I? I’m honestly really sorry for it. I was in a rush and—”

“Relax,” he said, cutting her off with a laugh. “You just ran off that day before I had a chance to talk to you.”

“Oh.” She eyed him warily. “About what?”

He shrugged. “About anything.”

“Uh, okay.”

They stared at each other for a moment, the air thick with awkwardness. Haven took a step to the side to go around him, but he spoke again before she made it that far. “So, can I walk you to your next class?”

She shook her head. “I’m done for the day.”

He started to reply, but she was gone before he could say anything.

He tried again on Monday. “Can I get you some lunch?”

Another refusal. “I’m not really hungry, but thanks.”

And again on Wednesday. “How about some drinks?”

She mumbled as she ducked past him, “I’m not thirsty.”

Friday, just like clockwork, he was standing there. “Can I walk you home?”

“I’m not going home right now.”

Monday, Haven was prepared. She stepped out of the building after class with Kelsey at her side, chatting away, but the guy was one step ahead of her. He pushed away from the wall when he saw them and paused in their path, focusing his attention on Kelsey. “Excuse me, miss. Can I cut in?”

Kelsey’s brow furrowed. She was momentarily stunned into silence. “Cut in?”

“Yes,” he said. “You see, I’ve been trying to talk to your friend for weeks, so, well, I’m a little jealous right now.”

A smile slowly lit up Kelsey’s face. “Oh! Absolutely!”

Kelsey turned to her and winked dramatically, barely containing her squeal as she skipped away into the crowd. Haven just stood there in disbelief as the guy smirked. “So, since your friend approves, can I walk beside you wherever you’re going today?”

She shook her head. Unbelievable. “Why would you even want to do that?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” he asked. “You’re a gorgeous girl.”