Sempre: Redemption (42 page)

“Ah, Vincent,” Salvatore said, confusion evident in his voice. His shoulders were tense, his expression hard as if chiseled in stone. It didn’t happen often, but the Boss had been caught off guard. “I was wondering if I’d ever see you again.”

None of them knew how to react. Carmine just stared at his father as Carlo placed his hand on his gun under the table.

“You had to have known we’d see each other again, Sal. It would be rude of me to take permanent leave and not say good-bye to you.”

“True.” Salvatore eyed him cautiously, desperate for the upper hand. “Come, have a seat. We’ll chat.”

Vincent lingered, slowly shaking his head. “I’m fine where I am.”

Sal subtly shifted in his seat to get a better view. “You know, you’ve been gone for a while now. I was worried something happened to you.”

“I’m sure you were.”

“I was, honestly,” Sal said. “Especially when you skipped out on the trial. I was deeply concerned what that meant for your future.”

“Ah, yes,
that
. I figured there was no use going through the charade.”

“Can’t say I’m surprised, Vincent. Disappointed, yes, but not surprised.”

“Well, you always did know me well,” he said. “It’s a pity I never really knew you, though. I thought I did, but I was wrong.”

Sal laughed, a tinge of nervousness to his forced chuckle. “What you see is what you get with me.”

“I wish that were true,” Vincent said. “I always thought you were a man of your word, a man who saw the world as black and white. I never realized how much you skirted in the gray area to suit your needs.”

“What makes you think such a ridiculous thing?”

“Haven Antonelli.”

A gasp involuntarily flew from Carmine’s lips at the sound of her name. Salvatore’s gaze flickered to him, anger in his eyes, before his attention shifted right back to Vincent. “What does that girl have to do with this?”

“Everything,” Vincent said. “Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

Salvatore stared at Vincent with disbelief, but whether he was truly dumbfounded or just shocked at being called out wasn’t clear. Carmine’s heart beat rapidly as his eyes darted between the silent men. All of them were on edge, shoulders squared, poised for a fight.

“Go inside, son,” Vincent said. “I’d like to speak to your godfather alone.”

Pushing his chair back, Carmine started to stand when Salvatore slammed his fists down on the table in front of them. “Stay where you are!”

Carmine knew he couldn’t disregard a direct order from the Boss. Glancing at his father, he shot him an apologetic look as he forced himself back into the chair.

Panic flared in Vincent’s expression, and Carmine knew it then. Whatever was about to happen was
not
going to be good.

“I still fail to see what the Antonelli child has to do with anything,” Salvatore said, turning his attention back to Vincent. “Enlighten me.”

“Are you aware she’s an artist?”

“I couldn’t care less what she is,” Sal said. “She’s
nothing
to me.”

“Of course you know she’s an artist,” Vincent continued, ignoring his hostility. “In fact, you know a lot about her, more than you’d ever admit, including the fact that she’s not
nothing
to you.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sal said. “She’ll never be anything more than a slave in my eyes, a worthless piece of flesh you idiots waste your life on. She’s irrelevant in my world. She shouldn’t even exist!”

Carmine flinched as irritation flashed across his father’s face.

“You know, it didn’t make sense at the time,” Vincent said. “I never understood why Frankie refused to give her up, why he wouldn’t let her go when he wanted nothing to do with the girl. She was a burden, another mouth to feed, so why not take the cash to be rid of her?”

“She was his granddaughter,” Salvatore said pointedly. “You know that.”

“That didn’t matter to him,” Vincent retorted. “His son getting a slave pregnant would’ve been a disgrace in his eyes, tainting his bloodline—he would’ve wanted to be rid of the child. So why did he not only keep her but kill over her, too?”

“He didn’t want anyone to find out.”

“Yeah, that’s what you told me.” Vincent shook his head. “I believed it for years because I didn’t think you’d lie to me and you told me you were
sure
. I slaughtered him and his wife, and then I put my gun to that girl’s head as she slept and pulled the trigger, because you swore she was the reason my wife died. And that’s exactly what you wanted, wasn’t it? You used my grief to solve your problem, and it almost worked. If my gun hadn’t jammed, I would’ve killed everything there that breathed.”

“I didn’t tell you to kill
any
of them.”

“You didn’t have to! You knew
exactly
what I would do with the information you fed me, and you gave me just enough time to do it before calling me in.”

“I would’ve
never
ordered a hit on a child!”

“Because you can’t! The men wouldn’t have trusted you anymore if they even
suspected
you had anything to do with it. There would’ve been a mutiny! But you knew how to push my buttons, how to get
me
to react. You wanted them all dead and you used me so you could keep your hands clean.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Salvatore said. “Why would I want them dead?”

“Evidence,” Vincent said. “Never leave anything behind if it can be linked to you. It’s simple, something
all
of us know. The moment you realized your mistake, you wanted it disposed of.”

“What evidence?”

“The girl’s bloodline.”

Panic swept across Salvatore’s face. Carmine stared at him in shock, realizing he wasn’t surprised . . . he
did
know. Confusion rocked Carmine’s brain, the knowledge nearly crippling him. The entire time, through it all, Salvatore
knew
they were related.

“You’re crazy.”

“Maybe so, but I’m still
right
,” Vincent said. “All it took was a simple prick of a finger and a lifetime of secrets came spilling out in the blood.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I once believed that. I thought you were as much a victim as her, but that changed when she was kidnapped. You wouldn’t get involved because you knew why they took her and you wanted nothing to do with it! You were afraid they’d expose you and you thought . . . you
hoped
. . . they’d get rid of her. But they didn’t.

“You were power hungry and had your own family murdered. You used to talk about how much family meant, and I actually pitied you because you didn’t have anyone left! And the whole time it was your own fault!”

“How dare you accuse me of that!” Salvatore spat. “I’ll kill you for this!”

The moment he spoke those words, Vincent reached into his coat and pulled out a gun, aiming it at Salvatore. Carmine jumped up, as did Carlo, knocking chairs over in haste, one flying into the shallow end of the pool. Salvatore sat still, unmoving, barely blinking. Carmine was frozen with fear as Carlo pulled his gun, aiming at Vincent.

“You had no idea thirty years later DNA testing would exist,” he continued, keeping his eyes and gun trained on Salvatore. “That’s the real reason he wouldn’t sell me the girl . . . he was trying to protect you, and maybe even protect her in the process. When it got back to you that Maura was asking questions, you panicked, and that’s when you set the plan in motion. You put the hit out on my wife to cover your tracks, and I never wanted to believe it.
Never
did I want to believe you’d do that to me, that you’d do that to my children.

“Haven drew pictures after her kidnapping—like I said, she’s an artist—and she drew one of Carlo. I denied it to myself, I denied it to my son, but there came a point where I couldn’t deny it anymore. Your man—your best friend—had been there for it all!”

Tears slid down Vincent’s cheeks. Carlo yelled, denying it all, while Salvatore glanced around with fear. Carmine stared at his godfather with disgust.

“Carmine,” Sal said firmly, and he knew instantly what he wanted. He expected Carmine to follow his orders, to do what he had told him to do.

“Don’t talk to my son!” Vincent snapped. “You’ve hurt him enough! Tell me, when you had my wife killed, did you want
him
dead, too?”

“Of course not! He’s my godson!”

“But you don’t deny you wanted my wife dead? You don’t deny you had your sister murdered? You don’t deny you were in bed with the Russians? God, how sick does a man have to be to make his own family slaves?”

“She was supposed to have a good life!” Salvatore spat, losing control of his temper as he reached for his gun. Carmine cursed and backed up a few steps, nearly tripping over a chair. “Frankie begged me to let him have her, the fool! He begged me to let the child live! He’s the one who failed! He treated her like crap! He let his son have his way with her! She would’ve been better off dead!”

“Is that why you never went to Blackburn, why you always sent us?” Vincent asked, no hesitation in his voice. “You couldn’t look at her, knowing what you’d done?”

“You’re wrong!”

“And is that why you were so insistent on seeing Haven when you visited? Why you were elated Carmine fell in love with her, why you wanted
him
to vouch for her? You’d finally be family again!”

“Shut up!”

“You thought it was redemption! They were possessions to you! And you had the
nerve
to ask me if she’d been worth it, if she was worth all the pain I went through, if she was worth everything I lost, and
you’d
been the one to do it to me! Did you enjoy that? Did you get off having so much power over everyone?”

“You’re delusional!”

“And you’re disturbed! You’re a traitor!”

“How dare you accuse
me
of that! You, who has been feeding information to the Feds? Tell me, Vincent, how does it feel to be a rat? How does it feel to break the oath you swore? How does it feel knowing you’re going to die for it?”

Vincent stood frozen for a second before a sinister smirk turned the corner of his lips. “You first.”

The bang of a gunshot ripped through the night air and Carmine recoiled, realizing his father had pulled the trigger. He covered himself defensively as Salvatore stumbled backward, the bullet ripping through his shoulder, and dropped his gun as his arm went limp. Flipping the patio table over, Salvatore ducked behind it as Carlo returned fire. Vincent shot again, hitting Carlo’s thigh with a bullet, making his leg buckle, but he managed to stay upright and shoot back.

A bullet from Vincent’s gun hit the table Salvatore hid behind, ricocheting off of it and flying in Carmine’s direction. He ducked as soon as he heard it hit and it whizzed past his head, barely missing grazing his temple. “Fuck!”

“Carmine!” Salvatore yelled, barely audible above the sudden rampant gunfire. “Kill him!”

Carmine didn’t know what to do. He slowly pulled his gun out, his thoughts frantic as he fought off dizziness. Kill or be killed. He knew how it went. If he didn’t kill his father, Sal would kill him next.

Before he could consider aiming at
anything,
another gunshot ripped past him. Carlo stumbled backward, blood pouring through his button-down shirt. He tripped and fell, his body trembling as he clutched his stomach. Awful cries escaped his throat as Vincent closed the distance between them, firing off more shots in anger. Two rounds went through Carlo’s arms, disabling him, and another bullet ripped through his kneecap as he tried to drag himself away.

Salvatore jumped up and grabbed his gun again before ducking out of the way. Vincent was clearly on a mission, his expression grave as he crouched down and grabbed Carlo by the collar. He shoved the muzzle of his gun in Carlo’s gaping mouth and pulled the trigger without hesitation. Blood splattered, the back of Carlo’s head exploding, and Carmine couldn’t stop the scream that reverberated from his chest as violent flashes of his mother overwhelmed him.

Vincent looked at Carmine with concern, his eyes scanning him quickly, assessing for wounds. “Get out of here, son,” he demanded before turning to Salvatore, who had taken shelter by the back door. He stood but didn’t have enough time to aim before Salvatore shot at him, a bullet hitting Vincent straight in the chest. He grunted and staggered but stayed on his feet to fire back.

“Carmine, it’s an order!” Salvatore yelled, continuing to shoot, but his aim was off. “Do it now, or I’ll kill you!”

“Don’t threaten my son!”

Salvatore’s words gave Vincent his strength back. There was a commotion as he steadied himself, the back door of the house bursting open and guys running outside. Corrado followed behind them but froze, taking in the scene as Carmine released the safety from his gun.

Corrado noticed the movement. Raising his gun, he aimed at Carmine.

“What the fu—” he started, unable to get the entire thing out before his uncle pulled the trigger. The bullet grazed the back of his right hand and he cried out, dropping the weapon and grabbing the searing wound. It felt like it was on fire, throbbing painfully as blood dripped onto the patio.

Corrado sprinted toward Carmine and tackled him, shoving him onto his stomach on the ground, his low voice demanding. “Don’t move.”

Standing, Corrado haphazardly fired across the yard, the bullets deliberately flying past the target. Vincent turned and fired a wayward shot toward Corrado, his aim just as bad, before ducking for cover around the back of the house.

Salvatore and the others shielded themselves near the back door, as Corrado and Carmine hunkered down to the side with a clear line of sight. The gunshots slowed to a trickle as they reloaded, the rest of the men filtering out to come to Salvatore’s aid.

Carmine watched his father drop his pistol, clutching his heaving chest as he staggered a few steps. Vincent shrugged off his coat then, revealing a small Uzi hanging by a strap around his shoulder. The blood rushing through Carmine made him light-headed, his vision blurring as tears flowed down his cheeks.