“Can you play something happy for me?”

A sudden rush of irritation struck him at her request, but he fought it back, knowing he needed to control his temper with her. He roughly played “Jingle Bells,” only vaguely remembering the right keys. Entranced, Haven’s eyes sparkled as she watched his fingers.

The room fell silent when he finished the song. “Merry Christmas, bella ragazza.”

She smiled, whispering, “Merry Christmas,” back to him. He stared into her eyes and leaned forward to kiss her when a throat dramatically cleared behind them. He pulled back swiftly. Damn near busted.

“Am I interrupting?” Celia asked, the smile on her lips telling Carmine she knew she was. He started to speak, but Haven ran from the room before he could say anything. He sighed as she disappeared, and Celia sat down beside him on the bench. “So talented.”

He rolled his eyes. “I butchered that song. I haven’t tried to play it in years.”

“Haven thought you played it great.”

“That’s because she’s never heard it before. She thought my fuck-ups were intentional.”

“You’re being self-deprecating. Your mother was always proud of her little Mozart.”

He didn’t respond. She knew he wouldn’t, though. He never did.

“She recognizes me,” Celia said. “That’s what your father and I were talking about. She saw me when I visited Blackburn.”

Carmine sat still as that sank in. “Did you ever think about helping her when you were there?”

“Believe me, kiddo. I wanted to. I talked to Corrado about it, but it was out of my hands. It’s their business and—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” He cut her off. “Keep business and personal separate, the code of conduct, and all that bullshit. I’ve heard it all before.”

“I see you’ve been talking to Salvatore,” she said. “Anyway, if you’ll excuse me, there’s a girl hiding somewhere I should have a talk with.”

23

Haven sat on the edge of her bed, feeling out of place. She’d never spoken to Celia before last night, had merely seen her in passing, but her presence made those two worlds converge. Her old life, the one of pain, was mixing with her new life, where she’d finally started to feel comfortable.

It made her uneasy. She wanted that feeling to go away.

There was a light tap on her door. Her stomach felt queasy as she gripped the knob with a sweaty palm. Opening it slowly, she was alarmed to see Celia. “Can I speak to you?”

Haven nodded. Celia took a seat on the bed, and Haven tried to stop her hands from shaking as she sat beside her. “I wanted to tell you a story. Would you be opposed to that?”

A story? “No, ma’am.”

“Back in the seventies, when I was around eleven, an underground war ignited between, uh, groups. Safe houses were set up around the country for men to get their families out of the line of fire. This place was one of them—it was where my father sent us. It also happens to be where we met my husband, Corrado, and his sister, Katrina. Our fathers were friends. Vincent and I never liked Katrina. She’s an evil twit who gets pleasure from hurting people. I’m sure you know that.”

Haven nodded. It was true.

“Corrado was the opposite of his sister. He stayed out of the way and kept to himself. One day we were all out by the creek, and Katrina was throwing rocks at me. Corrado just stood there and watched. We thought he was a pushover. Vincent wouldn’t stand for it, though, and threw a rock back at her. Smacked her in the face and left a big welt.”

Despite herself, Haven smiled.

“Katrina tattled and my mother was about to whip Vincent when Corrado spoke up out of nowhere. This little boy hadn’t said a word for days, and the first time he opened his mouth, he spoke with such authority. He said, ‘You shouldn’t hit him.’ He said a person shouldn’t be punished for protecting their family. My mother was so surprised that she let Vincent go.”

Celia laughed to herself. “That’s my husband. When he speaks, people listen.” She paused. “You’re probably wondering where I’m going with this.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I just want you to know I’m not like the people in Blackburn . . . my husband isn’t like them. We too deal with people we don’t want to. It’s something you understand when you involve yourself with a man in this life. They do horrible things—things most women would be ashamed of their husbands doing—but we know it’s ingrained in them, just as things are ingrained in us. I’ve accepted Corrado for who he is, as I’m sure you accept Carmine, bad attitude and all.”

Haven was alarmed at the mention of Carmine and tried to keep her expression blank. “I accept both of the DeMarco boys.”

Celia smiled. “I’m sure you do, Haven. I don’t worry about Dominic. Despite everything, he’s pretty well adjusted, but Carmine’s unique. He has a gentle soul underneath that ugly armor he wears, and it’s nice that someone finally cracked through it.”

Her heart pounded frantically. “He’s . . .” She didn’t know what to say. “. . . different.”

“Yeah, he is,” she said. “Although I think what you mean by that isn’t the same as what I mean. But anyway, I should start dinner.”

Haven jumped up, having forgotten about dinner. It was the reason she’d gone downstairs so early in the first place. “Oh no, I should’ve already done it!”

“Relax. Christmas dinner’s my gig. I look forward to it every year. Your job’s to enjoy yourself today.”

* * *

After Celia left, Haven headed for the door when Carmine burst into the room, holding a small present. He headed straight for her, no hesitation in his steps. He caught her off guard, and she took a step away, the backs of her knees hitting the bed.

He stopped in front of her, forcing the gift into her trembling hand. “Open it.”

It was hard for her to find a spot to start since he had used so much tape, but she managed to tear a corner. After the paper was off, she stared at the thick blue book with Merriam-Webster’s Dictionary and Thesaurus written on the front. “This is for me?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I remember you said you needed a thesaurus. And I know you were joking, but I thought, you know . . . it might be useful or whatever.” He sighed. “I suck at this gift thing.”

She stared at him as he rambled, realizing he was nervous. “Thank you.”

“It’s not what I wish I could give you . . .”

“It’s great, Carmine.”

She walked to the other side of the bed and briefly reconsidered what she was doing, but he’d put himself out there and she wanted to do the same. “I drew something for you.”

A smile spread over his face. “I thought you forgot our deal.”

“I never forget things.”

He chuckled, all trace of nervousness gone, even though hers had skyrocketed. “I’ll keep that in mind later when I fuck up.”

Opening the drawer on the stand, she pulled out a piece of paper and held it so he couldn’t see. “It’s, uh . . . it’s not that great.”

He held out his hand. “I’m sure it’s wonderful.”

Resigned that it was too late to back out, Haven handed him the drawing. She swallowed a few times, trying to push back her nerves as she sat beside him. Besides her mama, no one had ever seen anything she drew. Carmine’s silence as he stared at it flustered her. “I told you it wasn’t good.”

“Tesoro, this is amazing! I’m speechless, and you think it sucks?”

She glanced at the picture in his hand. Although she’d never seen one in person, she’d looked up a hummingbird in a book in the library. It was the only sketch she’d made that looked right to her. “Really?”

He laughed. “Yes, really. This is the best thing anyone’s ever done for me. I told you I wanted you for Christmas, and you gave it to me. This is beautiful. You’re beautiful, colibri.”

* * *

Haven stood frozen in the family room as she stared out the window. The backyard was encased in a thin layer of white, thick flakes continuing to fall from the sky like confetti.

“We don’t get much snow around here,” Carmine said. “It never lasts long, but it’s nice.”

To her, nice didn’t begin to cover it. It was beautiful. She walked to the window and pressed her hand to the frosty glass, her stomach fluttering as her eyes burned with tears. She thought of her mama then, the vision of her dancing in the snow. It was her happy spot, the place she went whenever she dreamed. Haven understood now. She yearned to go there, too.

A throat cleared behind her, and she turned to see that everyone had gathered. Dozens of presents of all shapes and sizes huddled under the fake tree, decorated in shiny paper with big bows. Haven sat on the couch, her nerves flaring as she gazed at them. Carmine hesitated but sat down beside her.

Dr. DeMarco handed out presents, and Haven was stunned when he set two in front of her. Dominic’s name was written on the top one, and she glanced at the second to see unfamiliar handwriting. “Celia,” Carmine said, the same time Haven read the name on the tag.

The gift from Dominic was filled with art supplies, paints and paper and markers, while Celia’s box contained an empty picture frame. Overwhelmed by their generosity, Haven could do nothing but whisper her thanks. She felt almost normal as she watched the others with their gifts, like she was simply a girl enjoying the small things in life. It warmed her heart to feel like a part of them.

Despite that, there was still that other part of her that felt guilty. As she gazed around at the living room littered with wrapping paper and plates of cookies, she felt like she was betraying her mama. There would be no gifts for her. No sweets. No laughs. No family. No snow. No love.

She had been so lost in thought that she hadn’t noticed the room emptied until Carmine squeezed her knee. She jumped, startled, and he looked at her questioningly. “What’s wrong?”

“Just thinking about my mama.”

Carmine put his arm around her, pulling her to him. “I miss mine, too.”

* * *

Tess and Dia showed up a few minutes later, and everyone gathered in the family room once again while Haven lingered by the doorway. Dr. DeMarco and his sister laughed together over some whispered secret, and Tess sat on Dominic’s lap as he squeezed her in a hug. Dia was telling a story, making Carmine chuckle. The love in the room was so pure and powerful that Haven’s eyes misted from the intensity of it.

Carmine spotted her and patted the cushion beside him. “Why are you standing there?”

“Habit, I guess,” she said. “I’m used to being on the outside looking in.”

“Well, we’re gonna break that habit. You belong on the inside with me.”

She gazed at him, smiling, before looking over his shoulder. A pair of dark eyes met hers, the penetrating gaze paralyzing. Dr. DeMarco was watching them, and he didn’t look happy anymore.