“Why us especially?”

“Because your father and I would be killed, Carmine,” Corrado said. “You’d become pawns.”

He was quiet, letting it all sink in. “Something doesn’t make sense to me. Why would Frankie risk his life keeping the kid? Why not sell Haven? He didn’t care about her.”

“We can’t know for certain,” Corrado said, “but Monica Antonelli wasn’t stable. She was, uh . . .” He waved his hand as if to think of a word. “. . . fuori come un balcone. It was the reason they moved to the desert. Rest, they called it. Rehabilitation from a mental breakdown, but she never recovered. I think Frankie took advantage of an unfortunate situation to try to help his wife. No one would ever suspect it, and he lived so far away she wouldn’t be seen by anyone who could recognize her.”

“Plus, no one keeps small children for labor,” Vincent added. “You can’t have a toddler washing dishes or cooking meals. No one would’ve considered she had been sold and not killed because of that. Child slaves end up one place, and they may have broken conduct and murdered innocents, but some things were still off limits to us all.”

Carmine sighed. He had a lot to think about. “Is that all? Can I go?”

Corrado snickered. “He may barge in, but at least he has enough sense to wait to be dismissed.”

“Not always,” Vincent said. “Sometimes he just walks out.”

* * *

The next morning, Haven made breakfast while Carmine sat off to the side, watching her. She’d have moments where she was herself, laughing and being playful, but as soon as Corrado came near, it slipped away. She moved around him like there was magnetic polarity, always keeping a certain amount of distance from him.

It reminded Carmine of his mom, that fact not helping to brighten his mood. Nostalgic, the sorrow and longing crept in, bringing him down. It wasn’t his graduation and he felt cheated.

Carmine filled a flask with vodka before they set off for the school. He pulled the Mazda into the parking lot and got out as Haven nervously looked around. “Relax, hummingbird. We’re only here to help my brother bid high school farewell.”

“I just don’t want to embarrass you.”

He put his arm around her. “You’ll never embarrass me.”

“What if I fall down the stairs in front of everyone?”

“You won’t be walking down any stairs.”

“Well, I don’t need stairs. What if I just fall?”

“You won’t. I’ll hold you up.”

“What if I take you down with me?”

“You think you can take me down?” he asked playfully. “I guess I fall, then. Hate to break it to you, but that won’t embarrass me.”

She huffed. “What if I get hiccups and interrupt graduation?”

“If that happens, I’ll probably laugh, but whatever. You still aren’t gonna embarrass me.”

“But what if . . .”

By the time Haven was done asking her questions, they were safely seated in the back of the auditorium. Everyone settled and the ceremony started, the graduating class making their way in. Haven watched with wide eyes. As ridiculous as it all was to him, it was significant to her. She’d never gotten to experience high school.

Carmine didn’t know what to say, so he just sat quietly and watched as Principal Rutledge blabbed about how proud he was. Usually Carmine blocked out the inspirational bullshit they spewed, but Haven listened with so much passion it made him want to know what she was hearing.

“Take a second to imagine your future,” the valedictorian said when she stepped to the podium. “Imagine your life—your job, your spouse, your kids—but don’t imagine the future you think you’re heading for. Forget all the expectations and concentrate on what you truly want. Visualize the road that will take you there. That’s your path. That’s where you belong.”

Carmine pulled Haven to him, kissing her hair as she laid her head on his shoulder.

“None of the truly great in this world became that way by doing what they felt they had to do. If Isaac Newton had become a farmer like his mother wanted him to, or if Elvis would’ve listened when he was told to stick to truck driving, we’d know neither man today. We know them because they had the courage to follow the path they envisioned.”

The speech wound down, and Haven drank in every word of it.

The graduating class threw their caps into the air and everyone filtered out. Haven stood off to the side on the plaza with Tess and Dia as Carmine sat down on the brick wall lining the school. He watched her quietly, absorbing every smile.

Dominic sat beside him, still wearing his blue gown.

“Congrats,” Carmine said, pulling out his flask and taking a swig before handing it to his brother.

“Thanks.” Dominic took a drink and shuddered. “You know, Haven looks happy.”

Carmine nodded, glancing at her. She was laughing at something. “Yeah, she does.”

“She’s changed a lot these past nine months. She’s not the same frightened girl who showed up the first day. She’s smart, too. I’m graduating, and she corrected my vocabulary the other day. I said I felt nauseous, and she said the word I wanted was nauseated. Fucked me up, bro. Didn’t know there was a difference.”

He smirked. “Sounds like something she’d do.”

“She doesn’t flinch anymore, either.”

“I hated the flinching.”

They passed the flask back and forth before Dominic spoke again. “It was her, wasn’t it?” Carmine nodded and Dominic sighed, handing the flask back. “I figured. You got this look on your face at the family meeting, like she wrecked your car or something. It was the only thing that made sense.”

Carmine took a deep breath, feeling guilty he had blamed her. He still sometimes had moments where knowing the truth was hard. It would always hurt, but it was a pain he’d learn to live with.

“I think Mom would be happy to see her,” Dominic said. “To see how much she’s changed. I guess that’s what she wanted, and you did that for her.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

Dominic laughed. “The hell you didn’t. You think that’s Dad’s doing? He brought her here, but you made the difference. Mom always said you’d do great things in life, and I see it now, because no matter what you do tomorrow, Carmine, what matters is you did that today.”

Carmine gazed at Haven as he mulled over his brother’s words. She seemed so relaxed, so at ease, so much like a regular girl. Just looking at her, laughing and chatting, it was hard to imagine she’d been through the things she’d endured. “All I did was love her.”

“Ever think maybe that’s what she needed? Sometimes we don’t have to really do anything. We have to just be.”

They sat there until the flask was empty. Carmine slipped it into his pocket as Dominic stood. “You know what’s kind of funny? Well, not funny, but ironic, maybe? She’s been here nine months now, and it takes nine months to create life. It’s like she’s been reborn.”

Dominic walked away but paused after a few steps, his brow furrowed. “Actually, I don’t think that’s irony. Haven would probably correct me again and say I was being symbolic.”

Carmine chuckled. “Or metaphoric.”

35

A shiver ran the length of Carmine’s body, causing his muscles to grow taut. Haven stared at his sleeping form for a while, watching the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. There was a stirring inside of her, warmth starting deep inside her chest. It frightened her, yet it made her feel like she was floating on air.

It was hope.

Haven grabbed the blanket and covered Carmine before climbing out of bed. She dressed, giving him one last look before heading downstairs to the kitchen. She pulled out the ingredients for an Italian cream cake and had the batter together when subtle footsteps echoed behind her. They were restrained, the steps of someone trying to go undetected.

But Haven noticed.

Her hands shook as she scooped the batter into pans, attempting to ignore the presence. She put the cake into the oven and set the timer. A cold chill ran the length of Haven’s spine when Corrado finally spoke, his voice quiet and flat. “Good morning.”

“Good morning, Mr. Moretti,” she said, turning to look at him. He was dressed in a black suit, his jacket open and hands in his pockets. “Can I get you something?”

He didn’t move, his stance so statuesque she wondered if he was even breathing. “No,” he said finally, the word echoing in the tense silence.

She resumed making the frosting as he moved toward her. Instinctively, she took a step away. If Katrina had taught her anything, it was to stay out of the way whenever possible.

Corrado grabbed a bottle of water and stood off to the side, watching some more. Dr. DeMarco walked in after a few minutes and gave Corrado a curious look before his eyes found their way to her. “Good morning, dolcezza.”

She breathed a sigh of relief at the kindness in his voice. “Good morning, sir.”

“I’m surprised to see you awake so early today,” he said. “I take it Carmine’s still asleep?”

“Yes, sir.”

The timer for the oven went off. Haven pulled out the cake layers as Dr. DeMarco stood near her, gazing out the window with a wistful expression. The sun was rising, lighting up the driveway and the thick forest surrounding the property.

“They’ll be here soon,” he said, his attention shifting to the cake. “Italian cream cake.”

“I made it for Carmine’s birthday.”

Irritation flashed across his face.

“Fascinating, isn’t it?” Corrado asked from across the room. “I’ve never felt such a strong sense of déjà vu before.”

Dr. DeMarco clenched his teeth, turning his gaze outside. “When you finish, child, I need you to make sure Carmine’s awake. I’d go myself, but something tells me he’s probably not decent.”

He stressed the word decent. Haven’s cheeks flushed. “Yes, sir.”

Corrado laughed. “I’m quite sure this is one of those times Carmine was referring to, Vincent.”

Dr. DeMarco shook his head and left the kitchen, while Corrado lingered. “When you wake Carmine, tell him his godfather is coming.” He walked out, muttering, “Tale il padre, tale il figlio,” under his breath.

* * *

Teresa Capozzi enjoyed the finer things in life—the fastest foreign cars, the thickest mink furs, and the best vintage Dom Perignon wines. An air of superiority oozed from her pores, her demeanor shaped by her greed. It was well known that Mrs. Capozzi thought of nothing but herself and her next drink. Nobody liked her, not even her husband of forty years, but she didn’t care. Teresa Capozzi didn’t want to be liked; she wanted to be envied.

Haven watched out the window in the kitchen as the woman stepped out from the passenger seat of the rented Porsche and smoothed her tight black dress. She sauntered toward the house in her high heels, ignoring Salvatore when he tried to take her arm.