Before Haven had the chance to make sense of what he had said, Carmine interjected. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
Dr. DeMarco groaned. “Mind your manners, son.”
Salvatore shrugged. “Perhaps I’ve said too much. Forget I brought it up.”
“You can’t say some shit like that and then say, ‘forget about it,’” Carmine said. “If you knew one of your own abused a kid, why didn’t you do anything?”
Salvatore glanced at Dr. DeMarco, who subtly shook his head.
“Michael Antonelli is hardly one of our own,” Salvatore said, turning back to Carmine. “There are certain rules that govern this life—rules you can’t disregard because you don’t like something that’s going on. Personal feelings have no place in business.”
Nunzio let out a bitter laugh from his seat but offered no opinion.
The strained silence returned as Carmine glared at Salvatore and his father. They seemed oblivious to the looks, both of them instead focusing on Haven.
She cleared her throat, unable to take it. “Thank you for your concern, sir.”
Under his breath, Carmine mumbled, “Don’t fucking thank him.”
* * *
Haven lay with her head on Carmine’s shoulder later that night as the two of them watched a movie in her bedroom. She ran her fingers down his forearm and stroked the back of his hand before turning it over and tracing the creases of his palm. His fingers twitched as she grazed the tattoo on his wrist. “Do you really believe that? Trust no one?”
“I used to,” he said. “Until you came along.”
She picked her head up to look at him. “You trust me?”
“Yeah, why does that surprise you?” he asked. “I let you sleep in my bed and be around my stuff. You think I’d do that if I didn’t trust you? That’s not me at all.”
“That’s right,” she said. “You’re finicky.”
He chuckled, shaking their bodies with the motion. “Am I that bad?”
“No,” she said. “You still won’t let me clean your room, though.”
He sighed exaggeratedly. “That has nothing to do with trust or being finicky. I feel like an asshole having you clean up after me. I mean, you’re my girl—you aren’t supposed to do that shit.”
A swell of hope surged inside her when the words my girl rolled from his lips. “But don’t you see? That’s one of the only things I can do for you. I have nothing to offer, Carmine. No way to make you happy.”
He stared at her, his expression intense. Self-conscious, Haven looked away, but Carmine grasped her chin and pulled her gaze back to him. “Don’t feel like you have to do things to impress me. Being yourself is enough to keep me interested.”
Staring at him, she wondered if it could really be that simple.
“You’re pure,” he said, as if he could sense her reservation. “After everything I’ve done, I just hope I can be good enough for you.”
She blinked a few times, stunned he’d say such a thing. “You’re too good for me.”
“Me?” He scoffed. “Are we talking about the same person? The selfish fucker who curses and yells and beats up people because he can’t control his temper? You know, the one who drinks like a fish and fries his brain with drugs? That person is too good for you?”
She shook her head. “I’m talking about the boy who shared his chocolate bar with me when he probably never shared anything before, who gave me his mama’s favorite book because he thought I deserved to read. I’m talking about the boy who treats me like a regular girl, the one who desperately needs his bedroom cleaned and laundry washed but chooses to live in a mess and wear dirty clothes because he’s too polite to ask the girl he kisses for help.”
“Wow,” Carmine said. “I’d like to meet that motherfucker.”
Haven smiled as he pulled her toward him again, and she rested her head on his shoulder. Carmine took her hand, running his fingers along it much like she’d done his, being careful to avoid the fresh wound.
17
Haven headed out of her bedroom at a quarter after eight in the morning and collided with Dominic outside her door. She recoiled, but he just stood in front of her, holding a DVD and a bowl of popcorn. “About time you wake up, Twinkle Toes. Now turn around and head back into the room.”