Carmine clenched his jaw as his anger boiled over, and Vincent held his hand up to stop the impending explosion. “I’m not going to harm her, but I’ll send her away if you force my hand. I’m not giving you my blessing, but I’m not forbidding it either. I’m smart enough to pick and choose my battles, and I have more important ones to fight right now.”
He stared at his father. “Fair enough.”
Vincent turned his attention to his food. “I just wonder if you know what you’re getting into.”
“Well, I’m kinda sorta hoping the asshole who owns her won’t own her forever.”
Vincent’s eyes snapped in his direction. “That’s a nice piece of information to have, but it wasn’t what I was talking about. Why do you think I asked you to teach her to drive, Carmine? Why I asked you to take her grocery shopping?”
“To try to break us apart.”
The answer irritated Vincent, and he dropped his fork. “Have you not been listening? You think I get off on toying with others? Do you honestly think your mother would’ve married me had I been that horrible?”
“I don’t know. I have no idea what was going on in Mom’s head, but I’m sure she wouldn’t be happy about what you’re doing with Haven.”
“You were young when she died, and frankly, your view is skewed. I’ve done a lot over the years that would disappoint your mother, but buying the girl isn’t one of them.”
“Buying her? You think my mom would be okay with that? You’re sick!”
Vincent slammed his fist against the table. “Who are you to talk to me like that? Look how you treat everyone!”
“And whose fucking fault is that, huh?” Carmine pushed his chair back as he stood. “Whose fault is it I’m fucked up? Whose fault is it I had to watch her die?”
Vincent glared at him. “Not mine.”
A voice cleared beside them as the manager approached. Others stared, disturbed by the commotion. Vincent pulled some cash from his wallet, throwing it down on the table before walking out.
* * *
Not a word was spoken during the drive. When they reached the house, Carmine tried to get out, but Vincent stopped him.
“I had you do it so you’d see what you were getting into. She’s been cut off from everything, Carmine. In the confines of the house, maybe things are great, but that’s not the real world. On the off chance you get to be together, I figured it was better if you had experience dealing with that part of her. It’s going to be there every step of the way, because when you’re raised like she was, you don’t have the know-how to live any other way. I tried to help you, not hurt you.”
Carmine opened his mouth to speak, but his father continued before he could. “You think your mother would be disappointed I brought her into this house? I think you’re wrong. Would she like it? No. I don’t even like it. But I think your mother would’ve been disappointed had I thrown the child into the world blindly. Society would’ve eaten her alive. Probably still will.”
Carmine had been focused on everything his father was doing wrong and never considered what might be helping Haven.
“She needs a semblance of her normal before she can be introduced to ours,” Vincent continued. “You love her? Fine, love her. But don’t contradict me. This isn’t fun, Carmine. I’m not enjoying this, but I’m doing it and that should be enough to earn your respect. You have to stop acting like you’re powerful and wise, because you’re neither. You need to grasp that, son, or I’m going to lose you like I lost your mother.”
Vincent got out, slamming the door so hard the windows vibrated.
* * *
Haven lay in the middle of Carmine’s bed, sprawled out on her back when he entered. He took off his coat and shoes before lying down beside her. Haven’s eyes fluttered open. She blinked a few times, smiling when they made eye contact.
“La mia bella ragazza,” he said. “Napping in the afternoon?”
“I ran out of stuff to do,” she said. “Everything’s clean.”
He sighed. “A nap actually sounds good right now.”
She eyed him curiously. “Bad day?”
“It was confusing, but I wouldn’t call it bad,” he said. “Any day that includes lying in bed with you, tesoro, can’t be bad.”
She ran her fingertips across his lips. “I missed you.”
“Mi sei mancata,” he said. “That’s ‘I missed you’ in Italian.”