“I have no fucking clue,” Carmine said, glancing at the clock. Three in the morning. He climbed out of bed when he heard heavy footsteps in the library, heading right for them. Dread hit him when the door flung open, Vincent appearing in the doorway.
Even in the darkness, his rage was obvious.
“Go to your room, girl,” he barked, not taking his eyes off Carmine as Haven bolted out of the room. “What’s wrong with you? Do you have a death wish?”
No matter what answer Carmine gave, he’d be wrong.
“I thought you were smarter than this. Did you honestly think today was a good idea? You can’t be that dense! And I know you’re up to something, son. I know you, by God, but I’m telling you right now—whatever it is won’t work.”
Carmine said not a word.
“I don’t want you stepping foot in my office or the basement again. You have no business in there anymore. And I know what you saw, too. What you read. I can’t imagine what ideas are floating around in that head of yours, but don’t dare act on it. Whatever it is, don’t do it.” Vincent paced, muttering to himself. “If you weren’t turning eighteen soon, I’d send you back to the academy tomorrow. I already have half a mind to get rid of the girl.”
“You aren’t gonna do a goddamn thing to her,” Carmine said. “You’re gonna leave her alone.”
“I’ll do anything I want with her! Have you not been listening to me? You’re going to get yourself killed! You may not care about your life, but I can’t let you throw it away. I’ll do whatever I have to do to make sure that doesn’t happen, even if it means her being collateral damage.”
Carmine clenched his hands into fists, those words driving him to the brink. “Fuck you! I’ll kill you if you hurt her again!”
“Maybe you will,” Vincent said. “In fact, I don’t doubt it, but at least your mother’s sole will still have his light. She would’ve never wanted you involved in this.”
“Don’t use Mom as an excuse to justify your bullshit! I love Haven! Accept it!”
“I can’t!” Vincent stepped toward him. “You’re just a child, Carmine.”
“I may be seventeen, but I’m not a kid. I haven’t been a kid since I got shot because of you!”
“You don’t know what you’re saying. You don’t know the devastation that girl has inflicted on my life! Just look at us! Look what she’s causing!”
“She’s not causing it, you are! You’re the one who brought us into this life! You paid money for her—for a fucking child—and you wanna blame her for this?”
Vincent shook his head. “I tried to help her! I’ve done everything I could for that girl, and none of it’s enough. Nothing’s ever enough! It’s impossible! Worthless! You don’t know how much I’ve suffered because of that little bitch!”
The moment the word escaped his lips, Carmine’s composure slipped. Red flashed before his eyes as he struck, his fist connecting with his father’s mouth. “Don’t call her that!”
Before Carmine even realized his father had moved, Vincent was on him. He slammed him into the wall, the force of the blow knocking the wind out of Carmine. He gasped for air as his father pinned him against the desk, knocking things on the floor as the two of them scuffled.
Dominic burst into the room, hearing the commotion, and grabbed his father’s shoulder. It registered with Vincent what he was doing, and he quickly pulled his hands away. Backing up, he swiped his fingers across his bloody mouth. “Why couldn’t you trust me, Carmine? Why couldn’t you let me handle this?”
“Why couldn’t you give me a reason to?”
“Keeping you safe isn’t a good reason?”
Carmine didn’t hesitate. “My safety means nothing compared to hers.”
* * *
Standing in the doorway of the bedroom, Haven surveyed the damage from the fight as Carmine grumbled, opening his desk drawer and grabbing a bottle of liquor. He grimaced as he took a drink and kicked the desk drawer closed before plopping down in the chair and staring at the floor in the darkened room.
Unable to take the tension, Haven busied herself by picking up things that had been knocked over. She plugged in the alarm clock and tried to set it, but she gave up with the numbers still flashing twelve. Grabbing the picture frame from the floor, she winced as a small shard of broken glass stabbed her thumb. Blood oozed from the cut as she set it down on the desk.
“Christ, you’re bleeding.”
Carmine tried to grab her hand, but she pulled away. “You broke the picture frame.”
He groaned. “So? Just stop cleaning. None of that shit is important!”
“It is important.” She fought back tears. “It’s your mama.”