She continued picking up the rest of the stuff, having no idea what else to do. Frustrated, Carmine snatched the bottle of liquor from the desk and flung it at the wall. It shattered, glass and alcohol spraying everywhere. Haven flinched, closing her eyes as her tears slipped through, flashes of memory striking her as hard as fists. Michael’s anger, the shattered glass, and the revolting stench of spilled liquor.
“You’re worthless,” he had screamed, spitting the words at her. “You can’t do anything right, girl! You’re the worst thing I ever did!”
She reopened her eyes, watching the annoyance fade from Carmine’s face. “I shouldn’t be yelling at you. None of this is your fault.”
“It is,” she said quietly. “I’m tearing your family apart.”
Carmine knelt beside her, grabbing a notebook and tossing it on his desk. “This family was torn apart when my mom was killed, so unless you wanna take credit for that, you can drop that bullshit.”
* * *
Haven lay in bed with Carmine later, brushing her fingers along his swollen knuckles as guilt ran rampant through her. No matter what he said, she believed she had caused it.
She didn’t sleep much, the peace she had found over the weeks tainted as Carmine slipped in and out of consciousness, thrashing around with nightmares.
In the morning, she headed downstairs in a daze and pulled things out for Easter dinner. The Mercedes wasn’t parked in its spot in the driveway. She wondered if there was even a point in cooking with Dr. DeMarco gone.
The morning flew by, morphing into afternoon, before eventually shifting into early evening. The boys made their way downstairs, tension lingering in the house, but she was too exhausted to deal with what it meant. She stood in front of the stove, going through the motions like she’d been taught to do, while Carmine sat on the counter, staring at her. Dominic bounded into the room, grabbing one of the deviled eggs she’d made. “You feeling all right today, Haven?”
“She’s on autopilot,” Carmine said, answering for her. “Happy Easter to us all.”
She said nothing, a faint sound outside drawing her attention. Glancing out the window, she stared at Dr. DeMarco’s car as it came to a stop. Carmine leaped down from the counter and wrapped his arms around her protectively, when the front door opened and Dr. DeMarco headed their way. He paused a foot from them, his voice strained. “Let me see your hand, Carmine.”
“Excuse me?”
“You put too much stress on your fourth and fifth fingers when you hit me. I’ll be surprised if you didn’t fracture them.”
ded up reloading twice, not a single bullet hitting its intended spot. She came close, though, her eyes twinkling with excitement every time she squeezed the trigger. He tried to imagine how she felt wielding something so powerful, imagining the adrenaline surging through her veins.
Hitting the target after the third reload, Haven shouted and turned to Carmine, forgetting to lower the gun in her excitement. Carmine ducked, throwing his hands up protectively as she aimed at his forehead. “Watch what you’re fucking doing!”
She lowered the gun. “I’m sorry!”
He dropped his hands. “Never aim a gun at someone unless you’re willing to shoot that motherfucker.”
She nodded in understanding and turned away, firing a round that grazed the target. She smiled, trying to hold in her excitement. Sighing, Carmine walked up behind her and placed his hands on her hips. He pulled off the earmuffs and tossed them on the ground before lining her back up to the target. “You’re doing really good.”
She aimed with a look of determination on her face. He could feel her body tense in anticipation, her muscles firm and arms vibrating. He placed a light kiss on her earlobe without thinking, and she whimpered. Losing focus, she squeezed the trigger, a round echoing through the trees.
“Oops,” she said as birds squawked in the distance.
He laughed and nuzzled into her neck. “Better the birds than me.”
* * *
The walk home was a lot harder than Carmine remembered the walk to the clearing being. By the time the house came into view, the sun had set and he was utterly exhausted. The two of them headed for the stairs, but hadn’t made it to the second floor when there was a knock at the door. Haven continued upstairs as Carmine disabled the alarm, finding Max on the porch. “What’s up?”
“Is your dad home?”
“No. He’s in Chicago.”
“Shit, I need to give something to him,” Max said, reaching into his pocket for an envelope.
“I’ll take it for you,” Carmine said, holding out his hand, not questioning him. He didn’t want to know what type of business Max had with his father. Max dealt drugs to save money for school, which alleviated some of Carmine’s guilt when he bought from him. He felt like he was doing it for a good cause, like participating in a coke-a-thon to send a deserving kid to the Ivy League.
La Cosa Nostra, though, avoided the drug trade.
“Thanks, man. I told him I’d have it to him, and, well, I don’t want to be late with your father.”