A blue tarp carpeted the floor, catching the excess blood splatter, but most of it coated the bathtub and sink, the white porcelain wet with bright red. It smelled like metal, the sickening taste of copper tingling the back of his throat.
Carmine averted his gaze, trying to avoid the dead man’s eyes, and Sal laughed at his reaction. “First dead body?”
“No,” he said. “You know it’s not.”
“Ah, yes, Maura. How could I forget?”
Carmine flinched. He hadn’t meant her at all. He had been referring to the incident in the warehouse but suddenly the image of his mother flashed in his mind.
Sal pulled him away from the bathroom when the other man returned with another guy in tow. Silently, the man removed the handcuffs and pulled the body from the bathtub, wrapping it in the tarp. The two of them picked it up and carried it from the bathroom. It was quick, done within a matter of minutes, with the precision of an expert craftsman.
“It helps to remember they’re not people,” Sal said. “They’re vermin. Pests. We’re just exterminating the cockroaches, Principe. Nobody wants to live in filth.”
“It’s awfully messy,” Carmine said, his voice cracking.
“That it is, dear boy,” Sal replied. “It isn’t always, but some prefer it that way, and who am I to deny a man his indulgence?”
“You’re the Boss,” a stern voice said behind them. “If you prefer it cleaner, cleaner you’ll get.”
Carmine turned, eyeing the man from earlier. His eyes were yellowing, his skin ashy. There was hardly any life left in him.
“Ah, I don’t mind,” Sal said, glancing back at the bathroom. “It’ll give DeMarco something to do.”
The color drained from Carmine’s face. “What?”
“Clean it up,” Sal ordered, letting go of him. “Make sure it’s in tip-top shape before you leave. We’ll be out on my yacht. Feel free to join us when you’re done.”
Sal walked away, leaving him standing alone in the apartment. He headed out after a moment, going to the corner store to buy cleaning supplies. He stocked up on rags and gloves and bleach, and spent the next hour scouring the bathroom in the abandoned apartment.
When finished, Carmine disposed of everything in a nearby Dumpster before making the trek home, feeling more and more disgusted with himself with each step he took.
* * *
Carmine stripped out of his clothes the moment he stepped in his house, discarding them without another look. He made his way upstairs and turned on the shower in the bathroom, waiting for it to turn hot before stepping under the spray. Steam consumed the room, his skin turning pink as the scalding water scorched his skin. He scrubbed every inch of his body, his chest aching as he fought with everything he had to bottle in his emotions. He forced it down, swallowing the feelings as he rubbed his outside raw, trying to wash away the filth that lurked beneath the surface.
Afterward, Carmine put on some fresh clothes and headed downstairs. The place was furnished now, the piano having been delivered just the previous morning. It sat in its place in the corner of the living room, a black vinyl cover safeguarding it. Boxes were scattered amongst the rooms, belongings strewn all over. It was a disaster, takeout containers layering the kitchen counters as trash piled up on the floor.
He opened the freezer door, ignoring the growl of his empty stomach as he reached for the bottle of Grey Goose vodka he had stashed there. Popping the top off, he brought it to his lips and took a swig, savoring the burn as it coated his throat. He needed it, hoping the alcohol would numb his body and clear his mind of what he saw that night. He wished it would kill the ache that had resided in him for what felt like forever, but he knew deep down nothing would make that go away. Part of him was missing, a gaping hole where his heart had once been. It was the part he had left behind with her, the part she carried with her wherever she went.
Charlotte? he wondered. Was she living with Dia? What was she doing with her time? The questions nagged him night after night, but he kept them to himself. Where Haven went and what she did was her business. He had no right to ask anymore. He had given that up when he walked away.
* * *
The crimson flower design stood out strikingly against the gold background of the massive banner. Haven stood on the sidewalk below it, staring up at it, fascinated by the way it swayed in the gentle breeze.
SVA, the logo said. School of Visual Arts. According to Corrado, it was one of the best art schools in the country. Haven had never heard of it, but that wasn’t surprising—she only vaguely knew about New York City itself.
It’s the largest city in the United States, she silently reminded herself. It’s the city that never sleeps. It was the first place she thought of when contemplating leaving Charlotte. If she had to go elsewhere, she thought it should be there. After all, Carmine had said it was where people followed their dreams.
And dreams, at that moment, were all she had anymore.
The crowd moved around her as she stood in the way, but she couldn’t tear her eyes off the school banner. Half of it was out of admiration, the other half sheer terror, because looking away from it meant having to look somewhere else.
Haven had gotten used to being around others over time, slowly adapting to living in society, but the atmosphere in the city intimidated her. She had encountered more people the past twenty-four hours than she had seen her whole life before then. People were everywhere—walking, running, riding, driving—a continuous flow of bodies rushing past her like a fast-moving river. And she could do nothing but stand still in the center, hoping with everything inside of her that it didn’t sweep her away.
She said she could do it, that she was sure, but doubt crept in further the longer she stood there. The noise, the lights, the smells . . . her senses were on overload as she tried to take it all in.
Corrado stepped out of the building in front of her, a folder of papers tucked under his arm. He forced his way through the crowd and stopped in front of her, his presence drawing her attention. “You’re enrolled for the fall.”