The priest shook his head. “I thought Vincenzo was joking.”
Carmine’s expression fell at the sound of his father’s name. He could only gape at the man in shock.
“He truly did a terrible job painting it,” Father Alberto continued, “but I commend him for doing it, nonetheless.”
“You know my father?”
“Of course I do,” the priest said. “It’s no coincidence you ended up on my front steps tonight, son.”
Carmine shook his head. What was this, a goddamn intervention?
“Merry Christmas.” The priest smiled, waving good-bye. “And for the record, I’ve always suspected Corrado had a sense of humor, too.”
26
Christmas on the Upper East Side turned out to be a more formal affair than Haven anticipated. No gifts were exchanged in the morning, no stories shared in the afternoon. At precisely three o’clock they all gathered in the large dining room, the four of them sitting at a table fit for a dozen. The staff served the meal, quietly and swiftly fixing each of them a plate before disappearing from the room.
Haven stared down at her food as the others started eating, her stomach in tight knots. Those people, the servants—didn’t they have families? Why were they working there on Christmas?
Thoughts of the worst kind infiltrated her mind. They couldn’t be, could they? A senator, a man of the law, wouldn’t keep slaves in his home.
Would he?
The possible answer to that terrified Haven.
“So, Hayden . . .”
Haven looked up from her plate, turning to Kelsey’s mother, Anita, down the table from her. Anita wore her dark hair in a tight bun on top of her head, a long string of pearls draped around her neck. She sipped from a glass of white wine that she had already refilled twice since they sat down.
“Yes, ma’am?”
“Tell me about your family.”
Haven stared at her. “My family?”
“Yes, your family. I’d like to know why you’re not with them on Christmas.”
“Mother . . .” Kelsey hissed through clenched teeth at the same time her father muttered, “Anita, please.”
“Relax, I’m merely curious,” she said, waving them both off as she eyed Haven. “So, your family?”
“Well, uh . . . I don’t really have one,” she replied. “My parents are both gone.”
“An orphan?” Anita gasped loudly, leaning closer to the table. “How tragic! How did they die?”
“Car accident,” she answered right away, swallowing back the harsh truth that the only parent she really ever had took her own life to free herself from restraints . . . restraints put on her by the man who was supposed to be her father.
“So sad,” Anita said. “What about your other family members? Brothers? Cousins? Uncles? Aunts? Do you have anybody?”
“That’s enough, Anita,” Cain said, his voice firm. “Drop it.”
“Oh, get off it,” Anita said as she took a sip of her drink. “You can’t tell me you’re not curious why a young girl has no place to go on Christmas.”
“She has someplace to go,” Cain countered. “She’s here, isn’t she?”
Anita scoffed. “Please, Cain. Nobody actually wants to be here. Not even our own daughter wants to be in this house.”
“That’s because you always give everyone the third degree,” he said. “I don’t even want to come here half the time because of your interrogations.”