After her breathing was under control, she opened her eyes again and wiped the tears from her cheeks. Grabbing the small black cell phone, she dialed the Chicago number and listened as it rang. “Corrado Moretti. Leave a message.”
Haven pushed back the nerves that always accompanied the call. The words escaped her lips, the burn in her chest dulling as another sensation settled in. Through the shock, through the horror and fear, she felt the resolve.
“I’m coming to Chicago.”
* * *
Haven left her apartment under the cloak of darkness, taking only a small bag of clothes. She locked up before making her way down the block to the nearest parking garage, taking the elevator up to the third tier. She spotted the black Mazda parked precisely where she had left it almost a year before. The thick layer of dirt and dust covering the paint concealed the scratches still adorning the top.
It took nearly every penny she had in her pocket to pay the parking fees and fill up the gas tank for her trip.
Her heart ached as she drove out of the city, thoughts of Dr. DeMarco infiltrating her mind. Unlike so many times before, when the incident where he had punished her would spring to mind, all she could think about were the good moments: the time he had given her the picture of her mother, the holidays, the sound of his laughter, and the look of pride on his face when Dominic graduated. She thought about the food he had given her and how he had handed over his keys so she could learn to drive. He hadn’t even been angry when it was returned with a scratch.
It seemed as if more than a year’s worth of memories flooded Haven, and with them came the tears. Dominic’s words ran through her mind, ones he had spoken down by the river in Durante.
“I already lost my mom to this life,” he’d said. “I don’t want to lose him, too.”
Dominic had made Haven see that it was okay to want more in life. He had helped her face her worst fear. It was only fair she would be there to help him face his.
39
Haven sat in the car along the curb, her stomach churning as she stared at the blue door of the old house. She had only seen it once before, sitting on the bottom step with Carmine by her side. More than a year had somehow passed since that day . . . more than a year since she had laid eyes on him. She wondered if he would be happy to see her, or if he would be angry she came.
So many scenarios flooded her mind as she got out of the car and made her way across the street. She tried to push back her anxiety as she stepped on the porch, but before she could even knock her name was called from down the street. Her vision blurred, her heart rate skyrocketing as she turned around, watching Corrado’s leisurely approach. “Sir.”
“I’m glad to see you’re well.” He eyed her intently, a serious expression hardening his face. Haven immediately grew paranoid, wondering if it was wrong for her to be there.
Panic crept through her at the prospect that she could be in danger. “I didn’t know if I should come.”
“It was nice of you to show up,” he said as he stepped closer. “I apologize for not calling. By the time I had a chance, you’d informed me of your intention to come, so I assumed someone else told you.”
“I saw it on the news,” she said quietly. “They said there was a massacre.”
Corrado scoffed at the word. “It was hardly a massacre. If it was, no one would’ve survived, but Carmine and I walked away.”
“Carmine?” she gasped, horrified. “He was there?”
“Yes,” Corrado said. “And as you can probably guess, he isn’t taking it very well. After Maura’s murder, he didn’t speak to anybody for a long time. It seems he’s dealing with his father’s death the same way.”
“Oh God.” The burn flared in her chest as her eyes filled with tears. “He saw them both die.”
“He did.”
“Is he, uh . . . ?” She motioned toward the door behind her. “Is he home?”
Corrado shook his head. “He’s already gone to the service with my wife.”
“Oh.”
“You’re welcome to join me,” Corrado said. “I’m waiting on the car service to pick me up. Plenty of time to meet them at the cemetery.”
Haven looked down at herself, eyeing her wrinkled shirt and dirty jeans. She had had them on since yesterday morning, having not taken the time to change before leaving. “I don’t really have anything with me to wear.”
“God doesn’t care what you wear, Haven,” Corrado said. “It wouldn’t matter to Vincent, either. But if it would make you feel better, I’m sure there’s something in my wife’s closet that would suffice.”
“Oh no, I couldn’t.” Haven furiously shook her head. “I couldn’t impose like that.”
Corrado let out a sharp bark of laughter. “As much as I’ve already done, a change of clothes is hardly an imposition.”