“Yes, you see, there’s no such thing as coincidence. There are no accidents in life. Everything that happens is the result of a calculated move that leads us to where we are. And where we are, Kelsey, is right here in this apartment, having this conversation that never happened. Capisce?”
She nodded slowly. “Yes.”
“Good.” Corrado started for the door. “Haven, Carmine, we’ll leave in the morning. I have one more loose end to tie up tonight.”
* * *
The construction site stood still at near midnight, the equipment switched off hours earlier. There was no drilling, no shouting, no sawing—not even the hum of the generator echoed through the lot. It appeared abandoned, but a sliver of light shining from a window of the small trailer indicated otherwise.
Corrado quietly slid through the lot under the cloak of darkness, avoiding going near the motion-sensor security lights that aligned the place so not to draw any unnecessary attention. He headed to the trailer, walking swiftly yet silently, and gripped the door with his glove-clad hand. It was unlocked and gave no resistance when he pulled on it, opening right away.
Gavin sat hunched over at a small desk along the side, facing away from the door. His spine straightened when Corrado stepped inside, his shoulders tense and body rigid, but he didn’t turn around to look. His focus remained on the notebooks scattered in front of him, illuminated by a dim lamp on the corner of the desk. Lines and columns of names and numbers filled the notebook pages, various statistics written down as probabilities were worked out in the margins like elaborate algebra problems. To a naïve person it might have looked like he was a student studying diligently for an arithmetic exam, but Corrado wasn’t naïve . . . nor was he ignorant.
“You should never sit with your back to a door,” Corrado said. “Didn’t your father teach you that?”
“My father taught me a lot,” Gavin replied coolly. “One of the biggest things he taught me is that if Corrado Moretti shows up at your door, you’re about to have a really bad day.”
The corner of Corrado’s lips twitched. “It’s good to see you, too.”
Gavin’s shoulders relaxed a slight bit as he slowly turned around to look at him, his expression guarded. Corrado couldn’t blame the boy for being on edge.
“Did you need something?” Gavin asked tentatively. “I’m just going through the neighborhood books, but if you need me to do something . . .”
“No, quite the opposite, actually,” Corrado replied. “I stopped by to tell you your services were no longer needed.”
Corrado reached into his coat swiftly and Gavin tensed once more, pushing his chair back against the desk as far as it would go. Fear shone from his eyes as he braced himself for something that never came. Corrado merely pulled out a thick envelope and held it up. “What’s the matter? Did you think I was here to kill you?”
Gavin answered at once. “No.”
Knowing it was a lie, Corrado let out a sharp laugh as he tossed the envelope down on the desk, on top of one of the notebooks. “You haven’t done anything that warrants death . . . that I know of. But I appreciate your help and wanted to give you a little something to express my gratitude.”
Hesitantly, Gavin reached for the envelope and glanced inside. In it, wrapped together, was ten thousand dollars in crisp, new one hundred dollar bills. Gavin blinked rapidly as he skimmed through the cash but said nothing. Corrado had commissioned him months ago to keep an eye on Haven. Gavin had kept her safe during his absence, even periodically sending coded messages to the jail to update him.
“That’s all I came for,” Corrado said. “I’ll let you get back to your books.”
He reached for the door to leave when Gavin jumped up from his seat, clutching the envelope. “Wait.”
Corrado turned back around. “What?”
Gavin shook his head as he stepped forward. “I can’t take this. I know it was supposed to be a job, that I was supposed to keep an eye on her for you, but it doesn’t feel that way. It feels wrong to take your money. It feels . . . dishonest.”
Corrado raised his eyebrows. “That’s an awful lot of feeling, Amaro. Your father also should’ve taught you there’s no place for emotions in this life.”
“I know that,” he said, “but she’s not really a part of this life. I know you said she’s important to your family, but she’s just a girl . . . a regular girl. Being with her wasn’t work. It was kind of nice. And my father . . . well . . . one thing he did teach me was you don’t rob a friend. And taking this feels a hell of a lot like stealing.”
Corrado took the envelope and slipped it back into his coat with a shake of his head. “How did she get to you?”
“Huh?”
“I’m just curious how she won you over,” he replied. “How she got under your skin and made it worth risking offending me by refusing my money.”
Gavin sighed, his eyes drifting across the room to where a small white kitten lay, fast asleep in the corner. “Honestly? I don’t know how it happened.”
Corrado stared at him for a moment before turning to leave. “They never do.”
44
Carmine stood quietly near the doorway of the art studio, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. The large room looked almost like a warehouse, everything painted off-white except for the dark concrete floor. Bright fluorescent lights hung from the ceiling, illuminating the dozens of colorful paintings on display around the room. The artwork shone prominently, begging for attention, but nothing stood out more than the scene in the middle of the room.