by JM Darhower
He ran his hand through his messy hair, having not bothered to brush it yet. “What’s up?”
“Nothing.” She glanced around cautiously. “Is there something I should be doing?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. You tell me.”
“Are you hungry? I could make you some food.”
“No.”
“Do you need laundry done?”
“No.”
“I’ve cleaned,” she said. “I don’t think I’ve forgotten anything.”
“I wasn’t implying you did. I was making conversation.”
“Oh.”
She continued to stand there, looking at him with apprehension. For a brief moment, as the tension mounted, he regretted getting out of bed. “Look, let’s watch a movie or something.”
She seemed startled by his suggestion. “Okay.”
“Is that an, ‘okay, I really wanna watch a movie with you, Carmine,’ or is it an, ‘okay, I’ll do whatever the fuck you say because I think I have to?’ Because you can disagree with me, you know. I’m not gonna punish you or hit you or any of that shit. You can even yell at me if it’ll make you feel better. I mean, I’ll probably yell back, but I’m not gonna get physical. So feel free to tell me to fuck off if you want me to fuck off, but don’t just say ‘okay’, because I don’t know what you mean by it.”
“Okay.”
He shook his head—they were getting nowhere. “I’m gonna sit my ass down on the couch. Whether or not you join me is up to you.”
He headed for the family room when she spoke again. “Do you want something to drink?”
His footsteps stalled. “Uh, sure.”
“What do you want?”
“Just a Cherry Coke will be fine.”
“Cherry Coke?”
Sighing, he ran his hands down his face in frustration. It was too early in his day for this. “Yeah, you know, it’s cherry-flavored Coke. Hence the name, Cherry Coke.”
She nodded and slipped into the kitchen. Carmine went to the family room and turned on a movie. It was still for a few minutes before he saw movement from the corner of his eye. Haven stopped in front of him, purposely avoiding his gaze as she held out a glass of soda. He took it as she sat down beside him, keeping a bit of distance between them.
He surveyed the drink with confusion, wondering why she hadn’t just brought him the can, when he caught sight of the cherries floating in the glass. He took a sip of it, realizing she’d made him a Cherry Coke.
Dazed, he couldn’t find the words to tell her what that meant. His mom used to make them for him when he was a kid. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Haven watched the movie intently, pulling her feet up on the couch with her head cocked to the side.
“Have you seen this?” Carmine asked. She just looked at him like it was a dumb question. “You’ve spent some time with my brother, so I don’t know if you watched it him.”
“I haven't watched anything with him,” she said. “This is the first time I’ve ever been invited to watch television.”
His brow furrowed. “You don’t watch TV?”
“No, I wasn’t allowed, but I used to listen to the news.”
“How the hell did you pass the time? Reading?”
“I wasn’t allowed to do that, either. They didn’t think it was appropriate for me to learn how to read.”
He gaped at her. “Teachers constantly shove books down my throat, and you had people telling you reading was inappropriate? That makes no sense.”
She smiled sadly. “They didn't want me to get any ideas.”
“Ideas? How much harm could a book do?”
“A lot,” she said. “They thought I'd get it in my head that the outside world was somewhere I belonged.”
“The outside world? You make it sound like you were living in a different universe there.”
She shrugged, her attention still fixed on the TV. “Sometimes it feels like it.”
* * * *
The 45-foot white Riviera yacht floated on Lake Michigan, just east of the vacant Navy Pier. The glow from the moon reflecting off of the calm waters gave Vincent enough light to see. Nothing but blackness was visible below the surface, but he’d had been around long enough to know what was down there. Algae. Mussels. Fish. Shipwrecks. Sunken cars. Bodies.
Yes, he was aware of four people who lay at the bottom of the lake… or what was left of them, anyway. They’d been tossed in right where he stood, from the back of the hull of The Federica. The words were etched in black on the stern, named after the Don’s long-dead sister. The half-million dollar yacht was Sal’s, although as far as the government knew it belonged to Galaxy Corp, a company out of Chicago that manufactured GPS chips. It was a cover for his more shady business practices, most of his real estate and extravagant possessions written off as company property. That way, if the IRS came knocking, he wouldn’t have to explain how he could afford such nice things. He was simply borrowing them.
Tax evasion—Vincent almost admired how Salvatore made manipulation an art.
A throat cleared behind Vincent. He remained still, staring out at the water as Sal approached. “Motion sickness?”
Vincent wished that was his problem. “No, just enjoying the view.”
“It’s quite nice out here, isn’t it? Peaceful.”
He nodded. Peace wasn’t something he got to experience often, and now that he’d been interrupted, he’d lost it once again.
Sal clapped him on the shoulder. “Come inside. Our guest is waiting. I’d like to get this over with and get back to land.”
Vincent begrudgingly followed Sal, seeing the two men sitting on the black leather couch as soon as he stepped into the yacht. One he was well acquainted with—his brother-in-law Corrado.
Corrado was a man of few words, his silence often speaking volumes. Mezza parola, they called it. Half-word. He could hold an entire conversation with nothing more than a nod of his head.
A few years older than Vincent, Corrado’s thick, dark hair showed no sign of gray. It had a slight curl to it that gave him a boyish look. He was sturdy, lightly tanned and statuesque. Women tended to find him attractive, but he’d never shown any interest in any of them except for Celia. Corrado’s mind was always on business, and nothing ever slipped past him.
Despite the fact that they were family, the sight of him put Vincent on edge. Corrado’s presence meant something was terribly wrong, but the boy beside him hadn’t been around long enough to learn that. He thought he’d been invited tonight to be inducted, but that couldn’t be further from the truth.
The boy was jittery, and the doctor in Vincent surmised that he was on something. Cocaine, he thought, but it wouldn’t surprise him if it were meth. He’d seen too much in his life to be surprised by anything anymore.
Salvatore looked at the boy. “You’ve been doing things for me for how long now?”
“A year.” Excitement radiated from his words, pride for the work he’d done. He wasn’t much older than Vincent’s children, which meant he’d gotten involved the moment he turned eighteen. Dumb young Turks.
“A year,” Salvatore repeated. “From what your Capo says, you’ve pulled in quite a bit of money for us… more so than a lot of the guys working out on the streets.”
“Yeah, man. Just doin’ my part, ya know? Gotta make that paper.”
From the corner of his eye, Vincent saw Corrado grimace.
“I also heard you’ve been asking about getting more responsibility,” Salvatore said. “You think you have what it takes to join our ranks? You think you’ve earned your button?”
“Hell yeah,” the boy said. “I’ve been ready since I was born.”
Salvatore pulled out a bottle of scotch, pouring four glasses. Vincent stood back, swirling his in the glass as the rest of them drank heartily. There was laughter and music as time wore on, and Vincent listened as the boy bragged about the jobs he’d done. Hijackings and robberies, shake-downs
and gambles, but never once did he mention where the bulk of his cash came from.
“Drugs,” Vincent said, interrupting. He was tired of the charade and ready to leave. “You forgot about the drugs.”
The boy blanched. Even working at such low ranks, he knew Cosa Nostra’s policy: Don’t get caught. Ever. “What drugs?”
“The drugs you’ve been selling out of your house,” Vincent said. “We have an insider who says the police have already caught wind of the location.”
“I, uh… I haven’t…”
He didn’t have time to try to come up with an excuse. Corrado reached into his suit coat and pulled out his gun, pointing it at the side of the boy’s head. Vincent looked away as Corrado pulled the trigger, the silencer muffling the sound of gunfire as the bullet tore through his skull. The room was void of emotion, no one reacting as Corrado returned his gun to his coat. Sickness stirred within Vincent, and the moment he saw the dead kid’s frozen expression of fear, he lost his hold on himself. He bolted from the room, running to the deck and throwing up over the side of the yacht.
Sal joined him after a moment, eyeing him strangely, and Vincent sighed. “I guess the motion sickness got me, after all.”
Corrado dragged the body up on deck, wrapping it in a tarp and heavy chains before tossing it overboard. Vincent watched as the boy sank, disappearing into the blackness of the water.
Make that five people he knew of on the bottom of the lake.
Chapter 7
The moment Haven opened her eyes the following Saturday morning, she knew something was wrong. Her head was thumping, and her throat burned as she swallowed back bile. Sickness rushed through her like a waterfall, and she jumped out of bed, running for the bathroom. She collapsed in front of the toilet just in time.
An hour passed before she was well enough to get to her feet. She was a mess, her clothes wrinkled and hair disheveled as she made her way downstairs. On the second floor, she came face-to-face with Carmine and a girl with wildly colored hair. “Haven, this is Dia.”
Haven’s voice was strained. “It’s nice to meet you.”
She’d seen Carmine a few times the past week. She could never tell what he was thinking, his expression curious as he gazed at her. The attention caused her heart to swell with that unknown sensation, one she was still too afraid to confront or name.
Bolting from them, she almost fell down the steps in haste as she went straight for the kitchen. She tried to calm her racing heart as she washed a few dishes, but an unexpected voice from the doorway only startled her more. “Hey!”
The glass she was holding slipped from her hand as she turned around. “Uh, hello.”
Dia raised her eyebrows. “Are you okay?”
Haven stared at her. Of course she wasn’t okay. She was all alone and missing her mama, so confused and emotionally spent that she didn’t know which way was up anymore.
“I’m okay,” she whispered, looking away from Dia. She took a few deep breaths, feeling sick again, and headed for the stairs without another word. Breathing heavily, she had to pause when she reached the top of the staircase. Her vision blurred, her chest burning as she lost her breath. Everything grew hazy, and she heard footsteps behind her as her legs gave out.
Collapsing, her head slammed into the wall as her body hit the floor with a thump, the sound of a freight train rushing through her ears before it all disappeared.
“Haven?”
The familiar voice was incredibly close. Haven pried her eyes open at the sound and could make out the set of green eyes hovering in front of her. She blinked a few times as Carmine backed away. “Maledicalo! You can’t do that to me!”
Confused, her vision blurred again from tears. “What?”
“You can’t pass out like that,” Carmine said. “You looked like you were dead. Christ, I thought you were dead!”
“Oh.” She fainted?
“Dom called my father to come check you out. You hit your head pretty hard. You have a bump.”
He brushed his hand across her forehead, his fingertips cool against her feverish skin. He spoke, his voice so soft she barely heard it. “Bella ragazza, you scared the shit outta me.”
She gazed at him. “What does that mean?”
“What does what mean?”
“What you just said.”
Carmine sighed. “I said you scared me.”
She could tell he was intentionally being evasive. They sat in silence for a moment, Carmine stroking her cheek with the back of his hand as he stared into her eyes. It was uncomfortable, but she couldn’t seem to break from his gaze.
“I’m sorry this happened,” she said. “Especially when your girlfriend’s visiting.”
His brow furrowed briefly before he laughed. “I don’t have a girlfriend, but if I did, it definitely wouldn't be Dia. I have the wrong equipment for her.”
Haven wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but Carmine didn’t take the time to explain it to her.
She felt her cheeks reddening from the intensity of his stare, but before she could get her thoughts in order, Dominic’s voice rang out. “Colpo di fulmine.”
They both jumped, glancing toward the doorway, and Carmine pulled his hand away from Haven. “What?”
“Colpo di fulmine,” Dominic said again, a slow grin spreading across his face. “I don’t know why I didn’t see it hit earlier.”
Carmine’s expression shifted. His eyes narrowed and brow creased as he shook his head. “No fucking way.”
“Yep,” Dominic said. “Kaboom!”
Carmine jumped up and stormed from the room as Dominic laughed. He took a seat on the bed, looking at Haven with a smile. “That brother of mine is always full of surprises.”
After a few minutes, Dr. DeMarco appeared. “Do you know what Carmine’s problem is? He nearly ran me over in the driveway.”
“No clue,” Dominic said. “Maybe he’s late for something.”
“He’s still grounded, so he shouldn’t be going anywhere,” Dr. DeMarco said as he sat down on the other side of Haven’s bed. “I heard you gave the kids a scare. Are you feeling any better?”
“A little bit.”
He grabbed her wrist and checked her pulse. “You were kept so isolated growing up that your immune system isn’t as strong as most others. You’ve picked up a virus somewhere, so just take it easy for a while. You’ll be fine.”
* * * *
Colpo di fulmine. The thunderbolt, as Italians call it. When love strikes someone like lightning, so powerful and intense it can’t be denied. It’s beautiful and messy, cracking a chest open and spilling their soul out for the world to see. It turns a person inside out, and there’s no going back from it. Once the thunderbolt hits, your life is irrevocably changed.
Carmine never believed in any of it. Colpo di fulmine, love at first sight, soul mates… he thought it was all bullshit. Love was just people deluded by lust, pussy blinding men from using their common sense. His father used to talk about loving his mom so much it hurt, but Carmine always believed he’d been exaggerating.
He still wanted to think that. He wanted to deny it existed. But there was a twinge of something deep inside of him, past the thick steel-reinforced, Kevlar coated, barbed-wire fence surrounding his heart, that suggested otherwise. And the moment he saw Haven’s limp body laying on the floor, he nearly started hyperventilating. This peculiar girl had come out of nowhere, and he was afraid she was going to leave as quickly as she’d appeared. That she’d vanish from his life without a trace before he had a chance to know her.
His chest ached at that thought, his insides on fire, and the girl who caused it was oblivious to it all.
In other words, Carmine thought, he was royally fucked.
Carmine drove to the next town, scrounging up enough change in his car to buy a cheap fifth of vodka at the liquor store with his fake ID. He pulled over alongside the road and drank alone in the darkness until his mind was fuzzy and he felt nothing anymore.
> He passed out eventually and awoke the next morning, his head pounding viciously as he glanced at his watch. Realizing he was already late for school, he threw on his sunglasses and drove home doing the speed limit for the first time in his life. The last thing he needed was to get pulled over, since it was likely there was still alcohol coursing through his veins. He was sure his father wouldn’t be too thrilled to have to post bail in the middle of the afternoon because his seventeen-year-old son was driving under the influence.
He was sure the cops wouldn’t be happy about the loaded Colt .45 pistol concealed under the driver’s seat with the serial number scratched off, either.
Carmine checked his phone on the drive home, finding a dozen missed calls. He deleted the voicemails without listening to them, terrified of what he’d hear. There was no way he could avoid Haven, because it hadn’t worked thus far, so he decided he’d be her friend. They could be friends. He’d keep his feelings under control, and no one would know any better.
But the moment Carmine walked into the house, he knew he was fooling himself. Haven was asleep on the couch in the family room, and he felt that twisting inside of him at the sight of her. She had goose bumps on her arms so he grabbed a blanket from the closet and carefully covered her up.
He showered before grabbing some crackers from the kitchen to put something in his stomach, and he was heading back toward the family room when he heard her voice. “Carmine.”
He turned to her, running his hand through his damp hair as their eyes met. She looked at him imploringly, and it was an invitation he couldn’t refuse. He took a seat beside her. “You’re looking better today.”
“I feel better,” she said. “Aren’t you supposed to be in school?”
“Yeah, but I’m not really known for doing what I’m supposed to do.”
She smiled. “Rebel.”
He was surprised at how relaxed things were between them. He expected tension.
Haven was quiet for a bit. Carmine looked at her, realizing she was staring at the tattoo on his chest. “Time heals all wounds.”
