by JM Darhower
Her eyes shot to his. “What?”
“My tattoo, ‘il tempo guarisce tutti i mali.’ It means ‘time heals all wounds’ in Italian.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean to stare. I was just curious about them.”
“It’s fine. The one on my arm is a cross draped in the Italian flag, and ‘fiducia nessuno’ is on my wrist. It's usually covered.”
He pulled off his watch and turned his arm over so she could see the words scrawled across the veins in small script. She lightly traced the ink with her fingertips. Tingling shot up his arm from her touch, and he closed his eyes briefly at the sensation.
“What does it mean?”
He pulled his arm away and put the watch on. “Trust no one.”
“Did they hurt?”
He shrugged. “I’ve felt worse pain.”
Images flashed in his mind at those words, and he absent-mindedly reached down to rub the scar on his side. He nearly got lost in the memory but was brought back to reality when he heard a rumbling sound. He looked at Haven, realizing it was her stomach. “Do you ever eat?”
She nodded. “Every night.”
“Really? You never eat with us.”
She hesitated. “Master Michael said someone like me shouldn’t sleep in the same house as someone like you, much less sit at the same dinner table at night.”
“Christ, they did a job on you in California. Were you always with the Michael prick?”
“He was always around, but he didn’t become my master until his parents died.”
“Were his parents just as bad?”
“No. Frankie liked to scare me, but he didn’t hit much, and Miss Monica sometimes played with me. Michael ignored me a lot at first. It only got worse a few months ago when my mistress realized…”
He glanced at her when she trailed off. “Realized what?”
“Where I came from.”
“California?”
“No, I mean that I came from Master Michael. He made me.”
Carmine’s eyes widened. “Your master was your father?”
She picked at her fingernails, shamefaced. “He didn’t mean to be. He said I was a mistake.”
Her own flesh and blood. “That’s just wrong. Your family? They should’ve treated you better.”
She sighed. “I think they believed they were being fair by letting me live.”
Chapter 8
The house was dark except for the faint glow of light from the window in the family room. Carmine sat at the piano, slumped forward as he stared down at the keys. Haven stood in the doorway to the room, her body rigid as she watched him. Restless and exhausted, she’d been too anxious to sleep. For the first time since coming to Durante, there hadn’t been any music last night.
Carmine’s posture told her something was wrong, and she felt like she was intruding on a moment. It was something she wasn’t supposed to see. Something sacred. Something intimate.
He laced his fingers through his hair as he dropped his head down even further. His body trembled, and Haven’s chest tightened as a sob escaped Carmine’s throat. A sinking feeling settled in the pit of her stomach at the sound of his soft cries.
Holding her breath, she took a step back. She treaded lightly as she started for the steps, relieved to reach her room undetected. Confusion nagged at her. She didn’t know what she felt for Carmine, what those feelings were that flowed through her, but she did know seeing him in pain upset her. That was frightening, because his family held her life in their hands. Vulnerability would get her hurt.
Only when she heard Carmine come upstairs did Haven have the courage to head back down. She was standing in the kitchen, unsure of what to do with herself, when Dominic strolled in.
“Are you hungry?” she asked him.
He shrugged. “Sure.”
Although Dominic didn’t seem chipper, there was no sign of distress to his voice. She told herself that as she pushed back her nerves and whipped up a batch of pancakes. The food was finishing when Carmine appeared. He opened the refrigerator and grabbed the jug of orange juice, brushing past her to get a glass.
“Smells good,” he said quietly. There was no spark to his words, none of that passion Haven was used to hearing. He looked weary, and she fought the urge to try to smooth away the bags under his eyes.
“I can make you some,” she offered.
“You don’t have to do that.”
She forced a smile, despite the fact that the atmosphere scared her. “I really don't mind.”
He nodded, his gaze lingering on her for a moment.
Once the boys were eating, Haven cleaned up. She started some coffee, knowing Dr. DeMarco drank a whole pot of it every morning. It was brewing when he walked in, his footsteps faltering about a foot away. He stared at the pot for a moment before turning to her, his tone accusatory. “You made coffee.”
“Yes, sir,” she said. “I made breakfast, too. Are you hungry?”
He ignored her question. “I’ll be home today. Don't bother me unless it’s an emergency.”
“Yes, sir.”
He turned and walked out without pouring himself any coffee.
The boys put their plates in the sink when they were finished, and Carmine hesitated in the kitchen. “Stay out of my father’s way today.”
It sounded like a warning. “I will.”
He stared at her for a moment as if he was going to say something else, but he just shook his head and walked out.
* * * *
Besides a load of Dr. DeMarco’s laundry, there wasn’t much work to be done. By noon, she was finished and lugging his hamper upstairs. Carmine’s words lingered in her mind, and she planned to hide for a while as soon as his clothes were put away.
Dr. DeMarco left his door open for her the days she was supposed to clean in there. He still hadn’t given her a code to open anything, so she just followed his lead. She pulled the hamper inside the room, feeling strange to be in there with him at home. It made her stomach churn, and she wanted out of the room as quickly as possible.
Opening the top drawer, her movements halted when she saw the silver gun lying across the clothes. She picked it up by the handle to move it out of her way. It was heavier than she expected.
The sound of a door captured her attention, and her head snapped in the direction of the noise. Dr. DeMarco stood just inside the room, having shut them in together. Intense fear ripped through her at his expression. His face was a mask of calm, but his eyes glowed with rage.
She dropped the gun as a reflex, and it landed on top of the dresser with a loud thump. The fire in Dr. DeMarco’s eyes sparked even more at the sound, and he reached behind him, so careful and deliberate it was almost in slow motion. He grabbed the deadbolt and turned it smoothly. Haven’s heart raced as the click of the lock echoed through the room.
She knew it then. She’d made a grave mistake.
She’d never seen him look like this, his eyes darkening like a tornado in the distance, tumultuous and clouded. There was a spark of unpredictable evil lurking beneath. Staring at him, Haven finally saw a glimpse of Vincent DeMarco. The mobster. The monster.
He took a step forward. Instinctively, Haven stepped back. She’d never been more afraid of him as she was at that moment. She didn’t know the man in front of her at all.
She backed up against the wall, realizing there was nowhere for her to go. Dr. DeMarco stopped in front of the dresser and carefully picked up the gun. He eyed it for a moment, and Haven silently prayed it hadn’t been harmed.
“Guns are beautiful things. So powerful.” He reached into the dresser drawer and pulled out a gold bullet. “It's fascinating how much devastation something so small can cause.”
The detachment in his voice frightened Haven even more. Her legs shook as she stood against the wall, her body violently trembling.
He glanced at her. “Do you know anything about guns?”
She tried to sound strong, but her voice shook just as much as the rest of
her. “No, sir.”
He returned the bullet and shut the drawer, staring at the weapon. “This is a Smith & Wesson 627 Revolver. .357 magnum, eight shots, hollow-point bullets. I have plenty of guns, but this has always been my favorite. It has never let me down.” He paused. “Except once.”
Turning, he raised the gun and pointed it at Haven. Closing the distance between them, he thrust the muzzle in the center of her throat. She gasped as the force cut off her air flow. “Just a flick of my finger on the trigger can blow a hole through your neck, obliterating your trachea and larynx. You’d die without a doubt. If you’re lucky, it might even be quick, but there are no guarantees. Most likely, you’d be unable to speak or breathe but be capable of feeling everything until you suffocated to death. That could take so long that you might bleed out first, but you never know at point-blank range. The bullet could even rip through you with enough force to sever your head. Literally, blow your head off.”
He pulled away a bit, letting her take a deep breath, before pressing the gun to her throat again. Her chest felt like it was going to burst as he spoke. “Shall we see what happens if I pull the trigger? I think we will.”
She tried to cry out as she braced herself for the pain. It was the end. She was going to die. She squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the explosion, and jumped when there was just a loud click. The pressure against her neck disappeared. She collapsed to the ground in sobs, unable to stand on her feet.
“Look at me,” he demanded. “You’re lucky it wasn’t loaded, or you'd be dead already. Understand?”
She nodded frantically, hyperventilating.
“Good. Now go to your room for your punishment. It’s time you learn what happens when people forget their place.”
Dr. DeMarco unlocked the door and walked out with the gun. His words bounced around her frightened mind. Images hit her, flashes of dead eyes gnawing at her aching chest. That’s what happens when people forget their place.
Death happened. Number 33 happened. Frankie told her to remember, and she was sure she'd never forget. How could she?
She pulled herself up on shaky legs and made her way to the third floor. There was a brief moment where part of her screamed it was a mistake, but all logic was overridden by her fear. Bolting straight for Carmine’s room, Haven tore open the window and climbed through it. Running along the balcony, she held her breath and forced herself not to look down as she scampered into the tree and shimmied down to the yard.
The moment her feet hit the ground, she ran. Trees and brush scratched her limbs as she navigated the dense forest, knowing it was too dangerous to take the main road. She moved as fast as her legs would carry her, having no sense of direction as she once again ran for her life. Her body trembled, her breathing labored. All she knew was she wasn’t ready to die.
Eventually, the forest started to thin. Haven heard the sounds of cars just beyond the trees and turned in that direction, shoving branches out of her way. Hope washed through her when she reached the tree line, but the feeling disintegrated as soon as she broke through to the road. The squeal of tires made her stop in her tracks. She turned toward the noise, gasping when she saw the familiar black car. She started backing away, crying and shaking her head, but it was too late.
Dr. DeMarco grabbed a hold of her, dragging her toward the car. She started begging him when she saw the open trunk, but he ignored her. He picked Haven up without much effort, throwing her in the back with no regard. She started at him, horrified, and his dark eyes bore into her for a moment before he slammed the trunk.
Haven flinched at the sound as she was encased in darkness.
She could hear the slam of the door as he got into the car, and he accelerated right away. The force sent her flying into the side of the trunk, her head slamming against it. Sobbing, she frantically felt around for some way out. A small light came on whenever he hit the brakes, illuminating the trunk enough for her to faintly see.
She found a small lever and pulled it, stunned when the trunk popped open. She was jolted again as Dr. DeMarco slammed the brakes, but she managed to climb out quickly. Her feet moved on their own again, carrying her a few feet down the highway before she was seized from behind. An arm circled her throat as a hand roughly pressed against her head. She flailed around, but his hold was too strong.
In a matter of seconds, her vision started to fade.
* * * *
When Haven regained consciousness, she was back in her bedroom at the house. She noticed Dr. DeMarco standing a few feet away and tried to shift position, realizing she was bound to the post of the bed. She let out a sob as reality slammed into her, but Dr. DeMarco raised his hand to silence her cries. “Where did you think you were going?”
“I, uh… I don’t know.”
“Did you really think you could get away? Didn’t you learn your lesson last time you tried to run?”
She stammered, but he didn’t wait for her to actually respond.
“You couldn’t have honestly thought that was wise,” he said. “I’ve told you before—you can’t outsmart me.”
“I didn’t… I, uh…” Her cries muffled her words. “I don’t want to die.”
Dr. DeMarco grew rigid for a second before snatching a roll of duct tape from the table beside him. She shook her head frantically as he tore off a piece, but it didn’t deter him from covering her mouth. “I want you to think about how good you have it here,” Dr. DeMarco said. “Think about how lucky you are to still be alive.”
He walked out, and she stared at the door as it latched, leaving her all alone. That odd feeling she’d woken up with still lingered. Her biggest mistake that day, she realized, was climbing out of bed.
* * * *
Nine years. It seemed so long ago, but the time had gone by swiftly for Carmine. Nearly a decade had passed since the fateful day that changed his life—the day none of them ever talked about—and it still affected him like it had just happened. No one knew it, though. No one knew he cried, or that he still couldn’t sleep at night. No one knew, because no one cared to.
But for the first time in nine years, he wished someone did.
The moment Carmine walked in the door from school, he knew something had happened. It was a feeling in the air, a stifling silence. It was a sense of danger that made his adrenaline pump overtime, charring his nerves as it ran through his veins.
Carmine headed upstairs, looking around, and froze on the third floor when he saw his bedroom door was open. Cautiously, he approached, and he thought he was going to be sick when he stepped into the doorway. A cool breeze swept through his room, the window wide open and curtains shoved aside. His heart rate spiked, the blood rushing through his veins. This was bad. Real fucking bad.
The voice behind him was cold, detached. “How did she know?”
Carmine turned around, seeing his father near the stairs. He nonchalantly leaned against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest and his silver revolver tucked into his pants.
“How did she know what?”
“How did she know your window opened, Carmine? Because it’s my house, and I didn’t even know!”
Carmine turned back to the window. He was sure now. He was going to be sick. “What did she do?”
“She touched my gun.”
“Your gun? Where’d she get it?”
“My dresser.”
Carmine’s took a deep breath. He knew she was going to put his laundry away this morning. “What did you do to her?”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes.”
His father stared at him hard. “Why?”
Carmine blanched. Why? “Because it just does. You're a lot of things, Dad, but... Christ, this? I didn't think you were this fucked up!”
Vincent’s eyes narrowed. “Do you have something to say?”
“Yeah. Nothing's gonna bring her back.”
Vincent's calm mask slipped. “What?”
“You heard me. It’s not gonna change anythin
g! She’s still gone!”
The moment the words left his lips, Vincent snapped. He grabbed his gun and cocked it, aiming at Carmine’s head.
Carmine stood there, refusing to shy away. “You won’t shoot me. I look too much like her.”
Vincent didn’t lower the gun, but his hand shook, confirming it. He was rattled. “Stay away from the girl.”
He meant the words as a threat, but all Carmine felt was relief. Haven was still there, somewhere, and he had no intention of keeping his distance from her.
* * * *
Time went by torturously slow for Haven. Every second felt like an eternity as her muscles ached, nothing alleviating the tension.
She’d been beaten beyond recognition before, but holding her position, alone and in the dark, was the most excruciating thing she’d endured. She cried to herself until exhaustion told hold and sleep whisked her away.
Something startled her awake later, the pain explosive the moment she regained consciousness. She heard a noise across the room and her head shot up when she realized she wasn’t alone. Squinting, she faintly made out a form standing in the shadows. They took a few steps forward, her brow furrowing when she made out the sorrowful green eyes.
Carmine knelt in front of her and wiped away her tears before running his fingertips across the duct tape covering her mouth. “La mia bella ragazza, I needed to make sure you were okay. I’m so damn sorry. I tried to warn you, but he got you anyway.”
She studied him, her head tilted as if it would help her understand, and he sighed. “It’s the anniversary of, uh… fuck! Why can’t I say it? It’s the day my mom...”
He trailed off, leaving her just as confused as she’d been before. None of them ever spoke of Carmine’s mama. Haven didn’t even know her name.
“I wish I could let you go, but he’d kill me. He told me not to come near you, but I had to know you were okay. But Christ, look at you! What’s wrong with him?”