Sempre (Forever Series #1)(143)

Eventually, he heard footsteps on the stairs as Vincent approached at the same time Corrado stepped out, both men stopping in the foyer. Carmine looked between them, his last bit of control slipping. “Why are you just standing there? Can’t you do something? Anything? Christ!”

Before the last word was verbalized, Carmine was jerked by the back of his collar and slammed into the wall. He lost his breath as Corrado shoved a gun to his fractured rib. “Have you still not learned your lesson? Is one of us going to have to die before you realize this isn’t a game? These are our lives you’re messing with, and I, for one, will not tolerate you endangering me more than you already have! I don’t care whose child you are.”

Carmine’s heart pounded rapidly. He didn’t doubt for a second that his uncle would shoot him.

“Corrado,” Vincent said. “Let him go.”

Corrado released Carmine and swung around, turning the weapon on Vincent. Carmine inhaled sharply as he watched it play out. Vincent stood as still as a statue, not blinking as he stared down the barrel of Corrado’s gun.

“You keep pulling me in deeper and deeper, Vincent,” Corrado said, lowering his pistol.

“I know,” Vincent said.

Corrado turned to Carmine. “That mouth of yours is going to get every single one of us killed. If you can’t close it yourself, I’ll close it for you.”

* * *

The next day dawned when Carmine made his way up to the third floor, his chest constricting as he pushed open his bedroom door. He sat on the edge of the bed and grabbed a pillow, clutching it to his chest as tears formed in his eyes.

Every bit of composure he had was ripped away as he inhaled Haven’s scent, which lingered there. The grief swallowed him, refusing to let go until his father interrupted in the middle of the afternoon. “We’re leaving for Chicago soon,” Vincent said.

Carmine set the pillow down and wiped his tears, cringing at his torn, blood-splattered clothes. “I should change.”

“I prefer you stay here in case she shows back up.”

Carmine laughed bitterly as he stood. “She’s not a lost dog. She didn’t wander out of the backyard and get lost in the woods somewhere.”

“I understand, but you should reconsider. It’s dangerous and—”

“I’m going,” Carmine said, cutting him off. “If you don’t want me to go with you, I won’t, but I’ll be on the next goddamn plane whether you like it or not.”

“Fine, but you need to watch yourself, son. You can’t run off on a vigilante mission. I can’t focus on getting her back if you’re out there wreaking havoc and counteracting everything I’m doing.”

“I know. I’ll keep my mouth shut and let you do what you do. I’m not f**king na?ve. I know what might be happening to her, but I need to be there, no matter what.”

Vincent pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fine. We’ll tie up some loose ends then leave.”

Carmine gazed at him. “Loose ends? Is it, uh . . . you know, that guy, and . . .”

He couldn’t finish his thought, but he didn’t have to. Vincent understood. “We have Johnny in the basement. He hasn’t said much, but I injected him with sodium thiopental a few minutes ago.”

“Sodium what?”

“Sodium thiopental. It’s a barbiturate. It suppresses the higher cortical functions of the brain, and since lying is such a complex process and it’s easier to—”

“English, please.”

“Truth serum,” Vincent said. “Hypothetically, anyway.”

Carmine nodded. “And Nicholas?”

Vincent stared at him, the look on his face the only answer Carmine needed. Even across the room, he could see the sorrow. “There wasn’t anything I could do.”

* * *

Dawn broke as Vincent stood in the safe room, once again interrogating a suffering Johnny. “Tell me where she is and this will end.”

“I can’t,” he said for what had to be the hundredth time, even proclaiming ignorance with the truth serum coursing through his veins.

Corrado approached, his dark eyes filled with rage. It wasn’t something Vincent saw often. It was a look that said someone was about to die.

Violently.

Vincent stepped out of the way as Corrado strode over to the cabinet along the wall. He rifled through it, pulling out knives and pliers, methodically laying the tools on the steel worktable in the safe room. “While you’re still alive, we’re going to play a game of eeny, meeny, miny, moe.”

Unable to stomach what was about to happen, Vincent walked away. A loud scream of agony echoed through the basement before he made it to the steps.

Johnny would be leaving the room soon . . . in pieces.

* * *

Corrado resurfaced an hour later, drenched from the rain outside and splattered with blood. His face was unreadable once more. “Russians.”

The lone word nearly stopped Vincent’s heart. “She’s with the Russians? Why?”

“Because she’s one of ours. Isn’t that reason enough?”

“They know?”

“They may have known before we did,” Corrado said. “This is spiraling out of control. Up until now, you’ve taken a backseat, but that can’t happen anymore. This isn’t going away.”