Sempre (Forever Series #1)(147)

“Are you gonna take mine off?” he asked. “This is bullshit, Cerone.”

Agent Cerone ignored Carmine’s request and instead tried to ask him questions, which Carmine in turn ignored, refusing to say a word. He ached and shifted position, but every time he did a dozen agents eyed him like he was going to run.

He would. He would run if he could get away.

They brought boxes and bags out of the house, all of them tagged with evidence tape. Carmine leaned back on his elbows and stared at the ground until someone yanked him to his feet. “Should I release him now, boss? We’re nearly done.”

Agent Cerone shook his head. “Take him downtown.”

“For what?” Carmine asked. “I didn’t f**king do anything!”

The smirk returned to the agent’s lips. “It’s been a pleasure, Carmine Marcello DeMarco. I’m sure we’ll see more of each other in the future.”

* * *

When Haven regained consciousness for the second time, sunlight streamed through the cracks around the exhaust fan. She tried to block out the pain as she looked around, her eyes meeting the same woman from before. “Good morning, pretty girl.”

Once again, everyone stopped talking and turned to her. Haven’s heart rate accelerated when she spotted Nunzio. In the daylight she could see he had a bandage on his cheek.

“Ah, Sleeping Beauty is awake?” a man asked as he stood from one of the chairs. He was tall with thick muscles, his face rigid as if chiseled from stone. His hair was mainly gray and his nose too large for his face. He, too, had an accent.

Nunzio laughed. “Didn’t even take a kiss from her prince to do it.”

“How do you feel?” the man asked, ignoring Nunzio’s comment. He dragged a chair across the room and sat down in front of Haven. Up close, she could see wrinkles covering his face. “Can you speak, Princzessa?”

Her brow furrowed at the word.

“Ah, confused? You are more comfortable with the Italians. Nunzy, boy, what word am I looking for?”

“Principessa.”

“Yes, do you know that one?” He raised his eyebrows, expecting some response. Haven nodded and cringed from the pain in her neck. “Are you hurting? You may speak. We are friends here.”

She gave him an incredulous look, and the woman laughed. “I don’t think she believes you, Papa.”

“So it appears,” he said, gazing at her curiously. “I cannot say I blame you. You should not trust people, especially the ones you associate with, but I will never deceive you as they have.”

Haven’s voice was scratchy. “What are you talking about?”

“Ah, she speaks!” His hard expression gave way to excitement. “What I am talking about is that your Italians have not been honest with you, nor have they treated you fairly, Principessa.”

He confused her. “Why do you keep calling me that?”

“Would you rather I call you by your slave name?”

“I, uh . . .” Did she? “I don’t know.”

He laughed. “I cannot believe you do not know.”

“I told you,” Nunzio said. “She’s clueless.”

The man leaned toward her, his hands clasped together in front of him. Haven tried to move away, her back pressed into the corner, his proximity nerve-racking.

“You are probably wondering what you are doing here,” he said, his tone serious. “I will level with you—I do not wish to hurt you, but I will if you make me, so I am asking for cooperation. I know you have fight in you, considering you have twice scarred my son.”

She gaped at him as he motioned toward Nunzio. Son?

“I should explain,” he said. “I am Ivan Volkov, and I have been acquainted with the DeMarcos for many years. Vincent was a child the first time we met. He was a pretentious prick, much like I hear his youngest is.”

He laughed, as did Nunzio, and Haven felt tears forming at the mention of Carmine.

“Did I strike a nerve, Principessa?” he asked. “I hear you care for the boy. It would be a pity if something happened to him, so let us hope it does not come to that.”

“Don’t,” she whispered. “Please don’t . . .”

“I do not wish to hurt him. If it helps, I have not heard of his death, so he is probably fine.”

His voice taunted her. She tried to fight back tears, but it was too much to take.

“Aw, do not cry.” He reached toward her but she recoiled. He dropped his hand without touching her. “Where was I?”

“You were talking about how much of a prick Vincent was,” Nunzio said.

“Ah, yes. This was before he met his wife, of course. Shame what happened to her. I suppose I should feel guilty, but it was her fault.” He shook his head. “Meddling bitch.”

“You? You did it?”

“You can say I conducted that beautiful symphony.”

“I don’t understand,” Haven said. “What do I have to do with any of this?”

“You have the power to bring down the enemy, and that is what you are going to do.”

She tensed, Carmine’s words from weeks before hitting her again. I was born with enemies. My last name alone gives me more than I could ever earn.

“I have laid the groundwork around Chicago, taking over businesses,” he continued. “We have wiped out the competition, except for the Italians. People are loyal to them, and they have proven to be strong. I do not like being told where I can go and what I can do. I have found little ways in and turned a few, but I need something bigger, someone higher up. I need to crack the leadership, and Nunzy created a rift. They have held themselves together, but it is different now. Now I have you.”