Sempre: Redemption (Forever Series #2)(108)

Vincent immediately dropped his head, his eyes darting to the girl. She looked at him with surprise, and familiarity struck Vincent as he vaguely recognized her.

Senator Brolin’s daughter.

“Oh, wow,” she said, a grin lighting up her face. “Another one?”

Vincent didn’t stick around to find out what she meant by that.

36

The first weekend in June, Carmine received a call from Salvatore about a celebration for Corrado’s exoneration. He begrudgingly got dressed that Saturday night and drove to Salvatore’s house at dusk, parking his car toward the back before hesitantly making his way to the front door. He pressed the doorbell and Abby appeared, seemingly relieved when she saw Carmine there.

“Hey,” he said when she ushered him inside. “How are you?”

She smiled softly, her voice barely a whisper. “Fine. You, sir?”

“I’m here with these motherf*ckers, so I’m obviously not doing that good.”

“I’m glad you’re here,” she said shyly, offering to take his coat. “You talk to me like I’m a person.”

“You are a person, Abby. They’re just too nasty to see it.”

She stared at him, surprised by his candid response, before slinking away to do her work. Carmine headed for the den when someone called his name, and he turned, his blood running cold the second his eyes came into contact with Carlo’s. The man smirked as he strolled toward Carmine. “You’re lucky your godfather didn’t overhear that exchange. Something tells me he wouldn’t be amused.”

Carmine stared back as he fought to control his temper at the man’s smug expression. “There’s nothing wrong with saying hello.”

“You said much more than hello, boy.”

Carlo looked as though he was going to say something else when Corrado walked over and interrupted. “Carlo, Carmine. Is there a problem?”

“I was just reminding young DeMarco that he should be mindful of what he says and who he talks to,” Carlo said. “If he isn’t careful, someone might get the wrong impression.”

“I didn’t—”

He was about to say he hadn’t done anything wrong when Corrado cut him off. “Carmine’s sarcastic mouth is notorious. I think at this point people would get the wrong impression if he didn’t have a snide remark here or there.”

Carmine looked at Corrado with shock, not expecting his defense.

Carlo laughed bitterly. “Just because it’s expected doesn’t mean it’s acceptable. He needs to learn respect. He was talking to that slave and—”

“Respect?” Corrado snapped. “And I suppose you think you could teach it to him after speaking like that in his presence? You’re well aware of his mother’s background, and you want to speak about respect? Maybe you need to learn some yourself.”

“I’ve earned my place here—I’ve put my time in,” Carlo said, anger clouding his face. “I’ve proven myself and he hasn’t. He needs to mind his superiors.”

“So do you,” Corrado said pointedly. “Or have you forgotten I’m your superior? You know protocol, or have you forgotten that as well? Carmine’s my soldier—if you have an issue with him, you air your grievance with me.”

Carlo narrowed his eyes. Corrado had struck a nerve. “All I’m saying is maybe he shouldn’t mouth off so much.”

“I heard you the first time, but I don’t see why you’d want to create a scene over it,” Corrado said. “It’s not that serious. So he’s mouthy? It’s not like he murdered your family, Carlo.”

Carmine froze when those bitter words came from his uncle’s lips. Carlo looked like a deer caught in headlights as Corrado stared at him with an eyebrow cocked, waiting a response that never came.

“Gentlemen,” Salvatore said, pausing between them, his expression stone cold serious. “Perhaps we should have a sit-down later to clear the air, but for now we celebrate. Go enjoy yourselves, have a drink, get to know one of the beautiful ladies here.”

Corrado nodded obediently. “Yes, sir.”

Carlo echoed his words and walked off when Salvatore excused himself, the situation diffused for the time being.

“I don’t know what you said, but he was right,” Corrado said once they were alone. “You do need to learn to watch your mouth.”

“I know.”

“You should’ve worn a suit, too,” he said. “You look like a slob.”

Carmine glanced down at himself. He had on a long-sleeved button-up shirt and slacks—he had just nixed the tie. It wasn’t as if he had strolled in wearing faded jeans and a hoodie.

He wished he had, though. That way if he was forced to be miserable, at least he would be comfortable.

He spent the next two hours making small talk with other made men and associates, getting to know the families of the ones brazen enough to bring them around such a heartless crowd. Carmine pretended to care, smiling and entertaining curious questions about his father’s whereabouts (No, I haven’t heard from him. I’m sure he’s just lying low.); playing the part of Principe, grandson of Antonio (Yes, my grandfather was a God among men, I hope to be just like him someday.). But in his mind he was counting down the time until he could leave (Two more f**king hours. You’re already halfway there.).