Sempre: Redemption (Forever Series #2)(121)

“La mia bella ragazza,” he whispered, his voice cracking.

The words sent a pang of longing through her body, and she closed her eyes as the electricity of his touch coursed through her veins. “Oh, Carmine.”

He pulled back to look at Haven, his face wet with tears and hair a disheveled mess. She reached up to run her hand through it, cringing as her fingers got tangled in a stiff nest of hair product. “Your hair.”

A sad smile lifted the corner of his mouth, and although he didn’t respond, she knew he understood. He reached out and wiped the tears from her cheeks, her eyes fluttering closed from his touch. He ran his fingertips down her jaw, his hand gently exploring her face, before he tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear.

Wiping his tears, Haven explored his face much like he had hers, eyeing the small mark on his cheek peculiarly as she ran her pointer finger across it. She had never seen it before. “You have a scar.”

“You’re beautiful.” He cracked a smile as the blush rose into her cheeks. “You still blush, too.”

“You still make me,” she whispered, surveying him. “You’re wearing a suit.”

Glancing down at himself, he grimaced. “I still hate them, but it’s a funeral.” His voice cracked on the word and he turned away, taking a deep, calculated breath. He gazed past her at something. “You wore high heels.”

“I still hate them, but it’s a funeral,” she said, repeating his words. “You’re not wearing Nike’s.”

“I wish I was,” he muttered. “These f**king shoes hurt my feet.”

She stifled a laugh. “You still say that word.”

“What word?” He raised his eyebrows when she didn’t respond. “I guess you still don’t use it.”

Haven shrugged.

They stood there for a while longer trading observations. It might have been trivial, given the weight of the circumstances, but it was their way of reconnecting. They memorized each other again, becoming acquainted with the things that had changed in their absence as the comfort and familiarity settled back in. Countless times she wondered what she would say if she ever saw Carmine again, musing about what he might possibly say in response, but she never considered that it would be so seamless for them.

They had both changed, and it was obvious, as she stared into his deep green eyes, that there was a darkness lurking inside of him, but it hadn’t consumed him. Carmine’s spirit might have been broken, but his soul remained intact. It was like meeting him for the first time all over again, but knowing in her heart exactly who he was from the beginning.

He was Carmine Marcello DeMarco . . . and even broken, he was beautiful.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” he said, pulling Haven into his arms again. He buried his face in her hair and inhaled deeply. “This has to be a f**king dream.”

“It’s not a dream,” she said. “I’m really here.”

“For how long?”

She hesitated. Carmine’s phone rang then, tension sweeping over them as he motioned for her to stay where she was. She eyed him warily as he stepped away, bringing his phone to his ear and speaking quietly to ensure she couldn’t overhear.

A sinking feeling settled into the pit of her stomach. She knew the easy couldn’t last, that the seamless would have snags. He was a part of that life, and there were things about him she couldn’t be involved in—things she could never know. Carmine harbored secrets that would never be spilled.

Not wanting to appear to be eavesdropping, Haven took a step away and quietly gazed at the headstone that marked his mother’s grave.

Maura DeMarco

April 1965–October 1996

“Ama, ridi, sogna—e vai dormire”

She had only been thirty-one, too young to be ripped from the world. Dr. DeMarco had lived more than a decade without his wife. Haven couldn’t begin to imagine how he had felt waking every morning to face the realization that he would never have it back, he would never feel the spark again.

“Sorry about that,” Carmine said, interrupting her thoughts. ”It was—”

“I don’t need to know,” Haven cut him off, but she heard him mutter Corrado’s name regardless.

An awkward silence lingered before Carmine sighed. “Ama, ridi, sogna—e vai dormire,” he said, reading the line chiseled into the stone. ”It means ‘Love, laugh, dream, and go to sleep’.”

Haven smiled softly. “I like that.”

“Me, too,” he mumbled, a sad smile tugging his lips. “That’s what she did.”

“She was an amazing woman.”

“She was. Too bad I couldn’t take after her more. Instead, I’m like him.” Tears brimmed his eyes, sudden anger flowing out with those words. “Vincent DeMarco’s son, so that makes me the f**king enemy. As much as I hate it, it’s true. I’m one of them.”

“You aren’t.”

“I am. You don’t even f**king know.” He shook his head. “You wouldn’t be able to look at me if you knew.”

“You only did what you had to do.”

“You don’t even know what I’ve done,” he said. “What I’ve stood by and watched without saying a goddamn word. I’ve watched people die and kept my mouth shut like they didn’t matter, like they didn’t f**king count. What kinda person does that?”