Sempre: Redemption (Forever Series #2)(139)

“My father?” Celia asked. “Did we even know the same man?”

“Every man sins, Celia. Even the saints.”

Dinner wore on, as did the conversation. It was well past nightfall when they separated, Tess and Dominic heading back to Indiana, while Carmine and Haven made their way down the block. All was silent between them, their fingers loosely entwined as they strolled along. Carmine seemed content, his shoulders relaxed, but something brewed in his expression. He stopped abruptly a few feet from the blue door, his hand slipping from Haven’s as she continued on.

She turned to him at the loss of connection, seeing the furrow of his brow and the hard line of his lips. “What’s wrong?”

“Tell me about New York.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Now?”

“Yes.”

“But I already told you.”

“You told me what was wrong about it, what you were missing, but I wanna hear the good. You know, the dream. Your dream.”

He didn’t say it, but she saw it in his eyes: He wanted to know if leaving her had really been a mistake.

“Well, New York was busy, just like you said the city would be,” she started. “There was always something going on. People everywhere.”

It all spilled out of her, every detail of her life there, as the two of them stood along the street in the darkness. She held nothing back, wanting him to know she had had a good life. It may not have been perfect, but things rarely were.

Carmine listened intently, drinking in every word, and didn’t speak until she was done. “You love it there,” he said quietly.

“I do.” She smiled. “I really love it.”

They stared at each other again as that truth hung in the air between them. Haven watched his expression slowly shift, another question forming in his eyes. She didn’t address it, not acknowledging its existence, instead waiting for him to be the one. She waited for him to ask, for him to gather up the courage to say the words.

Love me more, his eyes said.

“Do you, uh . . . ?” He ran his hands down his face as he let out a deep sigh. “Would you stay?”

“Stay?”

He nodded. “Stay here.”

“I would.”

The corner of his mouth twitched as he restrained a smile. “Will you?”

“Stay?”

“With me.” He cleared his throat nervously. “You know, stay with me?”

She opened her mouth to respond, but the words didn’t have time to escape her lips. Something in Carmine snapped, his anxiety getting the best of him.

“Christ, I can’t believe I just asked you that. What the f**k is wrong with me? It’s not right! I can’t ask you to choose me!”

She grabbed his arm, stopping him as he started pacing. “You’re not asking me to choose you. There’s no choice about it. It’s always been you. Your father once told me that we always have a choice, but I think he was wrong. I think sometimes things choose us. It’s like with breathing. It’s natural. It’s a part of us. It just happens. We can hold our breath and try not to breathe anymore, and it’ll work for a few minutes, but we’ll eventually pass out and nature takes over. We can’t just not breathe, just like I can’t just not love you.”

“But New York,” he said. “Your life.”

“The best parts of life have nothing to do with a place. Love, friendship, happiness . . . I don’t need to be in New York to have those things. I have it all here.”

“But school? Painting? What about that?”

“I can do those things anywhere, Carmine. But you . . . you’re in Chicago.”

The hopeful smile twisted his lips, held back no more. “Clean slate?”

“As clean as our slate can get.”

“Which is still pretty f**king dirty.”

She laughed, watching him for a moment before extending her hand. A nervous blush warmed her cheeks. Clean slate. “I’m Haven.”

“Carmine.” He took her hand. “You have an interesting name, Haven.”

“It means a safe place,” she said.

“I know,” he replied, entwining their fingers again. “And something tells me it fits you perfectly.”

43

The heads of the five families gathered around a long table in the back room of a swanky Italian restaurant just outside of New York City. Their unrestrained chatter overshadowed the music from the violinist in the main dining room, their laughter and exuberance palpable from the parking lot.

The hostess pointed Corrado in their direction the moment he stepped inside, no words necessary. They had been expecting him. He approached the men, personally greeting each one before slipping into the only empty chair.

“Moretti,” the Don of the Calabrese family said. “We’re glad you could join us.”

Corrado tipped his head. “The pleasure’s all mine.”

Drinks flowed as the men discussed everything from politics to music, side skirting business issues for most of the night. The conversation was fluid, almost friendly, but Corrado wasn’t fooled—he was being tested. They watched his every move and weighed his every word, gauging whether or not they wanted to do business with him. He had met them all before while on the job, but this was different.