Sempre: Redemption (Forever Series #2)(142)

“My father taught me a lot,” Gavin replied coolly. “One of the biggest things he taught me is that if Corrado Moretti shows up at your door, you’re about to have a really bad day.”

The corner of Corrado’s lips twitched. “It’s good to see you, too.”

Gavin’s shoulders relaxed a slight bit as he slowly turned around to look at him, his expression guarded. Corrado couldn’t blame the boy for being on edge.

“Did you need something?” Gavin asked tentatively. “I’m just going through the neighborhood books, but if you need me to do something . . .”

“No, quite the opposite, actually,” Corrado replied. “I stopped by to tell you your services were no longer needed.”

Corrado reached into his coat swiftly and Gavin tensed once more, pushing his chair back against the desk as far as it would go. Fear shone from his eyes as he braced himself for something that never came. Corrado merely pulled out a thick envelope and held it up. “What’s the matter? Did you think I was here to kill you?”

Gavin answered at once. “No.”

Knowing it was a lie, Corrado let out a sharp laugh as he tossed the envelope down on the desk, on top of one of the notebooks. “You haven’t done anything that warrants death . . . that I know of. But I appreciate your help and wanted to give you a little something to express my gratitude.”

Hesitantly, Gavin reached for the envelope and glanced inside. In it, wrapped together, was ten thousand dollars in crisp, new one hundred dollar bills. Gavin blinked rapidly as he skimmed through the cash but said nothing. Corrado had commissioned him months ago to keep an eye on Haven. Gavin had kept her safe during his absence, even periodically sending coded messages to the jail to update him.

“That’s all I came for,” Corrado said. “I’ll let you get back to your books.”

He reached for the door to leave when Gavin jumped up from his seat, clutching the envelope. “Wait.”

Corrado turned back around. “What?”

Gavin shook his head as he stepped forward. “I can’t take this. I know it was supposed to be a job, that I was supposed to keep an eye on her for you, but it doesn’t feel that way. It feels wrong to take your money. It feels . . . dishonest.”

Corrado raised his eyebrows. “That’s an awful lot of feeling, Amaro. Your father also should’ve taught you there’s no place for emotions in this life.”

“I know that,” he said, “but she’s not really a part of this life. I know you said she’s important to your family, but she’s just a girl . . . a regular girl. Being with her wasn’t work. It was kind of nice. And my father . . . well . . . one thing he did teach me was you don’t rob a friend. And taking this feels a hell of a lot like stealing.”

Corrado took the envelope and slipped it back into his coat with a shake of his head. “How did she get to you?”

“Huh?”

“I’m just curious how she won you over,” he replied. “How she got under your skin and made it worth risking offending me by refusing my money.”

Gavin sighed, his eyes drifting across the room to where a small white kitten lay, fast asleep in the corner. “Honestly? I don’t know how it happened.”

Corrado stared at him for a moment before turning to leave. “They never do.”

44

Carmine stood quietly near the doorway of the art studio, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. The large room looked almost like a warehouse, everything painted off-white except for the dark concrete floor. Bright fluorescent lights hung from the ceiling, illuminating the dozens of colorful paintings on display around the room. The artwork shone prominently, begging for attention, but nothing stood out more than the scene in the middle of the room.

Haven sat on a small brown stool, a canvas set up in front of her. Crumpled paper littered the floor around her feet, sketches she had discarded tinged with splatters of paint she had spilled throughout the day. The messy chaos that surrounded her fascinated Carmine, considering she was the most naturally organized person he had ever met. She couldn’t let laundry pile up, floors needed to be swept every day, and dishes had to be washed as soon as they were dirtied. She believed everything had a place where it belonged, but at times like these, all of that went out the window.

When Haven painted, it was just her and the canvas. A tornado could hit and take the roof off the building and she probably wouldn’t flinch. The apocalypse could come and Jesus could be standing right behind her, trying to take her to Heaven, and she would keep him waiting until she finished. No one interrupted her, not even Carmine, which was why he just stood there, waiting by the door.

He didn’t mind, though. He enjoyed watching her. Seeing her there, listening to her humming as she worked a mere few feet in front of him, set his soul at ease. Not long ago he had been so close to giving up, exhausted by life’s sudden twists and turns, but she showed up right when he needed her the most.

It had been a few months since she had moved to Chicago. A new school year started, and she had enrolled at a small art school downtown, while Carmine continued on with his life . . . the same life he had been involved in since leaving Durante. It was the same, the shift in power not altering his circumstances at all, but yet something was different. He approached it another way. He wasn’t as reckless . . . not now that he had a reason to come home at night.