Sempre: Redemption (Forever Series #2)(155)

“We want to know if you’ll give Haven away.”

Corrado stared across the table at him, unmoving, barely blinking, as if he hadn’t heard Carmine speak at all. He had, though, and after a minute or so he slowly shook his head, as if trying to process the words. “Give her away.”

“Yeah, you know, walk her down the aisle when we get married.”

“I know what you mean, Carmine.”

“Her dad, well . . . you know. And I’d ask my dad, but well . . . you know.”

Corrado had killed them. Carmine didn’t say it out loud, but they both thought it.

“Fine,” he said. “I’ll do it.”

Carmine’s eyes widened. He had expected a staunch denial. “No shit?”

“Language.”

He blanched. “I mean, uh . . . so you’ll do it?”

“Yes.”

Carmine smiled, relief settling in, but it wasn’t near enough to calm his frazzled nerves. Just being within a block of that building put him on edge.

“You’re fidgeting,” Corrado pointed out. “Were you that nervous to ask me?”

“No,” he replied. “I was, but that’s not my problem.”

“Then what is?”

Carmine stared at his uncle, baffled how he could seem so comfortable. “It doesn’t bother you to be here?”

“Why would it?” Corrado eyed him with confusion. “I eat here all the time.”

“Yeah, but . . .” He leaned over the table, whispering. “. . . his kids.”

Corrado had killed them, too. Both of them.

Corrado’s eyes drifted past him toward the front register. Turning, Carmine eyed the owner, John Tarullo, curiously. He only vaguely recognized the man from when he was a kid, remembering eating here a few times with his parents. He knew it had been John, though, that saved him that October day. He owed him a lot—his life, to be precise—but Carmine could hardly stand to look at the aging man.

He was a walking, talking, unhappy f**king reminder of everything Carmine had been through.

Sensing the attention—or maybe it was purely coincidence—John chose that moment to look at the two of them. His expression remained stoic, strictly business, but Carmine could sense the deep sadness in his dark eyes.

“I did what I had to do,” Corrado said. “Had I let them live, had I let them continue as they were, my family would’ve been jeopardized. So no, it doesn’t bother me, but losing one of you? That might.”

Corrado stood, heading for the door, and nodded politely to John Tarullo before disappearing outside.

* * *

After taking a shower and putting on some comfortable clothes, Haven made her way downstairs and saw the light on in the kitchen. Carmine stood in front of the refrigerator with the door wide open, glaring inside of it, home from wherever he had been while she was at school. She didn’t ask, and he didn’t tell.

“Can’t find anything?” she asked.

“Nope.” He shut the door, his eyes scanning a takeout menu stuck to the front of it with magnets.

“I can make something,” she offered. “You have to be tired of eating out.”

He chuckled in amusement, cocking an eyebrow suggestively. “Depends on what I’m eating out.”

“Pervert.” She could feel the heat rising into her cheeks, knowing it was useless to try to hide it.

“Yeah, but you love it,” he said playfully.

“I do.” There was no use denying it—he knew Haven well.

Carmine laughed as he turned away, his attention going back to the menu. “I’ll just order Chinese. It’s late and you shouldn’t have to cook, especially considering you already cleaned the kitchen once tonight. Don’t think I didn’t notice that shit. I could’ve done it, you know. I would’ve.”

“I know you would’ve,” she said truthfully. Carmine never did certain things, like laundry or mopping, but he was good at picking up after himself. He didn’t enjoy it, but he did it for her. “I didn’t mind it.”

“Well, thank you.”

He grabbed the cordless telephone from the wall and dialed a number quickly. “Yeah, I need a delivery. The name’s Carmine DeMarco,” he said when they answered, pausing briefly as they looked up his name. “Yes, that’s me. I need an order of the pork mu shu wraps, some Mongolian beef, the kung pao chicken, and two orders of your won ton soup. I don’t know, large? Oh, and some egg rolls. How many come in an order? Two? Is that it? That’s a f**king rip off.”

He glanced at Haven, raising his eyebrows. “Did I miss anything?”

“Uh, no.”

“Yeah, that’s it. And don’t forget the fortune cookies,” he said into the phone, his brow furrowing. “What do you mean you don’t have any fortune cookies? You’re a Chinese restaurant. You have to have fortune cookies. What? No, I don’t care if they’re complimentary. Don’t give me that bullshit. I don’t feel f**king complimented right now. Find some.”

He ended the call, slamming the phone down on the counter, making Haven flinch. He pulled open the freezer door and looked inside. Haven knew immediately what he was doing, having acted on impulse out of frustration. He stared at the empty spot where the vodka bottle had once been stored before slamming the door again and opening the refrigerator.