Sempre: Redemption (Forever Series #2)(68)

“True, but he wouldn’t fire on his son, especially one who looks strikingly close to his wife. It would be like Maura dying all over again. No, Carlo’s right. Carmine’s perfect.”

Carmine stared at them with shock, not knowing how to react. The fact that Salvatore would use his mother’s memory to his advantage in his violent twisted game made him sick. There was no way he had just been ordered to murder his own father. It was unfathomable. “I’m supposed to kill my father?”

“A traitor, Carmine,” Sal said sharply. “Your order is to eliminate the threat. It’s about time you’ve proven your loyalty, anyway. You should’ve been made to do it long ago, but I didn’t press the issue because of who you are. In fact, I’ve tolerated a lot I shouldn’t have because of your last name, but I won’t tolerate it any longer. Your grandfather would be rolling over in his grave right now.”

“He would,” Corrado chimed in. “Antonio would’ve never stood for this.”

“So do what’s expected of you,” Salvatore continued. “Earn some respect back for your bloodline.”

“But—”

Salvatore shot Carmine a look of murderous rage, silencing him abruptly. The atmosphere shifted once more to nonchalance as Sal puffed on his cigar with ease, turning his focus back to his fishing rod.

Two hours later the yacht docked again, and Carmine was the first one off the boat. He started down the dock in a stupor and heard Corrado follow, but he didn’t turn around. Seething, he headed straight for his car when Corrado grabbed him.

“Get off of me,” he spat, shrugging away from his uncle.

“Relax,” Corrado said. “You did good.”

Carmine laughed bitterly. “You expect me to relax? Maybe you can kill your own f**king family with no remorse, but I can’t! How the hell could you agree with him? I thought you knew my father better than that!”

“I clearly know Vincent better than you do,” he said. “You’re ignorant if you believe he didn’t know this would happen.”

“You’re saying he planned for this? What f**ked-up world do you live in?”

“The same one you live in,” Corrado said calmly, reaching into his pocket for his phone. “But it’s a moot point, because you won’t be killing anyone, Carmine.”

“That’s news to me, considering I was just ordered to. What am I supposed to do?”

“You’re supposed to go home.”

Corrado turned away and got into his car, leaving without another word. Carmine headed home, pulling into the driveway a few minutes later. The house was warm, the air-conditioning still broken. Carmine grabbed the bottle of Grey Goose from the freezer before strolling to the living room, flopping down on the couch and kicking off his shoes.

Time passed as he sat there staring at the floor, his frantic mind trying to sort through his options while he attempted to drown it all out with liquor. It surged through his body, but it didn’t extinguish the ache in his heart.

Best-case scenario, Carmine thought, his father got away and he never saw him again. Worst-case scenario, he ended up dead, possibly at Carmine’s hands. Violence, mayhem, murder, bloodshed, f**king annihilation—he wondered if there was any way to avoid it anymore.

Later he still sat hunched over, gripping his hair with the empty bottle of vodka at his feet. He was still lucid, hadn’t even come close to drinking enough to black out. He got up when the sun set, the house cooling off a tad bit and growing darker. The cool wooden floor felt good against his feet as he strolled toward the kitchen, his head throbbing as he scoured the cabinets for more alcohol. He grew aggravated when he found none, slamming a cabinet drawer angrily as he grabbed his phone. Scrolling through his numbers, he stopped at Remy.

“Yeah?” Remy said, answering on the first ring. “What’s up?”

“I need Molly.”

Remy’s laugh lit up the line. “I’ll be right over, man.”

* * *

Molly became Carmine’s nightly companion.

While she finally made him feel alive again, filling that void deep inside of his chest, she proved to be both a blessing and a curse. She gave him something to focus on, something to look forward to, but at the same time she lured him deeper into a vast pit of darkness. Because when Carmine was high, he couldn’t possibly be higher, but when he came down, when the drug wore off, leaving him to face life once more, he found himself much deeper than he had ever been before.

Depression took over, suicidal thoughts bombarding his mind. Reckless and unstable, he couldn’t think straight or function normally.

He grew desperate for the sensation, seeking her out more often to delay the unavoidable come down. It got to the point where he was constantly high, everything falling to the wayside in his quest to feel.

His downward spiral was abrupt, a twelve-story fall straight to the ground.

* * *

The Novak Gala, held twice a year in an upscale gallery just north of Chelsea, always drew the most elite art patrons. Hundreds gathered to celebrate local artists, from the professionals to the blossoming post-graduate students at the surrounding schools. Pieces were auctioned off for charity, supporting art programs in the underfunded public schools, and the media always took notice of the up-and-coming talent. It was a highly anticipated event in the community, but possibly even more so for the students at SVU.