J. Darhower - Sempre - Redemption

He paused, snickering to himself. “That’s not the biggest way relationships are like football, though. No matter what you do, no matter what happens, the point of both is to score as much as you can. Without scoring, the entire thing is really just a waste of time.”

Carmine chuckled as Tess flung her napkin at Dominic. He laughed and playfully blew her a kiss before diving right back into his speech. “I think I should wrap this up. My old lady’s throwing penalty flags,” he joked, holding his glass up. “So on behalf of my wife, Tess, and I, I want to toast the couple. To Carmine, who couldn’t do better, and to Haven, who quite frankly, couldn’t do worse.”

They raised their glasses in toast as Carmine kissed Haven. The DJ spoke up, announcing it was time for the first dance. Panic flashed in Haven’s eyes as he took his jacket off. She hesitated before letting him lead her out onto the empty dance floor. He could tell she was uncomfortable with everyone watching, but she tried her best not to let her nerves show.

He pulled her to him when “18th Floor Balcony” started playing, his hands on her hips guiding her as they started swaying to the music. She put her arms over his shoulders, her fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck as she stared into his eyes. He could see the tears she fought back, her eyes sparkling under the lights.

“I love you,” he said quietly.

“I know you do,” she replied, her smile growing. “I love you, too.”

“I’m sorry for fucking up the ceremony.”

“Don’t be silly. You didn’t mess it up.”

“I cursed at Father Alberto, Haven,” he said. “I broke the third commandment. Or maybe it’s the second . . .”

“It’s the third,” she said. “And it’s not that big of a deal. I mean, that’s not the only commandment you’ve broken and I’m sure it won’t be the last one, either.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better ?” he asked, laughing when she shrugged nonchalantly. “Yeah, well, I didn’t break any others standing in the middle of a church.”

“True, but it could’ve been worse,” she said. “You managed to make it through the entire thing without saying the F word.”

“For only the second time in my life,” he muttered.

“Exactly, so you should be proud. It’s quite the accomplishment for you.”

“Funny,” he said sarcastically. “I wanted to do the shit right, though.”

“You did,” she insisted. “It was very you, Carmine. I wouldn’t have had it any other way.”

The song ended, and everyone converged onto the dance floor. Dominic immediately pulled Haven away and Dia took her place without hesitation, rattling on excitedly through two songs. He stole Haven back on the third, wanting to be with his bride, and they danced until it was time to cut the cake. The incident was a disaster, turning into a full-blown food fight as they flung frosting around and tried to smash pieces in each other’s faces. More of the cake ended up on people than in their stomachs as they laughed and wrestled.

Afterward they got cleaned up, and Carmine took his seat as Haven prepared to throw her bouquet. Dominic sat beside Carmine, still stuffing his face.

“Seriously, bro, a Catholic wedding?” Dominic asked, his words mumbled with his mouth full. “Did you take confession beforehand? I bet that took hours.”

Carmine shoved him, knocking the cake off his fork. “We talked about eloping, but it didn’t feel right. She dreamed about this her entire life and I couldn’t let her memory of the day be of some fat jackass in an Elvis suit.”

“Makes sense,” Dominic replied. “I figured you guys would get married like Mom and Dad did . . . something small and intimate.”

“Yeah, we thought about that, too,” he said. “It was my idea to have the big wedding, though. Nothing about us is traditional and I wanted to at least do this, have this one thing, so we could say we did shit right. And quite frankly, I wanted the whole world to see it. She spent her life in hiding, thinking people were ashamed of her and that she was worthless. I wanted her to be seen.”

Dominic smiled, amused by something. Carmine ran his hand through his hair anxiously. “I know that probably sounds fucking stupid . . .”

“No, it sounds, I don’t know . . . sweet ? Almost as sweet as this cake.”

A throat cleared behind Carmine then. He turned, freezing when he saw Corrado. He hadn’t heard him approach, which wasn’t surprising considering he had a knack for sneaking up on people. “Sir?”

“I need to see you in my office, Carmine,” he said, his tone matching his expression. Stiff. Emotionless. Tense.

“Now?” he asked incredulously. “Can’t it wait?”

“No.”

Corrado walked off, leaving Carmine nervously sitting there beside his brother. He rocked in his chair for a few moments, purposely delaying it, before getting up and following his uncle down the hallway. When he reached the office, he saw his uncle sitting behind his desk. Carmine stepped inside and closed the door.

He waited for Corrado to tell him to have a seat, but he didn’t.

“A man’s word means as much as his blood,” Corrado said. “It’s an old Sicilian expression your grandfather used to say. Your word’s your salvation. What a man says, what he swears to, carries as much weight as who he is and what he does.”

Carmine stared across the office, keeping a straight face despite the anarchy going on inside of him. He watched as his uncle reached into a desk drawer, pulling out a small caliber .22 handgun and a large knife. The blade was serrated, six inches in length. Corrado placed them on the desk in front of him before closing the drawer.

“You gave your word over two years ago,” he continued. “In exchange for help, you bartered your freedom. You promised allegiance, and that’s something I take seriously. When I gave myself to the life decades ago, I knew it was for as long as I breathed. Some men have it handed to them, like Vincent, but I fought hard to prove myself. Antonio made me. He made me prove I was dedicated, that I wanted it, and I did. I like to think that’s why I’m still alive today and your father’s no longer with us.”

A light laugh escaped Corrado’s lips. It sounded to Carmine a lot like amusement mixed with cynicism. “It only took a few months for your grandfather to give me his blessing to marry his only daughter, but it took years before he trusted me enough to let me inside his organization. Because to men like us, it comes first—before our families, before our friends, before everything, it’s La Cosa Nostra .”

Picking up the knife, Corrado eyed it intently, running his fingers carefully along the blade. “Before we’ll welcome you in, you first have to bleed for us. Nowadays it’s usually a simple prick of the trigger finger, a tiny droplet of blood on a piece of paper. Painless, leaves no lasting scar, no mark identifying them as a man of honor. But back in my day, it was real . Did you know that?”

Carmine swallowed, trying to wet his painfully dry throat. “Yes, sir.”

“So did you bleed for Salvatore?”

“No,” he said. “All he wanted was my word.”

Corrado continued to gaze at the knife. “Give me your hand.”

For a brief second, Carmine blanched in fear, but there was no hesitance in his steps. He knew there couldn’t be. He extended his right hand and Corrado grabbed it, roughly yanking him closer and pinning it against the desk.

“A man’s word means as much as his blood,” Corrado repeated. “Sal only wanted your word, but I require your blood.”

Carmine squeezed his eyes shut when he felt the knife against his skin. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to stay silent as the jagged blade cut into him. It slowly sliced across his palm, a searing burn igniting his hand as it tore into his flesh.