J. Darhower - Sempre - Redemption

Haven dropped her gaze to the floor. She hadn’t seen him since they had shown up. He had remained upstairs, secluded from the family. “No, sir.”

“Of course you are,” Celia said. “We were having girl talk.”

“So I heard,” he said. “I thought we agreed you would stay out of it.”

“And I thought you knew me better than that,” Celia replied. “You really can’t be that dense, Corrado.”

Haven gaped at Celia, stunned anyone would speak to him that way.

“Pardon me for hoping you’d listen to common sense for once,” he countered. “Meddling in other people’s affairs—”

“Only gets people hurt,” she said, cutting him off. “I know. I’ve heard you say it a million times, but they’re just kids, for heaven’s sake.”

“They’re adults,” Corrado said. “What they choose to do in their private lives is none of our concern.”

Celia laughed dryly. “None of our concern? Have you forgotten you vouched for her?”

“That doesn’t mean I own her!” Corrado snapped, shooting Haven a quick glance that sent a chill down her spine. She had never heard him raise his voice before.

Celia narrowed her eyes. “No, but it’s your job to help her.”

“I know what my duties are,” he responded coldly. “I’ll watch her.”

“Like Maura was watched?” Celia raised her eyebrows. “You told me to stay out of it, to mind my own business. A lot of good it did then, huh?”

“Maura was not my responsibility. She was Vincent’s.”

“You’re right,” Celia responded, “but Haven is yours.”

Corrado stood silently and stared at her, his expression blank. Celia stared right back, her gaze unwavering. The tension in the room mounted with each passing second. Uncomfortable, Haven fidgeted, feeling dizzy as the blood rushed furiously through her.

“I, uh . . . I probably shouldn’t be here,” she whispered, turning for the door. She made it as far as the foyer before Corrado’s firm voice rang out, the sound of it halting Haven in her tracks.

“Stop.”

She turned around as Corrado stepped into the foyer, glancing at her briefly and nodding before heading for the great room. She watched him for a second, unsure of what to do, before following slowly behind.

The sun started to peek over the trees outside, but the room remained eerily dim. Haven was as quiet as a corpse as she took a seat on the couch and picked at her brittle fingernails, purposely avoiding Corrado’s powerful gaze.

“Do you know what it means to vouch for someone, Haven?” he asked, breaking the tense silence that quickly enveloped the room like a thick, toxic cloud.

Without looking at him, Haven nodded stiffly. “Carmine said it meant if I ever told about where I came from, you’d get in trouble, but I swear I never will.”

He held his hand up to silence her before she could really start pleading her case. “It’s more than that. It’s not just what you say and who you say it to . . . it’s what you do, too. People like me—we vouch for others every day. Associates, friends, family. We swear they’re good people, that they’ll never bring us any harm. We swear they’re trustworthy. If we’re wrong, it means we lied. It means they don’t benefit us by being out there in the world, by being alive, and frankly, maybe we shouldn’t be either. Your life may be your own now, but I can’t have that doubt lingering over my head, so there are some limitations because of the circumstances.”

Haven tensed. “Limitations?”

“Yes, limitations,” Corrado said. “It’s better than the alternative.”

“What’s that?”

“Going to stay with Salvatore,” he said. “Or death. I’m not sure which you’d find worse, but neither would be pleasant. So limitations it is. Besides, everyone has them. Most people are ruled by petty laws—wear your seat belt, don’t take what’s not yours. Catholics follow the Commandments—don’t covet thy neighbor’s wife or take the Lord’s name in vain. Nuns commit themselves to celibacy, lawyers and priests rely on confidentiality, and we, Haven, take a vow of silence and loyalty. We all live through the same Hell, just with different devils.”

Pausing, Corrado tinkered with his wedding ring. Haven wasn’t sure what she was supposed to say, so she said nothing. He continued after a moment. “Our devil doesn’t give the benefit of the doubt. Our devil shoots first and asks questions later, if at all. One look, one wrong move, and you’re guilty. They’ll carry out your punishment before you even know you were accused. Our devil shows no mercy. He can’t. You got that?”

She nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“If you want to stay safe, stay out of the limelight,” he said. “Mind your own business, lay low, and never associate with the police. If a cop ever tries to question you, ask for your lawyer and call me. I don’t care what it’s about. And never invite one inside your home. Never .”

The color drained from her face, coldness running through her as she immediately thought of Officer Baranski. “I, uh . . . I didn’t know . . .”

“Didn’t know what?”

“An officer came by to ask about Nicholas. I didn’t know I wasn’t supposed to talk to him. Dr. DeMarco said I should answer his questions so he’d go away.”

Corrado stared at her. “Vincent told you to talk to the police?”

She nodded hesitantly. “He invited him inside.”

Corrado’s mask slipped, his brow furrowing briefly before he straightened it back out. “When was this?”

“Two days ago,” she said. “You were upstairs. It was right after you arrived.”

Silence permeated the room for a few minutes. Haven did nothing, terrified of what his reaction would be. He just stared straight ahead, unmoving, and if it weren’t for the fact that he was blinking she might have wondered if he were even still alive.

“You didn’t know any better,” he said finally. “No one explained it to you, but now you know.”

“Yes, sir.”

Corrado stood and without a word started to walk away. He made it as far as the doorway before his footsteps faltered. He lingered there for a moment as Celia approached from the foyer, smiling proudly. She had clearly been eavesdropping.

“Stay out of it,” he warned her again. “I don’t want you meddling anymore.”

Christmas morning passed in a blur. Carmine seemed distracted, distant, his eyes watching everyone as if he were waiting for something to happen, lost somewhere in his mind instead of being there at home.

Haven would occasionally catch him casting angry glares and hear heated whispered conversations when she was out of earshot. Confused, she asked a few times what was going on, but he merely smiled and told her not to worry.

Don’t worry. She had heard it so many times the past week that the phrase alone was starting to worry her.

They watched holiday movies and exchanged gifts in the evening. Haven got some books and art supplies, clothes, and a new pair of pink-and-white Nike’s. The festivities were quiet, almost gloomy in a sense. Something lingered in the room with them, infecting the air they all had to share. She wouldn’t call it misery, but it was certainly close—guilt mixed with sadness, confusion, and morose thoughts.

They sat down at the dining room table when dinner was ready, Carmine pulling out the chair beside him for Haven as Celia and Corrado took seats across from them. Dr. DeMarco cleared his throat and Carmine immediately grabbed Haven’s right hand as Corrado reached across the table, holding his out to her. She blanched as she stared at it, studying his extended hand. Other than a long jagged scar diagonally on his palm, nearly camouflaged by the natural creases and lines, it appeared unscathed. His nails were freshly manicured, the skin smooth with not a single cut or callus. She wasn’t sure what she had expected, but it surprised her—his hands appeared awfully clean for a man with a lot of blood on them.