Sempre (Forever) (68 page)

He switched cameras once more and went back to the view of the hallway. Carmine was still pacing, his eyes darting between the office door and the stairs to the third floor. Vincent glanced at the clock, surprised it was already after eleven in the evening. Carmine usually made his decision before now and stomped up the stairs. The girl would hear him and scurry out of the library, darting back to her bedroom before he made it there.

Carmine’s pacing slowed, and when he headed for the office with determination, Vincent felt nothing but relief.

Judgment Day had come. One step closer to peace.

The knob turned and Carmine stepped inside, slamming the door behind him. Vincent refrained from chastising him for not knocking, thankful he’d finally made it inside. “Sit down,” he said, switching the view back to the library. The girl was still curled up in front of the window, not having moved since the last time he checked.

Carmine flopped down in the chair with a huff. Vincent met his gaze, seeing the curiosity and confusion. Resentment lurked underneath, but Vincent couldn’t blame him for that.

“You look like you haven’t fucking slept in years,” Carmine said. “And Christ, have you even eaten?”

Vincent leaned back in his chair. “You want to discuss my health, Carmine?”

His expression was sober. “Yeah, you look fucked up.”

“Well, thanks for the compliment, but something tells me you haven’t spent the past week loitering outside my office gathering the courage to hold an intervention.”

“How…?” Carmine paused. “You’ve been watching the cameras.”

“Yes,” he said, “and I was beginning to wonder if you ever planned to come in.”

Carmine sighed. “I didn’t know what to say. No sense barging in just to look at you, since you look like shit and all.”

“Considering you’re here now, does that mean you’ve figured out what to say?”

“No, I just got tired of standing in the hall.”

“Ah, then I’m better to look at than the white walls, at least?”

Carmine cracked a smile. “No, but it’s nice to know I’m not the only one around here that remembers how to joke.”

“
Tale il padre, tale il figlio
,” Vincent said, regretting his choice of words the moment they escaped his lips. Carmine’s smile fell, and Vincent knew exactly what he wanted to know. He’d been dreading this day for years. “Just say it, son.”

“When we were in Blackburn, Katrina said something. I mean, I know she was crazy and all, but she yelled at Corrado and said just because I was doing the same thing as you didn’t mean we were the same… that Haven wasn’t
her
. And it’s not just that—there’s other shit, too. So I guess I’m just wondering, you know…”

“You want to know how I met your mother.”

Carmine nodded. “The truth.”

The truth
. It was something Vincent avoided, but he knew he couldn’t anymore. It played out like a movie in his mind, the moment that rocked his world and made him question everything he thought he knew in life.

It had been a scorching hot afternoon as he stood in the yard of the Moretti mansion in Las Vegas. Vincent was miserable, but he tolerated the heat better than what awaited him inside the house. He hadn't wanted to come, but he couldn’t let Celia down.

He brought his hand up to block out the blinding sun as he started around the side of the house. As soon as he turned the corner, he crashed into someone standing there. Dropping his hand, he grabbed a hold of them.

“I’m so sorry.” The soft voice caught Vincent off guard. He blinked rapidly at the girl in front of him. Pale skin glowed in the sunshine, a stark contrast from her fiery red hair.

Deep green eyes watched him warily, and he stared into them in a trance. Her mouth moved, but the words were lost on him. His stomach twisted, his heart unexpectedly gripped in a vice.

Colpo di fulmine
. He was done for.

She didn’t resist as he pulled her into the shade, but the apprehension in her expression grew. “Is there a problem?”

“The only problem is I don’t know your name.”

She smiled. “Maura.”

“Beautiful name for a beautiful girl.”

“Beautiful?”

He scanned her, wondering if he’d missed something since she seemed so surprised. Her hair flowed past her shoulder and freckles dotted her nose and cheeks. She wasn’t Italian—not even close. No Italian he’d ever met had eyes that color.

Those eyes… Vincent could never get enough of them. And as he looked across the desk at his youngest child, he saw the same eyes watching him suspiciously.

“We met at Celia’s engagement party,” he said, looking back away. Sometimes it was still hard for Vincent to take.

“I know that much,” Carmine said. “You nearly knocked her down.”

“Yes.”

“And she was there with Corrado’s family?”

“Yes.”

“So, what was an Irish girl doing at a party for two Italians?”

Vincent shook his head. He’d wondered the same thing that day.

He and Maura had sat against the side of the house, his legs spread out in front of him as he fanned his sweaty skin. Maura’s knees were pulled up to her chest as she plucked the dry grass around them.

“Are you not hot?” he asked. They’d been sitting there for at least an hour, neither one speaking much. They both just seemed satisfied hiding from everyone else.

“No, but you can go inside. The cool air will make you feel better.”

“Will you go in with me?”

“No way,” she said. “That wouldn’t be good at all.”

He laughed. “Then I’m not going in, either. They haven’t noticed I’m gone, and until they do, I’m staying right where I am.”

“Will they notice you're gone?”

“No, I doubt they even remember I’m alive,” he said. “What about you?”

Before she could answer, her eyes darted past him. Vincent turned around and groaned when he saw Katrina standing at the corner of the house.

Katrina’s mouth hung open. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Go away, loon,” Vincent said. “I’m not in the mood for you.”

“Not you,” Katrina said. “Her!”

His brow furrowed when Maura jumped to her feet, looking away as she started to shake. “Sorry, mistress.”

Mistress
. The moment she’d said it, he knew the truth.

“Well?” Carmine asked impatiently, pulling Vincent from his thoughts. “What was Mom doing there?”

“She was the help,” he said.

“The help?” Carmine’s tone was clipped. “Like a maid? Was she a waitress? Because the two of you were fifteen, and that’s not old enough to be employed. Not like you people follow laws or anything…”

Vincent sighed. “No, Carmine, she wasn’t paid.”

Carmine sprung forward, raising his voice. “It’s true? Seriously?”

“Yes.”

Carmine shoved the front of the desk as he stood up, thrusting it into Vincent. He grabbed a hold of the laptop before it hit the floor as his son started rambling. “How could I have been so fucking stupid? Never in a million years would I have imagined she’d have been… you’d have… Christ!”

Vincent shifted his desk back into place. “You can say the word.”

“I know,” he snapped, “but can you?”

“Of course. It’s just a word.”

“Then say it. Drop the ‘she was the help’ bullshit and say it.”

“Slave,” Vincent said, losing his composure. “Unwilling servant. Trafficking victim. Call it what you will, it’s all the same.”

Carmine’s anger flared even more. “And the Moretti’s had her? Is that why Corrado feels like he owes her?”

“You’ll have to ask him. That’s not my story to tell.”

“Of course it's not your story to tell,” Carmine said, slamming his hands down on the desk. “The cop-out answer of the year. Nobody wants to tell me anything, so they pawn it off on everyone else and I stay in the dark. I can’t believe you kept this from me, though. After everything, how could you not tell me?”

Vincent pushed Carmine’s hands away and stood up. “It’s in your best interest to settle down. If you want an explanation, take a seat. If not, get out of my office. The choice is yours, but I’m not going to sit here and let you scold me like some child.”

Carmine glowered at him, clenching his jaw. Vincent could tell his son wanted to say something, but he knew to get answers, he’d have to do things his way.

Sighing, Carmine flopped in the chair. Vincent sat back down and straightened up some papers that had been disturbed, giving the computer a quick glance before addressing his son. “When do you suppose I should’ve told you? When you were two and didn’t know what slavery was? When you were eight and looked at your mother like she was infallible? After she was gone, when you were already hurting? The time was never right.”

“Don’t you think I had a right to know who my mom really was?”

The question sent Vincent’s temper flaring. “That’s not who your mother was! Haven’t we been through this before with the girl? How many times have I overheard you telling her that didn’t define her? How many times, Carmine? And yet you have the audacity to turn it around and use that against me, against your mother?”

“I didn’t mean—”

“It doesn’t matter what you meant,” Vincent said. “This is why I never wanted you to find out. Maura wasn’t ashamed of her past, but she didn’t want you to associate her with slavery. She wanted people to see a wife and a mother—a woman—not a victim. She didn’t want her life to still be about that, just as I’m sure the girl won’t.”

The anger in Carmine’s expression waned. “She won’t.”

“That’s what I thought. I let Maura leave the past behind, and maybe it was unfair to you, but it was her life. It was her decision. I loved your mother, and we went through hell fighting to be together. I’ve tried to make it as easy as possible on you, so that maybe you’d learn from my mistakes since I had no one to guide me. I had to learn through trial-and-error, and it wasn’t easy. I lost my patience with her so many times because I just didn’t understand what she needed.”

Carmine covered his face with his hands as he attempted to rein in his emotion. “She always seemed so well-adjusted.”

“That was our intention,” he said. “We didn’t want to taint your perception of the things she did. If you knew the truth, you’d question everything.”

Carmine stared at him, unshed tears in his eyes. “This is fucked up.”

“I know it’s a lot to take in.”

“And this is why she was desperate to help Haven?”

Vincent knew he was rocking Carmine’s foundation, so he treaded carefully to give his son time to stabilize. “Maura wasn’t born into it, but she knew what the child had to look forward to. Your mother wanted to save her before reality hit. The older they are when you pull them out, the least likely they are to be able to adapt.”

“Is this why we don’t see Grandma?”

The question caught Vincent off guard “What?”

“You never let us talk to Grandma. Is this why? Were you afraid she’d tell us?”

A bark of laughter sounded through the room, and it took Vincent a second to realize it had come from him. “Uh, my mother…” He paused, shaking his head as he laughed again. “Let’s just say she has her beliefs. A slave was bad enough. An Irish slave was worthy of disownment.”

“So she was Irish? That part's at least true?”

“Yes, she was the daughter of immigrants. The father fell into some trouble with the Irish mob, owed them a lot of money. They snatched Maura as collateral when she was six.”

“She was kidnapped? Didn’t people look for her?”

“Of course they looked for her, but over two-thousand kids go missing in this country every day. Your mother disappeared before there was the Internet or any outside agencies for missing children, and certainly before there were things like Amber Alerts. All they had was word-of-mouth, and once everyone stopped talking about her, it was like she’d never existed.”

“But what about her parents?”

“They never paid and were killed,” he said. “Maura was sold a few times and ended up with Erika Moretti.”

“Who freed Mom? Who vouched for her?”

“I suppose you could say I did. Your grandfather said if I wanted something in life, it was my responsibility to be a man and earn it. So I initiated, and I’m still paying for it today.” He paused. “Is that all you wanted to know? Because I’m exhausted and don’t have the energy for this conversation anymore.”

Carmine nodded, although Vincent could tell he wanted to know so much more.

“I’ll talk to your brother, but whether or not you tell the girl is up to you.”

“I don’t think so,” he said. “She has enough on her mind.”

“I imagine she does,” Vincent said, glancing at the computer to see she still hadn't moved. “Her mother’s life ended just as hers began. Speaking of which…”

Opening the right bottom desk drawer, he grabbed some files and held them out to Carmine. “Here’s the girl’s paperwork. It’ll take a while before the estate is settled, but no one will contest her inheritance.”

“So she gets everything?”

“Technically it all goes to Corrado, but he’ll sign it over to her once it comes through. She’ll get the land, the house, and any money they may have. She’d also get any slaves under our code of conduct, but we figured that would be like a slap in the face.”

As soon as he said that, Carmine’s eyes narrowed. “You’re right it would be, just like what you did to Haven would be like smacking Mom!”

The words hurt, but Vincent kept his cool demeanor. “I know I’ve done some things wrong, but I can’t take them back, as much as I wish I could.”

“Yeah, well, like I said before, I’m not the one you need to say that to,” he said. “You ought to apologize to Haven.”

“Maybe I will… after you tell her the truth. My apology wouldn’t mean much if she didn’t understand why.”

“Excuses,” he said. “Anyway, since it’s apparently Haven’s birthday tomorrow, I’ll probably take her somewhere. I thought about going to the city for the night if that’s fine with you.”

Vincent shrugged. “I have nothing to do with it. She’s free to do as she pleases.”

“That’s the best thing anyone could give her,” he said. “I sure can’t top that gift.”

“It’s not a gift, Carmine. It’s just giving her what she’s been entitled to all along.”