Sempre (Forever) (8 page)

Giovanni was speaking, his thick accent making Vincent strain to pay attention. Sicilian by birth, he'd immigrated to America a decade ago and moved up in rank to become their highest producing
Capo
. Some of his crew was present, sitting off to the side. Vincent had a hard time remembering the names of the
soldati
sometimes, but one he was familiar with was Nunzio.

Nunzio was barely an adult but had been lurking around for years. They called him Squint because of the way his eyes seemed to always be half-closed, his face stuck in a roguish scowl. He kept his head buzzed, a light dusting of brown hair showing, and his eyes were the grayish color of cracked earth. The Don's brother, Luigi, had taken him in as a baby and married his mother, so Salvatore had a soft spot for the boy.

The men continued to argue back-and-forth as Vincent swirled the scotch around in his glass, having no intention of drinking it. He remained quiet until the unmistakable voice of the Don chimed in, speaking directly to him. “What do you think, Vincent?”

I think I want to go home
. “I think being hasty will backfire. I don’t like the way the Russians conduct business, either, but they've yet to hurt any of our people.”

“They will,” Giovanni said. “It is only a matter of time.”

“If they do, it'll have to be handled,” Vincent said, “but until that time comes, who are we to police another group? If they keep it up, it’ll divert attention to them instead of us.”

Vincent looked across the room at where the Don sat in his favorite chair. In his late sixties, Sal was shaped like a balloon and sounded like he was perpetually full of helium. He’d been the underboss when Vincent’s father ran things and succeeded rule after he died. Antonio dubbed him ‘Salamander’ back then. “If you scare a salamander, he’ll drop his tail and run,” he’d said. “No skin off his back. Two weeks later, he’s good as new.”

The comparison made them snicker, but it was a nickname no one ever called Sal to his face. Not if they wanted to live.

Sal nodded as he mulled over Vincent's words. “You’re right. Maybe they’ll take themselves out with their stupidity.”

Squint laughed dryly, but tried to cover it with a forced cough when everyone looked his way. The guy beside him seemed annoyed by his friend's outburst, another
soldato
whose name eluded Vincent. He thought it might be Johnny, along with about a hundred others running around the streets. His looks certainly fit the name—generic, undistinguishable. Another number in the crowd, easily replaced and never missed. A tail, Vincent thought. Sal would drop him and keep going.

When Sal dismissed them with a wave of the hand, Vincent was the first out of his seat. He dumped the scotch and headed for the door, but Giovanni cut him off. “I think we are making a mistake, Doc. It will do us no good ignoring them now.”

“It’s not that we’re ignoring them,” Vincent said. “We’re just not going to instigate a fight. The last thing we need is violence on our streets over things that have nothing to do with us.”

Vincent headed for his rental car when Giovanni’s voice rang out once more. “Just because we do not know of anything yet does not mean they have not violated us. There will be war.”

Chapter 5

Carmine scanned the empty closet, pulling the last clean shirt off of the hanger. He put it on with a sigh and glanced around the messy room. The small piles of laundry had somehow morphed into mountains, nearly every piece of clothing he owned now dirty on the floor. Usually it wouldn’t have gotten that far, as he would’ve taken them to the local laundry service, but he had a problem—he was broke.

He strolled through the library to the other side of the floor and grabbed the doorknob to Dominic’s bedroom door, his brow furrowing when it wouldn’t turn. He could hear voices inside and pounded on the door.

Dominic opened it a moment later. “What do you want?”

Carmine glanced past him, seeing Tess lying across the bed in one of Dominic’s shirts, and cringed at the mental image of what he’d interrupted. “I need some money. All of my clothes are dirty.”

“You want money?”

“Yeah, a loan.”

“You have a funny way of asking, bro,” Dominic said. “And how are you going to pay me back for this loan when you don’t have a job?”

Carmine shrugged. “I’ll figure it out. I always do.”

“Yeah, you will,” Dominic said. “You’ll figure out how to do your own damn laundry for once.”

The door slammed in Carmine’s face before he could respond. Tess laughed inside the room as Carmine punched the wall before heading back to his bedroom. He grabbed his cell phone and dialed Dia’s home number, breathing a sigh of relief when she answered. “What do you want, Carmine?”

“What makes you think I want something?”

“Because I know you,” she said. “You don’t just call to chit-chat.”

He sighed. “My laundry needs done.”

“You want me to do your laundry?”

“Yes. I don’t know who else to ask.”

“Well, how much money do you have?”

“None. I’ll owe you for it.”

All he heard was the sound of Dia’s laughter before she hung up.

Irritated, he picked up armfuls of clothes and tossed them in the hamper before dragging it downstairs. He cursed as he passed the office on the second floor, annoyed at the situation, but he was too damn stubborn to ask his father for anything.

After all, he thought, how hard could washing clothes be?

As soon as he got to the laundry room, his footsteps faltered when he heard the humming. Haven stood in front of the dryer, pulling clothes out and folding them. She glanced at him apprehensively as she quieted, her eyes darting from him to his hamper. He pulled it into the room and opened the washing machine door, shoving all of his clothes into it. It was overflowing, and he had to push on them to get the door closed. He looked around for some detergent and caught Haven’s eyes again as she gaped at him, holding a pair of pants.

He wasn’t sure what her problem was, but he was too aggravated to deal with it at the moment. Another week had passed with her avoiding him, dodging from rooms before he could even say hello.

“So, where’s the soap?” he asked. “You know, the Tide or whatever we use around here?”

Haven reached behind her and opened a small cabinet, pulling out a jug of laundry detergent. Carmine opened the washer door again as he took it from her, and he was about to pour it straight in when Haven sharply inhaled.

The intake of breath stalled him. “What?”

“Shouldn’t you put in the detergent first?”

He hesitated. “Should I?”

“I was taught to start it first, put the soap in second, and then add the laundry up to the line.”

“What line?”

“The line that tells you how far to fill the machine with clothes.”

“Oh.” He glanced at the washer. “There’s a limit?”

He set the jug of detergent down before pulling his clothes back out of it. Haven went back to folding, and he glared at the front of the washer. “Where’s the start button?”

“There isn’t a button,” she said. “You choose your setting and then you pull the dial.”

He glanced at her as she folded a shirt, annoyed by her nonchalance at doing laundry. “What exactly is my setting? It looks to me like the setting is the goddamn laundry room and the plot is I don’t know how to fucking turn this thing on.”

Her brow furrowed. “Should I do it for you?”

The question caught him off guard. “I don’t know.”

She reached over and turned the dial to colors. It started filling with water, and she measured some detergent before putting in half of his clothes. She worked briskly, pushing the hamper with the rest of the laundry off to the side before turning back to folding hers.

Carmine suddenly felt anxious as he stood there, unsure of what to say. All week long he’d invented conversations in his mind, shit he’d say to her when she stopped being evasive, and now that she was in front of him, he was drawing a blank. “So, you’re good at that.”

Awkward
.

She smiled softly. “I’ve been doing it my whole life.”

“Yeah, well, this is a first for me,” he said. “So, who are you?”

She looked confused. “I told you my name.”

“I know, but that doesn’t tell me who you are. I mean, do you have a last name?”

She was quiet for a moment, continuing to fold her laundry. “Antonelli, maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“I don't really have one, but that’s his.”

He cocked his head to the side, studying her. “Whose?”

“My master’s.”

“What do you mean your master?”

“You know, my master where I came from.”

No, he didn’t know. “Where did you come from?”

“California, I think.”

“You think? Did you live there long?”

She nodded. “Until I came here.”

“You lived there your whole life, and you're not sure where it is?” He was stunned. “Did you hate the place or something?”

“Depends on what you mean by that.”

“Explain it to me.”

She sighed. “I didn’t like my master, but I had people there who understood me.”

“What about here?”

“Here I have food to eat and clothes to wear.”

“But no one understands you?”

She shook her head. “My masters treat me nicely, though.”

“Whoa, masters?” That rubbed him the wrong way. “Why the hell do you keep saying that?”

“I don't know what other word to use.”

“It sounds wrong, like you're a servant or a slave or something.”

She looked at him as he spoke. “Aren’t I?”

“How...?” He shook his head. “What the fuck?”

“It isn't so bad here,” she said. “People like me wish for the kind of life where they don’t have to fear paying for someone else's mistake with their life.”

“And wherever it is you came from, you worried you’d be killed for no reason?”

“No, there’s always a reason,” she said. “Just not one you caused.”

He was mystified. “That’s why you asked me not to punish you when I spilled my orange juice.”

“Yes.”

“Do you fear for your life here?”

“I always fear for my life. Just because you won’t punish me for someone else’s mistakes doesn’t mean I won’t make my own. I’m bound to do something wrong at some point, and I’m aware of what can happen to me when I do.”

Standing there, Carmine was taken aback by how much he suddenly understood the strange girl. She may not have seen it, but Carmine knew what it was like to pay for other’s mistakes. He knew what it was like to live knowing your life could end at any moment because of something that had nothing to do with you.

But masters? That he didn’t get.

She finished folding her clothes in silence before making a move to leave, but Carmine continued to stand in the doorway, blocking her only exit.

“Do you need anything else?” she asked.

“I need to know why you hate me.”

Her brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“You run from me; you won’t look at me or talk to me. The only reason you’re doing it now is because you don’t think you have a choice. You have no problem being around my brother, so why the problem with me? Am I that horrible?”

She stared at him as he rambled in frustration, her silence putting him even more on edge. “Christ, now I’m yelling at you, like that’s going to fix anything. Is that what’s wrong? Is it my temper?”

“I don’t hate you. I just… don’t understand you.”

Something about those words was like a dagger to his chest. No one had understood him before, and he wanted her to. He needed her to, because for the first time in years, he wondered if someone finally could.

He opened his mouth to respond, but the ringing of his phone cut him off. He pulled it out of his pocket, glancing at it, and she took the opportunity to slip past him.

“Haven,” he called, stepping out of the laundry room behind her. She glanced over her shoulder at him. “I think you’ll find we’re more alike than you think if you take the chance to get to know me.”

He turned away from her then to answer the call. “Yeah, Dia?”

“I shouldn’t have hung up on you,” Dia said. “Do you still need your laundry done?”

“No, I got it,” he said. “Someone showed me how to do it.”

He realized then, as he looked back into the laundry room, that he hadn’t even thanked her for her help.

*  *  *  *

Carmine burst into his father’s office and plopped down in the chair in front of the desk. Vincent put down the medical journal he’d been flipping through and removed his glasses. “Come in. You’re not interrupting at all.”

Not in the mood for a lecture, Carmine dived right into what was on his mind. “So, why is that girl here?”

Vincent sighed. “Haven’t we already had this conversation? You said you didn’t care.”

“I care now.” His own words caught him off guard. Did he?

Vincent eyed him suspiciously. “Why?”

Good fucking question
. “She’s strange. She says some weird shit.”

“I wasn’t aware you were talking to her.”

“Yeah, well, she’s staying in my house, so…”

“My house,” Vincent corrected him. “Your grandfather left this place to me when he died. And the girl’s here because I brought her here.”

“Willingly? Because it doesn’t seem like she’s on vacation, cooking dinner and cleaning up after people. She didn’t even own anything.”

“You’re right—it’s certainly no vacation for her—but it’s a big step up from where she came from.”

“California,” Carmine said. “Or she thinks it’s in California, anyway. She lived there with a master who could’ve killed her.”

Vincent’s eyes widened. “I’m surprised she told you so much.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t give her much choice,” he said. “Apparently she feels like she can’t deny anyone anything when they ask.”

“Oh, that’s where you’re wrong, son,” Vincent said. “If the child didn’t want to tell you, she wouldn’t. She might be trained to serve people, but she knows how to keep secrets. She wouldn’t have survived as long as she has otherwise.”