Sempre (Forever) (84 page)

A female’s piercing screams shattered the air when the man hit the ground, the sound sending a cold chill down Vincent’s spine. Carmine immediately ran in the direction of the noise, and Vincent chased after him as more shots rang out. Corrado covered them by shooting at Ivan. Carmine froze after a moment, and Vincent ran straight into him.

The mattress in the corner was filthy, a body folding into itself on top. Jen blocked their view as she stood over it, her eyes wide with fear. She threw her hands into the air as if to surrender. “Please! Carmine, Vincent, I’m so sorry!”

In that moment, it seemed as if the world had paused. An eerie silence fell over them as they stared at her. The moment passed just as quickly as it came, however, and Carmine reacted… but Vincent was faster. He stepped forward to block Carmine’s line of sight and pulled the trigger, shooting her between the eyes. Riddled with shame, he stood over her as she dropped to the ground, her life diminishing.

He couldn’t let his son be the one to carry that burden.

Ivan grabbed a discarded AK-47 from the floor. Vincent lunged for Carmine, throwing him to the ground as the spray of bullets rang out. They fired back, bullets tearing into Ivan from all directions. Vincent watched in horror as Corrado was hit and dropped to his knees.

Vincent jumped up, his rage taking over, and three bullets hit Ivan in the head. He rushed toward his brother-in-law as Ivan dropped hard, taking out a metal chair on his way down. Vincent glanced around cautiously to make sure it was safe before dropping his gun and crouching down. Corrado was wheezing and clutching his bloody chest, his face pale.

“Let me see,” Vincent said, prying Corrado’s hands away. He ripped his shirt open, exposing three entrance wounds on his chest. “This isn’t good, Corrado. We need to get you to the hospital.”

“I’m fine,” he said, pushing Vincent away as he struggled to get to his feet. He swayed a bit but stood on his own, refusing help.

“Haven!” Carmine’s voice pulled Vincent’s attention away. His breath left him at the sight of Carmine sitting on the edge of the mattress, pulling the limp body into his arms.

Vincent approached, fearing the worst. She was barely recognizable from the girl who had stood in his house a few weeks earlier, instead resembling the girl he’d picked up more than a year ago. She’d dropped a lot of weight and was severely dehydrated, her skin blotchy and lips tinged blue.

Carmine cradled her in his arms. Vincent squatted down beside him and grabbed her wrist. Her pulse was weak, her hand freezing and arm twisted in an odd direction. Vincent could see her chest moving rapidly, her breaths shallow. Feverish, her pupils were constricted. She didn’t react with any of her reflexes, her neurological system not functioning normally.

In less than a minute, Vincent knew what was wrong. The problem was he couldn’t do anything about it.

“Is she okay?” Carmine caressed her face. “Christ, why isn’t she waking up?”

“I’m assuming she’s been drugged.”

“But is she going to be all right?”

“I wish I knew.”

“You’re always trying to play doctor with me, and the one goddamn time I ask you for help, that’s what you give me?”

“I need to get her somewhere to thoroughly assess her,” he said. ”She’s alive.”

“And she better stay that way,” Carmine said. “Haven, baby, I need you to wake up. You have to make it. I can’t do this if you don’t.”

Vincent’s chest ached at his son’s outburst of emotion. “I’ll do what I can for her.”

“She better make it,” he said. “If she doesn’t, I’ll fucking kill them all. Every single one of them.”

Corrado’s voice rang out beside them. “Too late. They’re all already dead.”

Carmine glared at his uncle. “Well, we’ll bring those motherfuckers back to life then.”

Corrado tried to take a step, but his knees buckled. Vincent grabbed him before he hit the floor. “I need to get you to a hospital right now.”

He scoffed, pushing Vincent away. “I’ll take myself and make something up. You need to get some men over here to clean up this mess.”

He walked away, his pain visible in his movements, but he didn’t verbalize it. Corrado looked at the bodies scattered around, shaking his head when his eyes fell on Giovanni. “
Che peccato
.”

“I know. It’s a pity,” Vincent said, pulling out his phone as Corrado staggered toward the door. He watched him, worry eating away at him. “Are you sure about this? You’re losing a lot of blood, and I don’t know if—”

“Don’t be ignorant, Vincent,” he said. “Get Haven to my house and fix her before your son resorts to resuscitating people just to kill them again.”

Corrado paused near the exit and pulled out his gun, turning back around. He glanced across the room where young Dean sat quietly in shock and fired three times into the boy, startling Carmine. “Fuck! I thought you were going to show him some mercy!”

Corrado let his gun drop to the floor. “I did show him mercy. What I did was a lot more humane than what would’ve happened had he still been breathing when Salvatore arrived.”

*  *  *  *

All Haven could see were fireworks.

Flashes of light broke through in the darkness, loud bangs ringing out in the distance. She didn’t know what was real anymore, where she was or what was happening, but the one thing she was sure of was the fireworks.

It reminded her of the day Carmine had taken her to the party. She could still feel him, and a million butterflies invaded her system, leaving her weakened and dizzy.

“Just fireworks,
tesoro
—nothing to be afraid of,” he’d said. “They’re loud, but they won’t hurt you.”

She believed his words as she lay there, just as she had the day he first spoke them. She felt no fear and believed they couldn’t harm her. Nothing would. Carmine would come for her, and he'd save her, because that was what they did for each other. Although she was drowning, slipping further away, she knew she would be fine as long as she didn’t give in.

They couldn’t have her spirit. She wouldn’t let them win.

So as she lay in the darkness, listening to the fireworks all around, she fought to hold on with what little strength she had left.

The fireworks faded, the moment lost, but his faint voice continued to register with her ears. The tiny hairs on her arms stood up as her skin tingled, the sensation so real that she could smell his cologne. It drew her closer to the surface as it swirled all around. She wondered if it was a mirage, like a thirsty man in the midst of a hot, dry desert who saw a lake that wasn’t there. Was she so desperate for him to come that her senses were tricking her into believing he had?

Yes, she thought. She must be hallucinating again.

Light filtered through her eyelids as Carmine’s voice grew louder. She forced her eyes open at the sound, blinking rapidly in an attempt to clear her vision. Everything was hazy, but she could make out the familiar face, the sight of it nearly stilling her weary heart.

It didn’t even seem to want to beat right anymore.

Carmine turned his head, his eyes meeting hers. They were clearer than everything else, the green color striking amidst the fog. “Fuck!” he spat, sending chills through her body. Her vision blurred even more, and she blinked rapidly, anxious to stay conscious. “Fucking
Ninja
, you scared me!”

“Carmine?” She winced from the burn in her throat.

“Yeah, it’s me. I told you I’d find you. I was never gonna give up.” His voice was fueled with emotion as he ran his hand along her cheek. His skin was warm, his touch gentle. “God, I fucking love you.”

She tried to reach for him, but the movement sapped every ounce of energy from her. Everything started to go black again as soon as her hand dropped. The image in front of her twisted, noises fading out as if she were drowning again.

“Happy New Year,” she whispered as he disappeared.

Chapter 50

Haven had no way to gauge how much time passed while she was out—it could’ve been hours or days, even months for all she knew, but one thing she was certain of was she was never alone. She could sense them, vaguely familiar voices cutting through the thick fog, but it always faded away just as quickly as it came.

Slowly, she started having brief moments of lucidity, ones she knew to be real because of the pain. She was numb except for a strange tingle in her limbs, but occasionally sharp stings would pull her from her dreams.

She heard noises during one of her spells and pushed to regain consciousness. She was in a dark room and couldn't make out anything besides a form standing a few feet away. It took a moment for her to recognize the woman. “Miss Clara?”

Miss Clara rushed toward her. “Haven!”

She tried to sit up but whimpered. “It hurts.”

“The doctor said you’d be in pain when you woke up.”

“Doctor? Master doesn’t let us see doctors.”

Miss Clara eyed her. “Where do you think you are?”

“At the ranch.” She was disoriented and exhausted, her words slurring together. She desperately wanted to close her eyes but was afraid she'd never open them again. “Where’s Mama?”

Miss Clara gaped at her. “She's… hold on!”

She scurried from the room, and Haven started to drift back under when a voice came out of nowhere. “Stay awake.”

She forced her eyes back open to see the familiar man, a worried expression on his face. “Dr. DeMarco?”

“Yes, it’s me.” He pulled out a stethoscope and pressed it against her chest. She jumped from the unexpected coldness, pain ricocheting through her from the movement. “Try not to move.”

“It hurts,” she said, tears starting to fall.

“I know it does,” he said, placing his hand against her forehead. She lay as still as possible as he checked her over. Miss Clara hovered behind him, wringing her hands.

The scene was too surreal. “You're not real.”

Dr. DeMarco’s brow furrowed. “I'm not real?”

“You're not really here,” she said. “I'm dreaming again.”

“Oh, I’m quite real.” He paused as a small smile took over his lips. “At least, I think so.”

She tried to smile in response, but she was weak and wasn't sure if it worked. “I don’t understand. How did you get here? Where’s Carmine?” Fear paralyzed her. “Did he die? Did Nunzio kill him?”

Looking around the room frantically, she tried to sit up, but Dr. DeMarco blocked her. “Calm down, child.”

“I can’t.” Her voice cracked. “Where is he?”

“He’s fine,” he said, continuing to look her over. “Getting worked up isn’t going to help.”

“Is he hurt? Is that why he isn't here?”

“I told you, he’s fine. He just had something to take care of.”

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously as he averted his gaze. “What’s he taking care of?”

“It’s not important right now,” he said. “Carmine will be back soon, and he’ll be elated to know you’re awake. He hasn’t left your side until tonight. It couldn’t be helped.”

Nothing made sense. “I’m confused.”

“I imagine you are.” He gave her a wary look. “You were drugged when you were away. You were in bad shape when we found you.”

“Drugged.” Flashes of memory hit her. A man injecting her a few times, his voice unfamiliar.

“I assume it was their way of keeping you subdued. You probably don’t remember much, and it’s best you don’t strain yourself trying to.” His tone told her he meant business. “Your body overdosed on the medication, so when you started coming off of it, you went through withdrawal. I had to put you back under to wean you gradually. It’s taken some time, so it will be a while before you feel normal again. It would've been best to take you to a hospital, but there was no way to explain your condition along with the Thiopental and Phenobarbital in your system.”

“What are they?”

“They’re some powerful drugs we use at the hospital. I’m assuming that’s where Jen came into play in the situation. Thiopental is, uh…” He suddenly looked to be wracked with guilt. “It’s what I’ve given you a few times. It subdues you in very low doses, but higher doses result in a coma. The other slows brain function. With those two used together, I’ll be shocked if you remember anything at all.”

She started to reply but stopped abruptly when he pulled out a syringe. History told her nothing good came from needles.

“It’s just morphine for the pain. It'll help you rest,” he explained when he noticed her reaction, gently picking up her arm. She glanced down at the IV attached to her, watching as Dr. DeMarco injected the drug into her vein. “Like I said, you were in bad shape when we found you.”

“How long has it been?” she asked.

“It’s the twenty-ninth of October today.” He eyed her cautiously. “You disappeared on September thirtieth.”

A month had passed, and she had little recollection of it.

“They had you for about two weeks,” he said. “The other two have been spent recuperating here.”

“Where’s here?” Exhaustion was creeping in fast as the numbing started overtaking her body. “Miss Clara… I saw her and thought—”

“I know,” he interrupted. “We’re in Chicago right now, at my sister's house, but we’ll be heading back to North Carolina just as soon as you’re strong enough.”

“Chicago,” she said, vaguely recalling a man telling her that before. She had no energy to make sense of it, especially considering she'd already forgotten what she wanted to say in the first place.

*  *  *  *

The dim hospital corridor smelled strongly of antiseptic. The suffocating stench of misery hung in the air, thicker than it had been the night before. The feel of death was stronger, the desperation greater. It was a sensation that Vincent still hadn't gotten used to.

The sound of his footsteps bounced off the sterilized walls as he made his way to room 129. Pushing open the door, he stepped inside the darkened ICU room.

As soon as his eyes adjusted, he saw his sister curled up in the gray chair. Her eyes were closed, her breathing steady. Quietly, he grabbed an extra blanket from the cabinet and covered her up. Waking her was pointless—she never went home when he told her to.