“But how can he be trusted when he’s betrayed me before?”

“Because if he was going to tell, he would’ve by now,” Vincent said. “I’m not going to murder a seventeen-year-old kid because you think it’ll make you feel better. You’ll deal with the guilt of his death for the rest of your life, and I have enough people to worry about right now.”

Carmine stared at his father. “Like him?”

“Yes. Him.”

“So you haven’t figured out how to deal with him?”

“I’m just delaying the inevitable, hoping when the time comes I do the right thing . . . whatever that may be.”

“You know, I could probably guess who—”

“Don’t even go down that path, Carmine Marcello,” he said. “I’m not going to tell you again.”

Carmine nodded, but there was no way he could stop thinking about it. “There are only so many people you’d be afraid of, though.”

Vincent lost his cool and stood, shoving his chair back and pointing at the door. “Get out.”

Carmine begrudgingly headed to the third floor and collided with Haven at the top of the stairs. “Whoa! Where are you going?”

“I didn’t know where you went,” she said.

“Where I’ve been doesn’t matter. All that matters is where I am now.” He scanned her. She had on a pair of his flannel pants, rolled up to stay on, and his football shirt—the same thing she’d worn that first day in the kitchen. “You know, you look good in my clothes, but how about we go take them back off?”

She gasped as he pulled her to his room. “Well, good morning.”

“Yeah, it’s definitely about to be a good morning,” he said playfully. “And a good afternoon. And a good evening, if I’m lucky.”

They made love quietly on and off all afternoon, careful not to be overheard. She sprawled out on the bed beside him after a while, sleeping peacefully on her stomach. The blanket barely covered her bottom half, leaving her back exposed. He stared at her skin, wishing she’d never gotten any of those marks. He wished she’d never had to experience pain, and he hated those fucking scars. But on the other hand, they were a part of her, and to him, there was nothing ugly about her.

She deserved more than she had, and Carmine couldn’t wait to give it to her. To give her a real life where she was free. Free of her imaginary chains, free of heartache, free of danger. Just . . . free.

He traced the word with his finger over her scarred back. Free. It was all that mattered to him.

33

“You’re going to die.”

Those four words cracked the silence that had enveloped the room. Vincent fought the urge to balk, instead keeping his calm disposition. It wasn’t like it was something he hadn’t already thought to himself dozens of times, but hearing it verbalized in that cold, emotionless voice made it real.

He looked in the direction the words had come from and met Corrado’s piercing eyes, so dark Vincent couldn’t differentiate between the pupil and the iris. They were the same eyes dozens had looked into during their last moments on earth, eyes that could break the hardest of men. They were the eyes of a murderer, a man who could reach inside his coat, pull out his .22-caliber Ruger Mark II pistol, and put a bullet in Vincent before he knew what was happening. More importantly, they were the eyes of a man who wouldn’t hesitate to do it if necessary.

“I know,” Vincent said, keeping his voice even despite his anxiety.

It was the first of June, and tomorrow Dominic would graduate from high school. Out of everything Vincent had done in life, Dominic felt like his greatest accomplishment. Just the fact that he had survived intact and was setting off on a path that didn’t resemble the one he had walked down at his age made Vincent feel as if he had done something right. Here was something he hadn’t destroyed, someone’s life he hadn’t ruined.

But his pride was overshadowed by another event, one that had forced him to break his silence. In two short days, Carmine would turn eighteen. His youngest son would be emancipated in the eyes of the law and outside forces were threatening to take his life away. The Don wanted the Principe, a puppet he could mold into a brutal, calculating soldier. Sal wasn’t above manipulation, and Vincent was afraid of what he would do to get his hands on Carmine.

Corrado and Celia had flown in for Dominic’s graduation and to celebrate Carmine’s birthday. The kids had gotten up before dawn to head to Asheville for the afternoon, and Celia was upstairs, purposely giving the two men some space.

“She doesn’t look like a Principessa,” Corrado said.

“I had the same thought.”

“But you’re positive of it.”

“Absolutely.”

“I always suspected there was more to that girl,” Corrado said. “It never made sense that Frankie would put a hit out on your wife because she was interested in his granddaughter. Sure, he treated the girl horribly, but it wasn’t worth going to extreme measures to cover up. But this . . . this is worth killing over.”

Vincent cringed. Corrado noticed his reaction and clarified. “Not saying she should’ve died. I still, to this day, wish I would’ve done more, but I never thought Antonelli could be so heinous.”

“None of us did.”

Corrado looked away from him. “It’s hard to believe she’s one of our own. It’s surreal to discover, after all of these years, the little slave girl is Joseph and Federica’s granddaughter. Their baby survived and ended up in Antonelli’s care. What are the odds they’d be related to . . . ?”

“Salvatore,” Vincent said.

“He has surviving family, after all.”

So many people had been lost in the chaos of the ’70s, a lot of bodies never recovered. It started with one man making a spectacle of the lifestyle and escalated to a clash that spread throughout the country. It became about revenge and bloodshed, men going against everything the organizations stood for in the name of vengeance. The same families that had sworn to protect women and children were so blinded by hatred they took it out on the innocent.

Joseph Russo had been discovered buried in a cornfield years later. Antonio sent men out looking for Federica, hoping she had gone undercover with their baby. But a bundle had been dropped off on his doorstep one night, human bones wrapped in a pink baby blanket. There were no DNA tests in those days, but everyone believed it then—Federica and the baby were dead.

But they’d been wrong. The baby had survived, going by the name Miranda, living right under their noses their entire time.

“I knew you were hiding something, but I never imagined it would be this,” Corrado said. “The odds of that woman turning out to be Sal’s dead niece are about as likely as Jimmy Hoffa showing up tomorrow on the corner of Lincoln Avenue and Orchard Street.”

“I’m inclined to believe anything’s possible now.”

“True,” Corrado said. “They disappeared around the same time. I’ll be on the lookout for Hoffa whenever I’m in the neighborhood.”

His tone was so serious Vincent couldn’t be sure if he was joking or not. He usually couldn’t with Corrado and didn’t dare laugh either way.

“So whoever killed them gave the baby to the Antonellis, and Frankie took the child knowing who she was. He ordered the wife of a fellow Mafioso murdered to retain his secret, because he knew what he’d done would be an automatic death sentence,” Corrado said, summing up in a few seconds what had taken Vincent an hour to stumble through.

“As it would be for me.”

“Yes.”

“You understand why I’ve done what I’ve done, right?” Vincent asked. “You understand why I couldn’t turn the girl over to him?”

“We wouldn’t still be sitting here if some part of me didn’t,” Corrado said. “The fallout would be disastrous. Not only would you be killed on principle, but her life would also be in danger. Squint’s set upon inheriting the dynasty, banking on the fact that he’s the closest thing the Don has left to a relative. Carmine’s in enough danger because of Sal’s interest in him. Adding the girl to the equation would jeopardize them both.”

“Not to mention what it would mean for the organization,” Vincent said. “They never determined who killed Joseph and Federica, or what they did with her body. Sal would go on a rampage, and we have enough problems right now.”

“He’d start another war,” Corrado said. “We’d all be in danger.”

“I know. And I’m not worried about myself. I just don’t want the kids to be taken down by this.”

“So you want the Principe and the Principessa to ride off into the sunset and live happily ever after? That’s not asking for too much, right?” he asked, his voice mocking. “I hate to break it to you, but this is the real world, Vincent. I have a greater chance of getting you out of this than I do of keeping them unscathed. I honestly don’t know what you expect of me.”

“I’m not asking you to do anything. I just—”

Corrado cut him off. “You’re getting soft. I don’t know what happened to you, but I don’t like it. You claim you aren’t trying to involve me, but you’ve done so from day one by involving my wife.”

“I didn’t intend—”

“No, I’m sure you didn’t intend it, but I would’ve thought you, of all people, would understand. You lost your wife to this, and now you’re putting me in the same situation! For someone who grieved so wholly, you surely didn’t hesitate to set me up to endure the same. I want nothing more than to refuse your request right now, but I can’t. I have to help you, even though it goes against everything I’ve sworn myself to, because it’s the only way to protect Celia.” He stared at him pointedly. “This girl better be worth it.”

“She was to Maura.”

Corrado rubbed his face with frustration. “The things we do for women. What possessed you to run her DNA in the first place? You know who her parents are.”

Vincent sighed. “I wanted to get her a green card.”

“A green card?” he asked incredulously.

“I knew it was too risky to try to get her a birth certificate, so I thought I could get a green card to legally establish her here. With her father being a citizen, she’d be approved as long as the relationship could be established. I knew Michael wouldn’t agree willingly, so I thought a DNA test could strong-arm him.”

“And you couldn’t just ask me?”

“I told you—I didn’t want to involve you.”

Corrado shook his head. “Do you think Antonelli knows?”

“I doubt it. He wouldn’t have given up the girl so easily if he knew. He would’ve bartered for more. And I’m sure he didn’t know anything when . . . it happened.”

Corrado watched him intently. “It’s been five years now, huh?”