Sempre (Forever) (80 page)

It was about then that she started hallucinating, hearing voices and seeing faces she couldn’t be sure were truly there. The nightmares were extreme, filled with flashbacks in an inconsistent loop. Dr. DeMarco haunted her, with the piercing glare of hatred she’d seen that day in his room. She could feel the gun pressed into her throat as she gasped for air. She screamed in the darkness, her chest vibrating with the high-pitched shrieks.

The moments of lucidity were few and far between, and even when awake she couldn’t be sure anything was real. Unfamiliar people stood over her, having strange conversations that made little sense. Her monster even appeared, his mangled face appearing as if it were melting away. He said nothing, just stared as the fire engulfed her from the inside out.

*  *  *  *

The Metropolitan Correctional Center is a three-sided triangular sky-scraper in the middle of downtown Chicago. There’s no barbed wire or electric fence surrounding it, no armed guards standing in towers along the edge of the property. With its flat surface and narrow vertical windows, the front of the building resembles an old punch card.

While on the surface it seems unsafe to hold federal offenders in such location, the facility itself is one of the most secure. Prisoners aren’t housed below the tenth floor, and the roof of the 27-story building doubles as their recreation yard. Escaping the place is impossible. No one has ever tried.

Vincent sat in his small cell on the twentieth floor, just a few yards from where Corrado was being housed. The window was frosted, obstructing Vincent’s view of outside, so all he’d had to look at for days were the drab gray walls surrounding him.

Every day was the same: three meals, frequent head counts, occasional sirens, and little conversation. He slept, ate, and showered, foregoing shaving without a decent razor. The guards watched his every move, all calls and visits monitored so none of them could risk communicating.

He was sitting there early one day, right after morning roll call, when a few corrections officers approached. They placed him in restraints and led him to a room, where Special Agent Donald Cerone waited for him at a small table.

“Vincenzo DeMarco,” he said, motioning toward the chair across from him that was bolted to the floor. “Have a seat.”

Vincent sat down, grateful to have a moment out of that dreary cell. They tried to secure him to the table, but the agent stopped them. “That's unnecessary, gentlemen. We're both civilized human beings here.”

The officers looked at him with disbelief but walked out, leaving Vincent unsecured. The agent folded his hands on the table and smiled. “You're probably wondering who—”

Vincent cut him off. “Doctor.”

Agent Cerone’s smile faltered. “Doctor?”

“Yes. And unless you’re my mother or my priest, you don’t call me Vincenzo. It’s Dr.
Vincent
DeMarco.”

The agent stared at him for a moment before nodding. “That's right. Dr. Vincent DeMarco, I’m Special Agent Donald Cerone with the Justice Department.”

Vincent sighed exasperatedly. “I have nothing to say.”

“I figured you wouldn’t,” he said. “You wouldn't have made it as far as you have if you weren't cunning. But truthfully, I'm not here about your case. I was just hoping we could discuss something I found.”

Reaching into his briefcase, Agent Cerone pulled out a black notebook. “Do you know what this is?”

Vincent didn't respond, having no intention of saying another word to the man.

“I'll take the lack of reaction as a no,” he said. “We found this in a bedroom on the third floor of your residence.”

He flipped it open, and Vincent saw the page was covered in barely legible juvenile scrawl. Realization hit him that it belonged to Haven. He tensed, concerned as to what information those pages might contain.

“The entire thing is engaging, but there were some passages I found to be particularly interesting. I thought I’d share them with you today.” He stopped on a page that had been bookmarked and scanned the lines of writing with his finger before reading a passage out loud.

“
Katrina sometimes said she would kill me in my sleep. She told me to keep one eye open if I wanted to live. I stayed awake those nights in case she meant it. I wasn't afraid to die, but I didn't want to leave Mama alone. I didn't want Master Michael to hurt her more, and I thought Katrina would kill her next
.”

The agent flipped to a different page and read another one.

“
I called Master Michael ‘daddy’ once when he visited the ranch. I heard someone say that was what he was to me, but he got angry and beat me. Mama begged him not to kill me. He stopped because Frankie made him. Frankie hit Michael for it and I remember thinking we weren’t the only people that got punished like that. I should’ve been scared, but it made me feel like maybe Frankie didn’t hate me. He hit his son, but he still loved him, right
?”

Agent Cerone glanced at him when he was finished. “The Antonelli’s? So unfortunate about their deaths.”

Vincent sat still, not giving any indication that he was panicking inside. Things were unraveling quickly.

“How about one more?” Agent Cerone asked, flipping to another page. “I think you'll personally find this one fascinating.”

“
I’ll never forget the look in his eyes. I was only trying to do what he told me to do, because I didn't want to get in trouble for not listening. I thought he was going to kill me, but he did something worse. He left me alone in the dark. He was nice to me, and I didn't want to disappoint him. I dream about the look on his face when he turned into a monster. I wish I could forget. I wish Dr. DeMarco liked me
.”

Vincent kept his expression blank, but the words hit him hard. The agent closed the notebook, shaking his head. “What did you do to the poor girl? Why don't you like her?”

“Reading that is an invasion of privacy,” Vincent said. “You had no right to take it. I know the law, and I’m well aware of what you can and cannot confiscate during a search and seizure. A young girl’s diary is off limits.”

Agent Cerone slipped the notebook back into his briefcase. “Like I said, cunning. I'd love to return it. Do you know where I can find her?”

“I’d like to speak to my lawyer.”

He nodded, pushing his chair back. “I’m sure you would, Vincenzo. It's nice to officially meet you after spending so many months monitoring you from afar. If you decide you want to talk after all, I think you can figure out how to get a hold of me.”

*  *  *  *

The orange jumpsuit was particularly bright under the florescent lights of the busy courtroom. Carmine listened to his lawyer argue that there was no probable cause to keep him incarcerated. The judge seemed bored, and as soon as Mr. Borza stopped speaking, he ordered Carmine released and the charges dropped for the inconvenience.

They started the release process, asking him just as many questions on the way out as they had on his way in. He was aggravated by the time he walked out the doors, finding Celia waiting for him. “Thanks for springing me.”

She smiled. “You shouldn't have been in there in the first place. Let's just hope Mr. Borza has as much luck with Vincent and Corrado.”

“How are they? Fuck, where are they?”

“They’re being detained downtown at MCC with no bail. They have hearings next week, though, and the lawyers are confident they can get that changed.”

Carmine shook his head. “Another week?”

“Unfortunately.”

A tense silence lingered in the car during the drive to the Moretti’s house as that sunk in. Carmine knew it wasn't going to be easy, and he would have to take some big risks if he was going to save Haven. He always said he’d sacrifice for her, and it seemed that was exactly what he’d have to do.

Celia pulled up to the house, and they both climbed out, but Carmine remained in the driveway. She realized he wasn't following her and glanced at him apprehensively. “You coming inside, kiddo?”

He could feel tears building up. “I can't.”

“I understand,” she said. “What do you need?”

“I, uh... there’s somewhere I have to go.”

“Carmine...”

“Look, I've made mistakes, but I'd never do anything to get any of you hurt.”

“Okay,” she said, handing him the car keys. “Just be careful.”

Carmine drove straight to the Lincoln Park neighborhood, pulling up in front of the five-bedroom mansion that sat alone on a hill. He took a deep breath as he made his way onto the porch, his nerves on edge.

He pressed the doorbell, hearing the chimes inside the house. The door was opened swiftly. Standing in front of him was a vaguely familiar woman, and it took him a moment to place her as Clara. She’d been in the Antonelli’s kitchen the day he made sandwiches, the same woman whose screams had haunted him since that visit.

Recognition flashed in her eyes. “May I help you, sir?”

“I need to see Salvatore.”

She opened her mouth to speak again but was cut off by Teresa. “Is that Carmine DeMarco?” she asked, pulling the door open further as she shoved herself between Carmine and Clara. “What a surprise! I thought you were locked up with the rest of them.”

“They released me.”

She brought her glass of wine up to her lips and gulped the contents. “Well, then. I'm sure Salvatore will be ecstatic to see you. He’s upstairs with Carlo. Second door on the right.” She thrust the empty glass at Clara. “Fix me a drink.”

Clara grabbed the glass and disappeared, while Carmine headed upstairs. He hesitated in front of the closed door, hearing arguing going on inside. He couldn’t make out their words, but Sal sounded irate. Carmine briefly reconsidered, unsure of how he was going to do what he’d come to do, but after a moment, he forced himself to knock. He knew, deep down inside, there was no other way. He had no time to waste.

He knocked, and the bickering silenced immediately. There was a loud groan as the door was pulled open, an annoyed Salvatore standing in the doorway. He froze, surprise flashing across his face. “
Principe
! I thought you were my dreadful wife coming to nag me some more. Come in.”

Carmine stepped past him into the vast room, seeing a man sitting in a chair off to the side. The guy stood up and turned toward him, and Carmine balked when he saw his disfigured face.

A strange sensation hit Carmine, a rush of bitter cold running from his head down to his toes. The man left without a word, and Salvatore shut the door.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?” Sal asked, sitting down behind his desk as Carmine slipped into an empty chair.

“I think you know why I'm here, so we can cut the bullshit.”

Salvatore’s smile fell. “You always were a bold one. Most people wouldn't dare come to me like this, but you have guts. That kind of commitment is rare nowadays.”

“I have to find her,” Carmine said. “No matter what.”

“I respect that.” Salvatore opened a case and pulled out a cigar. He offered Carmine one, but he shook his head. Salvatore lit his, taking a deep puff before continuing. “I wish I could help you.”

“You
wish
you could help? What does that mean? You can help!”

Salvatore shook his head. “You're wrong. I can't. As unfortunate as this entire thing is, I have much more pressing matters to deal with right now. Men are turning on me quicker than I can keep track of. I have people being arrested, their houses invaded and property seized. Every day it's something new, someone new I need to hunt down or try to get out of trouble. I just can't take on anything else.”

Carmine stared at him. “But this is my girlfriend. She's been kidnapped by your people, and you're telling me you can't help?”

“I assure you, if anyone wants to locate Squint, it's me,” Sal said. “I have people on the lookout for him, and when he's found he'll face the consequences. But I don't have the resources or the justification to focus on him when my entire organization is being attacked. I sympathize with you,
Principe
, because I’ve lost many loved ones, but Haven means nothing to me.”

His words hit Carmine hard, the callous, nonchalant tone sending his temper flaring. “She's not
nothing
. She's fucking family!”

Sal laughed. “How did you come to that conclusion?”

Carmine hesitated for a split second, but he knew he needed to cover his tracks. “I love her, so how can she be nothing to you? I thought we were all family. You talk about all of this loyalty and commitment shit, but where's yours? Am I nothing to you too?”

“You chose not to be a part of my family,” Salvatore said. “I’ll always have a soft spot for you, but you need to understand that this organization,
la famiglia
, is my family. I respect your choice not to be involved, but it's all I have left. Just as you’ll sacrifice to save what matters to you, I'll do whatever it takes to save what matters to me. We have the same type of loyalty,
Principe
, just for different things.”

“So that's it?”

“That's it.”

“And that's what it's gonna take. You're gonna make me—”

“I'm not making you do anything,” he said. “You can walk out that door, and I wish you all the luck in the world, but if you're requesting my assistance—if you're demanding my loyalty—then it's only fair you give me yours in return. Without it, we have nothing.”

Carmine’s anger and heartbreak came together in that moment. It didn't take him long to respond, because deep down he already knew the answer. Part of him knew it the moment he laid eyes on her that first day in the kitchen.

“You got it,” he said. “Whatever it takes.”

Salvatore stared at him. “Are you sure?”

“She's the only thing I've ever been sure of.”

“Great,” Salvatore said, holding out his hand. Carmine hesitated before kissing the back of it obediently. The act made him feel sick, but Salvatore smiled smugly. “I'll make a few calls and see what I can do for you,
Principe
.”

*  *  *  *

Vivid dreams turned into hallucinations, memories morphing back into nightmares. It all ravaged Haven as if it were made of flames, melting everything into molten lava of pain. She continued to hold on through it all, clinging to the surface and fighting to survive. But no matter what she did, the blackness just took her deeper… and deeper… and deeper… until one afternoon, it swallowed her whole.