“Well, you did a damn fine job at that.”

“Thanks, asshole,” Carmine said, feigning annoyance as an amused smile formed on his lips. “Don’t you have shit to go break with a sword or something? It’s Halloween.”

“Hey, that reminds me! Today’s the anniversary of the first time you two crazy kids made out.”

Haven smiled. “It was when I kissed him.”

“I still can’t believe you made the first move. Bet you’re regretting that decision now, huh?”

Glancing at Carmine, she took in his solemn expression. “I’ll never regret it.”

His face lit up at her words, and she was immediately ashamed for her thoughts. She was still hurt, unsure of what the future held, but one thing Carmine had never done was give up on her. She mourned a life she thought she lost, but it was a life she would have never dreamed of having if he hadn’t fought for her in the first place. He had sacrificed for her, his world irrevocably altered to give her a chance. Carmine deserved a life outside of the violence.

How would she forgive herself if he didn’t get it?

She sighed after Dominic left, setting her bowl of soup down on the small table beside the chair. She got up, wincing from the pain in her wobbly legs, and Carmine rushed forward when he saw what she was doing. She held her hand up to stop him, taking a few weak steps on her own to him.

“I love you, Carmine DeMarco,” she said, nuzzling into his chest. Her shoulder throbbed from where it had been dislocated and her knees felt as if they were going to give out, but she held on to him and ignored it all. None of those things mattered. They would fade, and with them the memory, but her love for Carmine would never go away.

He hugged her back, pulling her closer and resting his head on top of hers. Haven’s smile grew. Despite everything, she still felt safest in his arms.

Haven grew stronger, her injuries healing, but she still struggled mentally as days turned into weeks. She spent most days resting, but eventually ventured outside with Carmine. He held her hand the first time they strolled down the street, pointing out different landmarks from his childhood. They were about a block away from Celia’s house when her legs grew tired, and the two of them stopped in front of a large white house. Carmine pulled her to it and sat on the front porch.

“I don’t think you should sit on someone’s steps like that,” she said. “They might get angry.”

“This is our house, tesoro,” he said with a small smile, continuing as she took the seat beside him. “It’s where I grew up, but it’s been empty since my mom . . .”

Since she was murdered, Haven thought, finishing the sentence he still couldn’t say. She glanced at the bright blue door, a stark contrast to the chipped red paint of the shutters.

“What are we going to do, Carmine?” she asked. “What happens now?”

“We go back to Durante. Sal’s gonna give me some time before he expects me to move here. Other than that, I guess we figure it out as we go.”

And that was exactly what they did. A few days later, Dr. DeMarco rented a car, and the three of them made the journey back to Durante. She slept a lot, sprawled out in the backseat as Carmine and Dr. DeMarco took turns driving. They stopped so frequently it took a few days before they saw the brown wooden DURANTE WELCOMES YOU sign.

An odd sensation overcame Haven when they pulled off the faded highway and up to the familiar plantation house. It wasn’t hurt or heartache, although it was deep within her chest, surrounding her heart and stealing her breath.

It wasn’t until Carmine muttered the words that it struck her. “We’re finally home.”

Home. She got it now. For the first time in her life, something felt like home. It was the place they had come together. It was where they had found love.

She finally knew what that word meant.

51

Settling back in hadn’t been easy. Memories haunted Haven’s dreams and continued to follow her during her waking hours. Flashes of faces, horrific screams, and scathing words constantly ate away at her, and the worst part was she wasn’t sure any of it was real.

She scribbled in notebooks again and sketched pictures of the images she saw in her mind. Her monster returned, taunting her with his scaly face and evil eyes. It reminded her that no matter where she went, that part of her life was never far away.

Carmine was just as distracted, nightmares infesting his sleep again. He would sneak out of bed at night, and sometimes she would follow, listening as he played the same song for hours on end.

They were two broken kids, desperate to be whole again, struggling to find balance in a world out of their control. What’s black and white and red all over? Carmine was, Haven thought. A soul savagely ripped in half, bleeding out for all to see. The yin and yang, the good and evil, the love and pain all at odds with each other. Two sides, two vastly different worlds, but someday they would merge as one. They had to.

Il tempo guarisce tutti i mali. Time heals all wounds.

Some things in life only happen once, the memories lasting forever. They are moments that alter you, turning you into a person you never thought you would become, but someone you were destined to be. There’s no magical rewind button in life, no take backs or do-overs to fix things you wish you could change.

If there were, Carmine would be eight years old again, demanding his mom wait for a car to pick them up. They wouldn’t wind up in that alley, and his mom would live to see another day.

He’d go back to sixteen and put his gun away instead of driving to his best friend’s house in anger. Bygones would be bygones, and there would be peace, instead of public rivalries that hurt everyone in the end.

He’d be in that kitchen at seventeen again, cleaning his spilled juice instead of frightening Haven so badly. He wouldn’t have passed judgment on the strange girl, and maybe he would have known what love was a little sooner.

There were many places Carmine would go back to, many things he would have done differently, but one thing he wouldn’t take back was what he had done to save her.

Sacrifice. It was something he learned from his mom, when she gave her life to save a young girl. He had learned it from his father, when he swore himself to an organization to be with the woman he loved. Even Corrado had put himself on the line, risking his safety to spare them more pain.

And he learned it from Nicholas, who helped a virtual stranger and got nothing in return. Nothing, that is, except a bullet to the chest, ending his short life.

If Carmine could go back, he would have truly apologized to him that day.

Life’s a struggle, and it would be easy if it came with an eraser, but it didn’t. What’s done is done, as hard as that was to accept.

Sometimes, though, people get second chances. They get more tries. It was too late for others, but Carmine was blessed with more time. Time to try to make things right.

“Carmine?”

Carmine glanced at his American history teacher, Mrs. Anderson, and felt the strangest sense of déjà vu at her expectant look. He had failed her class last time around and was back in it senior year, a requirement for graduation.

Not as if he counted on graduating. He had already missed more than a month of school.

“Yeah?”

“It’s your turn.”

Sighing, he strolled to the front of the room, the eyes of his peers fixed on him. They expected a show, but Carmine only had one thing on his mind.

Redemption.

“The Battle of Gettysburg was fought in Gettysburg, Pennsylvania in eighteen-something-or-other. The year doesn’t matter.”

Mrs. Anderson started to interrupt but closed her mouth when he continued. “They considered it the turning point of the war, and President Lincoln showed up to give his big speech. Who really cares what it was called? I don’t. After it was all over and the North won, Congress passed the thirteenth amendment to free the slaves. It outlawed owning another person—yada, yada, yada—but it was a waste of time. All of it.”

“Uh, Carmine?”

He ignored his teacher, continuing on as if she hadn’t spoken. “All those people died and it didn’t change anything, because it doesn’t work if they don’t enforce it. They turn their backs and say it’s not their problem, but it is. It’s everyone’s problem. They can say slavery ended all they want, but that doesn’t make it true. People lie. They’ll tell you what they think you wanna hear, and you’ll believe it. Whatever makes you feel better about your dismal little lives.”

“That’s enough, Carmine.”

“So, whatever. Go on being naïve. Believe what the history books tell you if you want. Believe what Mrs. Anderson wants me to tell you about it. Believe the land of the free—blah, blah, blah—star-spangled-banner bullshit. Believe there aren’t any slaves anymore because a tall guy in a big-ass top hat and a bunch of politicians said so. But I won’t believe it, because if I do too, we’ll all be fucking wrong, and someone has to be right here.”

Mrs. Anderson stood, and Carmine smiled to himself. Maybe they got a show, after all.

He grabbed his belongings and headed for the door before she could tell him to get out of her classroom. The hallway was deserted, everything silent and still as he made his way to the front office. Principal Rutledge stood near the secretary’s desk, and he looked at Carmine with surprise when he walked in. “Did you get in trouble?”

“Me? Of course not.”

Principal Rutledge sighed. “It’s been a while.”

“I know, but don’t worry . . . It’s the last time you’ll have to see me.”

Haven stood in the kitchen making herself lunch when Dr. DeMarco walked in. “When you get a minute, can you come to my office?”

She nodded, nervous as to why he would want to see her. She wrapped up her sandwich, her appetite gone, and placed it in the refrigerator for later. Even though he rarely left the house, since the hospital had terminated his job after news of his arrest, she and Dr. DeMarco hadn’t exchanged more than basic pleasantries in weeks.

She headed up to his office when she couldn’t delay it any longer and softly knocked, opening the door when he told her to enter.

“Have a seat,” he said, motioning toward the chair across from him. “How are you?”

She sat down, watching him cautiously. “I’m okay, sir.”

“Are you?” He raised his eyebrows. “You don’t seem okay.”

She stared at him, debating how to respond. “I’m dealing.”

“Are you starting to remember things?”

She was anxious about where the conversation was heading. “Yes, but I’m not sure how much of it to believe. I hallucinated a lot.”

“It’s not my place to press you for details, but if you have any questions, I can answer them.”

She debated his offer. “Am I really a Principessa?”

He leaned back in his chair, giving her an interested look. “Technically speaking, yes. My wife got too close to discovering that, which is why she was murdered.”