“I think about them,” Vincent said. “I always consider their families.”

“Did you think about Frankie’s?”

Vincent hesitated. “No. I was only thinking about mine back then, but I do now. Every day.”

“That doesn’t count,” Corrado said. “The only relative he has left is Haven, and I assure you she isn’t grieving that loss.”

Vincent thought that over. “You’ve honestly never considered their families?”

“Never,” Corrado said, staring at him pointedly. “My conscience is clear, Vincent. I carry no regret, and I don’t want to start now. It’s why, with God as my witness, I’ll never pull the trigger unless I’m absolutely certain the world is a better place without them.”

“You’re lucky,” Vincent said. “Every time I think I clear my conscience, something else comes about.”

“That’s because you’re letting yourself be a pawn.”

A bitter laugh forced itself from Vincent’s chest. “I was just thinking about the day my father told me to be a king and not a pawn. But he failed to tell me there could only be one king. The rest of us, well . . . we can only do what we can do.”

“You’re missing the point,” Corrado said. “Being the king isn’t always about having the title. Sometimes the title is a ruse. You want control? You need the upper hand, but you never let them see you have it until you’re ready to make your move.”

“And what if the only moves I have left break the rules?”

He shrugged. “Depends on whose rules you break.”

Corrado took a step back and nodded before strolling away.

After he was gone, Vincent turned back to the building, running his hand along the crumbling brick once more. “I’ll see you later, Maura. Ti amo.”

Vincent strolled out of the alley and down the block toward the pizzeria. John Tarullo stood outside the front door, sweeping the large welcome mat with a cornhusk broom. He glanced up, nodding stiffly in greeting. “Dr. DeMarco, I hear you have a son getting married today.”

“Yes. Dominic.”

“I hear he’s a good kid.”

“He is,” Vincent replied. “Both of my sons are good kids.”

Tarullo looked at him warily, raising his eyebrows. “I hear your Carmine is friends with my Remy.”

“Ah, but that doesn’t mean they’re bad kids,” Vincent said. “Maybe just a little misguided. I was the same way, and you wouldn’t call me bad, would you?”

“No,” he said at once, but Vincent could see the truth in the man’s eyes. Yes, yes, an unadulterated hell yes.

Vincent let out a laugh as he walked away.


Carmine sipped his drink, lounging in the white wicker chair as he listened to his friends and family chatter on. He relaxed, almost enjoying himself for once, until a gruff throat cleared right behind him.

He stiffened at the sound.

“This is for you two,” Corrado said as he reached across the table, holding a box wrapped in shiny green paper. Carmine turned to face his uncle, who looked exhausted but otherwise fine. “I apologize I missed the ceremony, but I had unexpected business.”

“Thanks, Unk,” Dominic said as he took the gift. “It’s understandable.”

Corrado walked away without even looking at Carmine. Carmine watched as he approached Celia, motioning for her to follow him. Corrado’s eyes darted around nervously and Carmine’s heart pounded rapidly when Dominic’s voice rang out. “Twinkle Toes.”

Carmine turned to him so quickly he nearly knocked over a glass of champagne, wondering why he had said that name, and saw he had pulled the card from the top of the gift.

“Read it to us,” Tess demanded.

Dominic sighed. “Dom and Tess, I wish I could give you this in person, but I’m tied up with things here. I bet Tess looked beautiful in her dress. Maybe someday I’ll get to see pictures of it.” He paused, glancing at Tess. “She’s right, babe. You’re always beautiful but especially today.”

Smiling, Tess waved for him to continue.

“It’s hard to believe it’s been so long since we’ve talked. I’m doing okay and have been busy, but I won’t bore you with details. Please tell everyone hello for me the next time you talk to them, and tell them I miss them. I hope college is going well for all of you.”

He looked up. “Twinkle Toes says hi and said she misses you motherfuckers. She hopes you aren’t fucking up in school.”

Carmine cracked a smile as his brother glanced back at the note. “I don’t know what you’re supposed to give for weddings. Someone told me people register at stores for household things, but I didn’t think Tess would want a blender. So I got something both of you can enjoy. I’d suggest opening it in private, but I don’t think she’ll be embarrassed either way.”

Tess snatched the box from Dominic, tearing the paper off and opening it. She glanced inside, shifting some tissue paper around, and laughed. “I knew it.”

“Holy shit, Twinkle Toes is kinky!” Dominic reached for the box and pulled out some lingerie, drawing attention as he waved it around. Tess grabbed it, her cheeks tinged red as more people looked, and threw it back in the box.

“You’re such a douchebag sometimes,” she said, storming away. Dia smiled and excused herself, following her sister.

“Looks like she was wrong,” Dominic said. “Tess was embarrassed.”

“Didn’t realize it was possible,” Carmine said.

“Me, either. I’d send her a thank-you note for that, but she didn’t say where she was living.”

She didn’t, Carmine realized. No indication at all of where she was.

Dominic got up to go after his wife and Carmine sat there for a moment, finishing his drink alone as reality crept back in, ruining his brief moment of contentment. He left the wedding hall, not bothering to say good-bye to anyone, and took the long way home. He strolled down the street to his house, slowing as he spotted his father sitting on the bottom step. His brow furrowed as he drew near, seeing the lit cigarette between his fingers. “When the fuck did you start smoking?”

Vincent shrugged, flicking his ashes on the concrete. “When did you?” he countered, pointing at some old cigarette butts littering the yard.

“They’re not mine,” he replied. “Most of them, anyway. Remy smokes.”

“Ah.” Vincent pulled out a pack of cigarettes and handed one to Carmine along with a lighter.

He lit it, taking a drag as he stared at his father. “It’s kinda fucked up to be smoking with you, a doctor.”

“I’m not a doctor anymore.” He let out a bitter laugh. “Can’t have a suspected member of La Cosa Nostra wielding scalpels.”

Carmine felt guilty for bringing it up. “Sorry.”

Vincent raised his eyebrows. “Did you just apologize to me?”

“Maybe.”

Vincent smiled. “Yeah, I’m sorry, too. It doesn’t really matter, though—not anymore. It is what it is.”

“Can you get reinstated after the trial? Go back to practicing medicine?”

He cut his eyes at Carmine incredulously, not bothering to entertain the question. “I actually started smoking after your mother died. I drank, too. A lot. That’s the biggest reason I couldn’t face you kids for almost a year. I know you blamed yourself, and it was difficult to see you, but I didn’t want you to see me, either.”

“What changed?” Carmine asked curiously. It was something he had always wanted to know, but a question he had been too damn self-absorbed to ask. “What made you pull yourself together?”

Vincent took a long drag. “I tried to murder Haven.”

That response made Carmine choke on a puff of smoke. “What?”

“The night I killed the Antonellis, I tried to kill her, too. My gun jammed and she slept right through it. But I realized that night your mother would have been disgusted. I wasn’t doing her memory any justice. So I pulled myself together before anyone else got hurt.”

Carmine tossed his cigarette on the ground and stomped it out. He wasn’t sure whether it was the smoke or his father’s admission, but his chest suddenly ached. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the flask and took a drink, trying to dull the pain. Vincent watched him curiously so he held it out to him, offering his father some. He hesitated but threw his cigarette down and took it. He grimaced from the hot liquid, but it didn’t stop him from taking a second swig.

“I’ve failed you a lot, withheld when I should’ve been honest, and it’s to the point where all I have left to give is the truth,” Vincent said quietly. He looked like a broken man, utterly defeated. “I remember the face of every person I’ve killed. I see them everywhere I go, and I know they aren’t there, but the memory of what they looked like in their final moment lingers. The fear, the anger, the heartbreak—it follows me everywhere. I remember the way your mother looked, too. The way she looked when I saw her that night in the alley.”

“So do I,” Carmine said. “I remember the sound of her screams.”

Vincent looked at Carmine curiously, apprehension in his eyes. He had never talked to him about that night, the memory too painful to verbalize. The only person he had told was Haven, but standing there with his father and taking in his broken expression, it felt necessary.

Sighing, Carmine closed his eyes as he sat beside him on the step, running his hand through his hair nervously as he recalled detail by detail what happened that fateful night. From the moment they stepped out of the piano recital to waking up in the hospital, every ounce of pain came out through his words.

“I can’t remember what they looked like, though,” Carmine said. “I’ve tried to imagine the killers hundreds of times, but it’s a blur. The man with the gun, I don’t think he ever looked at me, and the other, his face is always fucking distorted.”