“I know. I’ll keep my mouth shut and let you do what you do. I’m not fucking naïve. I know what might be happening to her, but I need to be there, no matter what.”

Vincent pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fine. We’ll tie up some loose ends then leave.”

Carmine gazed at him. “Loose ends? Is it, uh . . . you know, that guy, and . . .”

He couldn’t finish his thought, but he didn’t have to. Vincent understood. “We have Johnny in the basement. He hasn’t said much, but I injected him with sodium thiopental a few minutes ago.”

“Sodium what?”

“Sodium thiopental. It’s a barbiturate. It suppresses the higher cortical functions of the brain, and since lying is such a complex process and it’s easier to—”

“English, please.”

“Truth serum,” Vincent said. “Hypothetically, anyway.”

Carmine nodded. “And Nicholas?”

Vincent stared at him, the look on his face the only answer Carmine needed. Even across the room, he could see the sorrow. “There wasn’t anything I could do.”

* * *

Dawn broke as Vincent stood in the safe room, once again interrogating a suffering Johnny. “Tell me where she is and this will end.”

“I can’t,” he said for what had to be the hundredth time, even proclaiming ignorance with the truth serum coursing through his veins.

Corrado approached, his dark eyes filled with rage. It wasn’t something Vincent saw often. It was a look that said someone was about to die.

Violently.

Vincent stepped out of the way as Corrado strode over to the cabinet along the wall. He rifled through it, pulling out knives and pliers, methodically laying the tools on the steel worktable in the safe room. “While you’re still alive, we’re going to play a game of eeny, meeny, miny, moe.”

Unable to stomach what was about to happen, Vincent walked away. A loud scream of agony echoed through the basement before he made it to the steps.

Johnny would be leaving the room soon . . . in pieces.

* * *

Corrado resurfaced an hour later, drenched from the rain outside and splattered with blood. His face was unreadable once more. “Russians.”

The lone word nearly stopped Vincent’s heart. “She’s with the Russians? Why?”

“Because she’s one of ours. Isn’t that reason enough?”

“They know?”

“They may have known before we did,” Corrado said. “This is spiraling out of control. Up until now, you’ve taken a backseat, but that can’t happen anymore. This isn’t going away.”

Vincent knew that, even if he didn’t want to admit it. “Where are the Russians keeping her?”

“Joey didn’t know.”

Vincent’s brow furrowed. “I thought his name was Johnny.”

“Joey, Johnny . . . what’s the difference?” Corrado started walking away. “I took care of the body. You can clean up the mess.”

Vincent headed back down to the basement, cautiously making his way to the safe room. The concrete floor was soaked in red, splatters of it on the ceiling. He wasn’t sure how Corrado managed to do that, but he didn’t plan to ask.

He’d learned long ago never to ask for details.

* * *

The rain outside was so heavy Carmine couldn’t see the tree line a few hundred yards away. He gazed out the family room window in such a trance that he didn’t hear footsteps approaching. He caught a glimpse of Corrado’s reflection in the glass and grabbed his chest, wincing as he turned around. “You scared me.”

Corrado unbuttoned his soiled shirt. “You aren’t very observant.”

“You’re just stealthy, like a fucking ninja.”

Ninja. The moment he said it, he felt like he had been slapped. Tears tried to force their way from his eyes, but he held them back in front of his uncle.

“You watch too much television,” Corrado said. “The mark of a successful assassin is the target never knowing what hit him.”

Carmine stared at him. “I’m not a target, though . . . at least I hope not.”

The corner of Corrado’s lips tugged into a small smile as he lit the fireplace. After the fire waged, he tossed his shirt into it and watched it burn. “I remember when you and your mother went missing. A few of us were at your house, and you were late. Vincent sent a car, but it came back empty. Driver said you were already gone. Despite your father’s fear that night, he did what he had to do. He learned to wear that calm mask well, but I knew him better than most.”

He poked around in the fire, the shirt already burned to ash. “You and him are cut from the same mold—too emotional, too invested in life on the outside, and that can be dangerous. People will exploit it for an upper hand, and both of you share a weakness.”

“What’s that?”

Corrado looked at him like it was a stupid question. “Your women, Carmine.”

“Doesn’t everyone have that problem, though?”

Corrado shook his head. “Most are incapable of loving anyone. Their wives are like their cars and their houses. They feel like they’ve earned them, they take care of them, they show them off, but if push comes to shove, they’d sell them out to save themselves.”

“Is that how you feel?” Carmine asked. “I always thought, you know, you and Celia . . .”

“I do love Celia,” Corrado said. “The difference is I can’t be manipulated. They used Maura to force your father to do their business, just as Haven will be used to get you to do what they want.”

“You think that’s why they kept me alive?”

“I’m sure of it. We’re all pawns, Carmine, and if you aren’t careful, you’ll play into their hands. Exposure isn’t good in our world. I hope, since you’re so much like Vincent, you’ll learn to put on that mask. I already helped him bury Maura. I don’t want to go through that again.” He turned to walk away. “And pack a bag, for God’s sake. It looks suspicious to get on a plane with no luggage.”

* * *

They landed in Chicago close to dusk that evening and made the twenty-five-minute journey from the airport to the Morettis’ house in silence. Carmine watched out the window in a daze. He hadn’t been back in years, but the neighborhood looked exactly like he recalled. They passed Tarullo’s Pizzeria and Carmine closed his eyes, unable to look as they neared the alley where his life changed.

Corrado pulled into the driveway of the large brick house. A frazzled Celia stood in the doorway, and Corrado barely gave her a glance as he passed. She offered Vincent a sympathetic smile, and Carmine tried to slip by her, but she grabbed him for a hug.

He pulled away from her. “This is my fault.”

Shaking her head, Celia cupped his chin. “You didn’t cause this, kiddo. You would never do anything to hurt her. She’s one of us . . . she’s family. We’ll find her.”

“I hope you’re right,” he said, dropping his bag right inside the house. He headed for the front room, catching sight of his brother on the couch. Dominic had his head down, his hands covering his face. Tess sat beside him and glanced at Carmine, her eyes widening. She nudged Dominic. “Dom.”

Dominic’s head popped up, his mouth agape. “Look at you, bro.”

“It looks worse than it is,” he lied, sitting on the other side of him. The pain was unbearable, both inside and out. “She’s all that matters right now.”

Neither said anything more before Vincent walked in, setting up his laptop on the coffee table. He looked at Dominic, his voice stern. “I need you to locate her chip for me.”

Carmine blanched. “You can’t find it?”

“It won’t connect.”

When he left, a tense silence lingered in his wake. Tess sighed loudly as she paced the room, picking up things to keep busy as Dominic turned to the laptop. His fingers flew furiously across the keys as he typed in code, none of it making any sense to Carmine.

The clicking keys grated on Carmine’s raw nerves. He was nearing forty hours without sleep. His head felt too heavy for his neck, his red-rimmed eyes burning from exhaustion. Running his hand through his hair, he clutched it tightly as he swayed in his seat. The ticking of a clock in the background blended with Dominic’s typing, taunting Carmine. Every tick was one second longer without her, one more second of uncertainty. Tess continued to pace, her heels clacking against the wood floor. It was too much for him to take.

Pace, click, tick. Pace, click, tick. Pace, click, tick.

Carmine was losing his fucking mind.

Celia walked in with some sandwiches and set a plate in front of him. “You should eat.”

“Do you think she’s eating?” His voice cracked as the question came out. Was she eating? Were they taking care of her? Was she warm? Christ, where the fuck was she? He let out a shaky breath as his fear skyrocketed. Was she even alive?

Celia rubbed his back but he pulled away from her as Tess huffed again. “Do you have something you wanna say, Tess?” Carmine asked, standing. “Something you wanna get off your chest? Miss Goddamn Perfect always knows better than everyone. You never liked Haven, anyway. You’re probably glad she’s gone.”

Tess gasped and covered her mouth as Dominic jumped up. He looked like he wanted to punch him, and for a moment, Carmine wished his brother would.

“I think you need some sleep,” Dominic said. “Haven’s like my sister. I’m upset, too, so don’t act like you’re the only one who cares.”

Carmine tried to get himself under control. “I wasn’t thinking.”

“I know you weren’t.” Dominic sat back down, focusing his attention on the laptop. “And if you think you can help in your condition, you’re wrong. So eat your sandwich and go close your damn eyes.”

* * *

The nondescript cinder block building stood in the middle of an abandoned neighborhood. Rust coated the black metal door, elaborate graffiti sprayed indiscriminately on the outside. Inside, the building was just as neglected, the concrete floor cracked and the walls covered in grime. It was still wired for electricity, overhead lights flickering. A metal exhaust fan near the ceiling continuously ran.

In the center of the room was a large card table, surrounded by men in collapsible chairs. Thousands of dollars lay on the table, empty beer bottles scattered around as each man held a set of cards. They spoke animatedly, arguing and laughing as their game of poker wore on into the night.

They seemed oblivious to the girl in the shadows of the far corner, curled up on a torn, stained mattress. Haven was equally as oblivious to them, her breathing shallow. Noises occasionally filtered into her blackness, muffled, incoherent words spoken in unrecognizable voices.

Little by little, she came back around, and with the consciousness came pain. The voices grew louder when she tried to sit up, her head swimming from disorientation. Panic flooded her system when the door banged in the distance. A woman entered and started toward the others, but stopped as she looked in Haven’s direction. “Why didn’t you tell me the girl was awake?”