He pressed the doorbell, hearing the chimes inside the house. The door was opened swiftly. Standing in front of him was Teresa Capozzi. “Carmine DeMarco? What a surprise! I thought you were locked up with the rest of them.”

“They released me.”

She brought her glass of wine to her lips and gulped the contents. “Well, then. I’m sure Salvatore will be ecstatic to see you. He’s upstairs with Carlo. Do you know him? Lovely man. Second door on the right.”

Carmine brushed by her without replying and headed upstairs. He hesitated in front of the closed door, hearing arguing inside. He couldn’t make out their words, but Sal sounded irate. Carmine briefly reconsidered, unsure of how he would do what he had come to do, but forced himself to knock. He had no time to waste.

The bickering silenced immediately. The door was yanked open, an annoyed Salvatore appearing 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 in a chair off to the side. The guy stood and turned toward him, and Carmine balked at his disfigured face. A strange sensation hit Carmine, a rush of bitter cold running from his head down to his toes.

Lovely man? He didn’t fucking think so.

Carlo left without a word, and Salvatore shut the door. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?” he asked, sitting at 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 pulled out a cigar, lighting it and taking a deep puff before continuing. “I wish I could help you.”

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

“It means as unfortunate as this situation is, I have more pressing matters to deal with right now. My men are turning quicker than I can keep track of. I have people being arrested, their houses invaded and property seized. Every day it’s something new. I 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 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 scoffed. “How did you come to that conclusion?”

Carmine hesitated for a split second, but he needed to cover his tracks. “I thought we were all family. You talk about loyalty and commitment, 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 the organization, la famiglia, is my family. I respect your choice not to be involved, but it’s all I have. 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, 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. Part of him knew it when 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. “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 flames, melting everything into molten lava of pain. She held on, clinging to the surface and fighting to survive. But no matter what, the blackness took her deeper . . . and deeper . . . and deeper . . . until one afternoon, it swallowed her whole.

Haven was certain she was dead then, because in front of her, wearing a flowing white dress, stood an angel.

Maura took Haven’s hand and helped her to her feet in the filthy abandoned warehouse. The two of them strolled away, the walls crumbling as they stepped into a vast field of flowers. Sunlight streamed upon them, and Haven realized it was the clearing in Durante.

“Carmine brought me here,” she said. “I think he came here when he was sad.”

“I know,” Maura said. “I’m always with him.”

“Are you?”

“Of course. I’m his mother, and mothers never leave their children. We live in them, deep down in their hearts. Carmine can’t see me, but I know he feels me all the time.”

The thought comforted Haven. “Do you think he’s okay?”

Maura smiled. “I’m sure he will be.”

Haven wandered through the field and picked a dandelion puff, blowing on it. The fluffy seeds flew off and multiplied, exploding into hundreds surrounding her in the air.

“Is my mama with me, too?”

“Yes,” Maura said. “Don’t you feel her? She’s right there.”

Haven spun around so quick everything blurred. When it came back into focus, the dandelion seeds had morphed into snowflakes, falling from the sky like puffs of cotton. They coated everything in a layer of white, hindering her view of her mama a few feet away. She was twirling, the sound of her laughter encasing Haven in a blanket of love. For a moment, as she watched her mama dance, she forgot it wasn’t real. She forgot her mama was dead. She forgot she must be, too.

But in a flash it all came back, as when she blinked, her mama started to fade.

Panicked, Haven ran toward her, but the snow came down heavier, blinding her with whiteness. Haven ran long and hard, her chest burning and legs weak, but she didn’t seem to be getting anywhere. Exhausted, she collapsed to the ground in sobs, suddenly in Blackburn again. The desert ground burned her, scorching the soles of her feet.

After a moment, a voice rang out behind her, the smooth familiarity silencing her cries as goose bumps spread across her skin. “She’s gone,” Carmine said. “I’m sorry, hummingbird, but she isn’t coming back.”

Haven turned, desperate to see him, but instead of deep green eyes, all she saw was icy blue. Haven’s stomach twisted as Number 33 stared through her, the paper still pinned to her shirt. “Never stop fighting,” she said. “I didn’t.”

“But you’re gone, too,” Haven said. “I saw it. Frankie killed you in front of me.”

“Some things in life are worse than death,” Number 33 said, “and had I lived, those things would’ve happened to me. He took my life, but he didn’t break my spirit. No one did, and no one ever will. Don’t let them break you. Don’t let them win. Fight the fight. It’s the only way to be free.”

Haven was jolted roughly from behind then, everything going black. Someone shook her as pain swept through her body, and she forced her eyes open, seeing Ivan. His voice was muffled as if her ears were clogged. “What is the code at the DeMarco house?”

“What?” she mouthed, no sound carrying out. It burned, stabbing her throat.

“The code for the house,” he repeated. “If you do not want to die from dehydration, you will tell me what I want to know.”

She turned her head, wishing he would disappear. “Go away.”

Her disobedience sent him into a rage. He pulled out a knife as he grabbed her hand, twisting it violently. “Tell me the code, or I’ll cut off your finger.”

Every inch of her begged for relief. She squeezed her eyes shut, Dr. DeMarco flashing in her mind again. She could see his anger, but she couldn’t feel the fear anymore as he pressed the gun to her throat. She understood how he felt, and as she lay there in agony, she almost wished Dr. DeMarco really had pulled the trigger. “Do it.”

* * *

Night had fallen hours before, but Carmine no longer had any sense of time. He thought it was ten o’clock, maybe midnight, but it was nothing but a number to him now. He would simply go until he felt like he couldn’t go anymore, and then he would push himself just a little more. He had moved past exhaustion and now teetered on the brink of a nervous breakdown. Sleep only happened when his body gave out, periods of blackouts tucked into the frantic spells.

Carmine knew nothing about Giovanni, besides the fact that he was Sicilian and he broke the law. They had only met a handful of times, and Giovanni was never friendly, but Carmine had a newfound respect for the man. The two of them stood in the small office at Giovanni’s modest brick house, poring over a map of Chicago. They had been at it for so long that Carmine couldn’t read the small print anymore and counted on Giovanni to keep everything straight.

“Are you sure it’s this guy?” Carmine asked, picking up the small photograph. “He looks like someone’s grandfather.”

“I am certain,” Giovanni said. “Do not be fooled. Ivan Volkov is dangerous.”

Carmine stared at the photo, trying to focus. He remembered his father mentioning problems with the Russians months ago, but Carmine still didn’t understand what any of it had to do with them. Giovanni had tried to explain it more than once, but the point was lost somewhere between the man’s accent and Carmine’s exhausted mind.

He set the picture down and glanced at the map. Giovanni was on his laptop researching addresses associated with the Volkov family. The map was littered with writing, random circles splattered on it like polka dots.

Carmine stared at it, overwhelmed.

“I thought Doc microchipped the girl,” Giovanni said. “Why have you not found her that way?”

“We tried,” Carmine said. “The chip isn’t working.”

“And what does that mean?”

Carmine looked at Giovanni. “Means she’s probably underwater or in a windowless room.”

“So we should circle Lake Michigan also?”

Carmine felt like he had been punched at those words. “I refuse to think that.”