Made (25 page)

Celia gaped at her. "But—"

Gia started to cut her off, but another sharp voice beat them both to speaking. "You heard your mother."

Corrado's eyes met Antonio's as the man stood in the doorway to the den. Vincent lurked behind him, watching the scene unfolding. Tension was thick, the air bordering suffocating.

"Ugh, so unfair," Celia growled, stomping back up to the second floor.

Shaking her head, Gia took off her coat and discarded it in the downstairs closet. "I swear, it's hard to remember that girl's an adult when she stomps around here like a twelve-year-old brat."

"She's not an adult," Antonio said sternly.

"She is," Gia argued. "She's eighteen."

"I don't care how old she is. She's still my little girl."

Giving up on bickering, Gia brushed past her husband into the den, snapping at Vincent as she passed. "You, too. Upstairs."

Unlike Celia, Vincent didn't argue. Sympathetic eyes regarded Corrado as the boy strode past, disappearing upstairs.

Antonio stood in the doorway, glaring at Corrado in the abandoned foyer, his lips a hard thin line of contempt. Breaking his stance, he strode down the hallway toward his office. He unlocked the door and pushed it open, pausing, casting Corrado a look that told him to follow.

Corrado made his way into the vast office, stopping right inside. Antonio stepped in behind him, the knots in Corrado's stomach tightening when he shut the door. He stayed in place as Antonio took his seat behind his desk, the man's vengeful eyes never leaving him.

It didn't take long for the silence to be broken. "I should kill you for this."

Corrado exhaled deeply, answering silently.
You should
.

"I don't take well to being ignored. When I speak, it's because I expect to be heard. You don't have to like it. I knew you
wouldn't
like it. But you had to listen."

"I know, sir."

"You
know
," Antonio said. "You know, but you ignored me anyway. That says something."

Corrado considered apologizing but thought better of it. Asking for forgiveness was akin to begging, and Antonio DeMarco had no respect for needless beggars. Besides, except for the fact that he'd disobeyed an order, he wasn't sorry. He didn't regret it. And lying came only second to snitching in the DeMarco guide to getting yourself killed.

After running his hands down his face in frustration, Antonio motioned toward an empty chair. "Sit."

Corrado sat down.

"She said you were robbed at gunpoint," Antonio said. "That some thug grabbed her and pressed a gun to her throat. That true?"

"Yes."

"Then I just have one question… why the fuck is he still breathing?"

The pure fury was clear in his voice.

Corrado cleared his throat. "That's only temporary."

"That so?"

He nodded. "I didn't want to kill anyone with her there."

"Didn't want her to see you as a monster?" Antonio asked. "Afraid she'd see what you really are and want nothing to do with you because of it?"

Corrado wanted to say no, to deny that with every fiber of his being, but he couldn't. Denying would be lying, and it wasn't until then that he realized that truth. He liked the way Celia regarded him with an unadulterated innocence, a raw vulnerability, like his presence was harmless. He didn't want to taint that.

"I saw pictures of the guys in the hospital," Antonio continued. "Killing them point-blank would've been the merciful thing to do. You didn't want her to see the monster? Hate to break it to you, but you showed her the most savage part of the beast."

"You're wrong."

Antonio cocked an eyebrow in disbelief. "Excuse me?"

"That wasn't the most savage," he said. "The most savage part wouldn't have cared if she were there."

Antonio stared at him in silence for a moment before his posture slightly relaxed, the hard line of his lips softening. "You're a great asset, Moretti. You have a lot of potential. I'd hate to have to lose you."

By losing him, he meant killing him. "I understand, sir. I'll stay away from Celia."

Antonio barked a sharp, bitter laugh. "Oh no, you won't."

Corrado blinked with surprise.

"Last time
I
broke her heart," Antonio continued. "But this time, it's on
you
. Despite my protests, you started something with my daughter, something she's expressed she wants to see through. And you know what happens when guys break my little girl's heart?"

"What?"

"I rip theirs out through their fucking throat."

Message received
. "I hope to someday prove myself worthy."

"Worthy?" Antonio shook his head. "It was never a matter of you being unworthy."

"But I thought you didn't want us together because she was your daughter and I was... well...
me
."

Antonio's brow furrowed in contemplation before something seemed to strike him. "You thought it was because you're one of us? You thought I didn't want my daughter with our kind?"

"Yes."

"It wasn't because
you
weren't good enough," he said. "You're the best I've got. I know Celia, I know the hold she can have on people, and I didn't want her to soften you. I didn't want her to tame that beast. Because that beast? I
need
him a hell of a lot more than she needs the rest of you."

"She won't," he vowed. "If anything she'll make me harden."

As soon as the words slipped from his lips, he realized how it sounded. He hoped the Boss wouldn't catch it, but the raise of his eyebrow suggested differently. "Pun intended?"

"Not at all, sir."

Antonio relaxed back in his seat. "Of course not. Now that we're on the same page, ask me again. And do it quick before I change my mind, because there's a part of me that wants to. There's a part of me that wants to squeeze the life from you."

Corrado swallowed thickly, a small flare of nervousness making his throat dry. "I'd like to go out with Celia."

"That was a statement, not a question."

"Do I have your permission to go out with your daughter?"

Instead of answering, Antonio held out his hand, and Corrado took it, shaking firmly. Corrado tried to let go while Antonio squeezed, yanking him toward him. "If you break Celia's heart, I'll make you suffer. I don't care if I'm rotting in a grave somewhere. Hurting my children is hurting me."

"I understand. I swear on my life I won't hurt your family."

Antonio let go then. "Second floor, last room on the left."

"What?"

"Celia's bedroom," he clarified. "You asked me, now you have to ask her."

Corrado stood. "Yes, sir. Thank you."

He turned to leave when he heard Antonio mutter, "I should've just killed you, Corrado."

Treading lightly down the long carpeted hallway, Corrado slowed when he reached the last room on the left. The white wooden door was closed, soft, scratchy music filtering out from the cracks around it. Raising his hand, he rapped on it with his knuckles.

"Go away!"

Ignoring, he reached for the knob, grateful when it turned smoothly, and pushed open the door. A soft smile curved his lips when he saw her, lying on her back in the middle of a massive four-post bed. Her knees were bent, her feet flat against the multi-colored comforter, her arms spread out above her, her eyes closed. Lips moved softly, soundlessly, along to the lyrics of the unfamiliar Italian song streaming from the speaker of a nearby turntable. He let the lyrics wash through him, vaguely catching their meaning in English as her pale lips mimic the words.

Luna
rossa
, forgive me,
luna
rossa
,

For the vows I made tonight that are untrue,

What else am I to do?

Reaching up, he tapped again on the open door. Celia stiffened, a loud groan vibrating her throat. "What part of 'go away' don't you fucking—" She pushed herself up, glaring toward the doorway, and paused mid-question. "—
understand
?"

He merely raised an eyebrow in response.

A soft blush coated her cheeks as her eyes brightened. "Oh, hey… it's you."

"Who did you think I was?"

Celia jumped off the bed. "Anyone other than you." She stopped right in front of him, her expression serious as her eyes scanned his face, studying every inch. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," he said.

"Are you sure?" Reaching up, she ran her hand through his disheveled hair before caressing his cheek, her fingertips leaving a trail of tingles along his skin. "I was worried about you."

He grabbed her wrist, stilling her hand as her fingers traced his bottom lip. "I'm fine, Celia."

Sighing, half out of exasperation, half with resignation, her eyes darted out to the hallway before focusing back on him. "It's not
tomorrow
, but better late than never."

She stood on her tiptoes to press her lips to his. Corrado blocked her, moving his head, so her mouth brushed against his warm cheek. "I'm not sneaking around anymore."

Celia's head darted back at the rebuff.

"No." She yanked her arm from his grip. "You promised."

Despite her objections as she tried to move out of his reach, he grabbed her wrist again and pulled her over to her bed. She flopped down on the edge of it, trying to pry herself from his grip. Not wanting to hold her against her will, he hesitantly let go. She stared down at her wrist, a frown on her lips, before returning her focus back on him.

"He could've killed me," Corrado said, his voice low as he stood in front of her. "Anyone else, any other guy, would be dead right now. You get that, don't you?"

"Yes, but—"

"There can't be any
buts
about it," he said, cutting her off. "I need you to understand. What I did was stupid."

"So, what, you came up here to let me down? Came to break your promise?"

"Of course not," he said. "I'll never break a promise to you."

"Then what?"

"I don't want just bits and pieces of you that I can steal away. I told you—you're worth more than being someone's secret."

"Yeah, well, it's not really a secret anymore," she declared.

"I know it isn't."

She groaned. "Then what, Corrado? What do you want?"

His strong hands cupped both of her cheeks as he leaned down toward her. He stared into her eyes, drinking in the devotion she—for some godforsaken reason—felt toward him. "I'm a greedy man, Celia. I want
everything
."

As soon as he spoke it, she wrapped her arms around his neck, dragging him toward her as she lay back on the bed. He hovered over her, their lips meeting in a fiery kiss that lasted a lifetime but ended in no time at all. The second she brought her legs up, wrapping them around Corrado's waist as she pressed herself against him, he pulled away. A small whimper of protest escaped her lips as she clung to him. "I thought you wanted everything."

"I do," he said. "But I'd also like to
live
."

She smiled sheepishly, loosening her grip on him so he could stand back up straight. She remained laying back, propping herself up on her elbows, eyes never leaving him as he glanced around her bedroom. The walls were a pale peach, blending in with the tan carpet, whereas the furniture was all white. Splashes of color were thrown everywhere, reds and greens and yellows and blues, but there wasn't a speck of pink to be seen. Posters covered the walls, some even torn straight out of magazines, the edges ripped, typing spattering the images. He scanned them, bewildered at the sight of so many scrawny, shirtless movie stars, before his eyes fell upon a Chicago Cubs poster near her bed. Over a dozen signatures covered it in black marker, right over the players' photos from the previous years roster. He scowled at it.

"Hey, don't hate," she said, noticing his reaction. "That was a gift from Daddy."

"Terrible present."

"Hell of a lot better than the card you gave me."