Made (42 page)
He slowly followed him into the office, begrudgingly shutting the door. Corrado could keep secrets from his father-in-law, could have a private life, could come and go as he pleased, but the Boss held his life in his hands.
"Sit down," Antonio ordered. "And tell me what you know."
Corrado carefully sat in the chair but said nothing. Antonio stared at him expectantly.
"This isn't the fucking police department," Antonio barked. "You don't have the right to remain silent with me."
He still said nothing.
Furious, Antonio stormed back across the room. Corrado tensed, half expecting the man to hit him, to physically force him to respond, but instead he flung open the door and stepped out into the hall.
"Vincenzo Roman!" he hollered, so loud Corrado grimaced. "Get down here, now!"
Antonio retook his seat, leaving the door wide-open. Minutes of strained silence passed before hesitant footsteps neared the office. Vincent appeared, faltering in the doorway, his gaze darting between his father and Corrado with alarm. "Yes?"
"Sit down," Antonio ordered, pointing at the chair Corrado sat in. He took that as his cue to get to his feet. Stepping aside, he lingered in the office, as Vincent shut the door and plopped down in the chair.
"Is something wrong?" Vincent asked.
"You tell me. Is there something I ought to know?"
Vincent slowly shook his head.
"Huh." Antonio feigned nonchalance as he grabbed a cigar. He didn't light it, instead rolling it between his fingers as he stared at his son. "You sure you don't want to talk about Maura?"
The color drained from Vincent's face as he swung around in the chair, wide eyes piercing through Corrado. "You
told
?"
Antonio slammed his hands down on his desk, drawing everyone's attention right back to him. "No, he didn't, but
you
just did. And you're going to tell me everything, Vincenzo."
Corrado's heart pounded rapidly. He didn't want to be there. It was none of his concern.
Vincent stammered, struggling for words. "I just… I like her. She's a nice girl."
"And she's loyal and trustworthy, right?" Antonio asked. "Sweetest person you've ever met?"
"Well… yes."
"She's
Irish
."
"So?"
Corrado cringed. Same thing Celia had said.
Antonio narrowed his eyes. "You're not to go near her ever again! I want you to stay away from that girl."
"That's not fair!"
"Get over it. It's time for you to grow up. You're not a child anymore!"
"Then stop treating me like one!" Vincent said. "Why do you keep trying to make me do what
you
want me to do? Why can't I do what
I
want to do?"
"Because I know what's best for you!
"
"How can you? You don't even
know
me! You keep trying to turn me into you, but I'm not you! I don't care that she's Irish! I like her. No, I
love
her, okay?"
"You don't."
"I do!" Vincent said, jumping up from his chair. "I love her!"
"You're just saying that to spite me."
"You would think that," Vincent spat. "But it has nothing to do with you, Dad. I love her.
Her
. I don't care what you think. I don't even like you!"
"Take that back," Antonio spat, clenching his hands into fists, breaking the cigar in half.
"Fine," Vincent ground out. "I
hate
you, then."
Vincent stormed out, not waiting to be dismissed, his feet stomping down the hallway. Corrado stood still as Antonio stared at the empty doorway, a shell-shocked expression Corrado had never seen on his face before.
Heartbreak
.
"He doesn't really hate you," Corrado said.
Antonio's expression shifted, the despair morphing straight to fury, while his eyes sought out Corrado as if just remembering he was there. "Did I ask for your opinion?"
Corrado squared his shoulders. No, he hadn't.
Throwing the broken cigar down on the desk, Antonio leaned back in his chair. "How do you know?"
"Because Celia said the same thing when you forbid us from being together."
"My daughter said she hated me?"
"Yes."
"Maybe she does."
"She doesn't," Corrado said. "She loves you. She respects you. She just doesn't agree with you."
"Or listen to me," Antonio muttered. "
Neither
of you listened to me. A lot of good forbidding you did. I control hundreds of men. They do what I want, when I want it. But my own fucking kids…"
"They're just like you," Corrado said. "You wouldn't let anyone stop you from having what you want, either."
"There you go, thinking you know me again." Antonio rolled the broken cigar around on his desk, deep in thought. "Get out of here, Corrado, before I decide to punish you for speaking out of turn again."
The first week of June, the District Attorney filed to retry Corrado for the murder of Miguel Pace. Corrado went through the motions again, blowing every cent he earned trying to ensure he would walk away a free man.
When the third jury was seated weeks later, he used his father's crew to bribe and intimidate as many of them as possible.
But he didn't stop there.
No, this time he got to the judge, too.
A week later, the third jury came back deadlocked. The judge declared a mistrial, banging his gavel as he spoke the words Corrado waited for: "Case is dismissed with prejudice."
He couldn't be tried again.
It took a few weeks, but the judge got a long-awaited appointment to Federal court… two days after Corrado's revolver was mysteriously returned to him.
"Here, kid, here's your take for the week."
Vito tossed an envelope at Corrado as he sat on top of one of the old casino tables in the basement hangout. Corrado caught it, opening the envelope as his father stuffed the rest of the gambling cash into the safe beneath the bar.
Corrado skimmed through the stack, flimsier than usual. "There's only twenty thousand here."
Vito shrugged. "Slow week."
Corrado had been running himself ragged for his father, hardly seeing his wife all week long. "I need the whole twenty-five."
"I need a lot of things, kid," Vito said. "You don't see me complaining."
Corrado shot his father a pointed look. "I owe Pascal that twenty-five. I'm supposed to drop it off tonight on my way home."
He barely made a dent in the loan, taking a few thousand off here and there, but the interest payments alone were bleeding him dry.
Vito flopped down in a chair. "Tough break."
Tough break
. Shaking his head, Corrado stuffed the cash back into the envelope and stuck it in his pocket. He didn't bother saying goodbye as he strode out.
He drove to Pascal's, arriving in the middle of a party. The house was filled with people, music blasting, alcohol and smoke all around. He was ushered to the living room by someone from Pascal's crew. Pascal sat on the couch with two scantily clad girls snuggled up against him.
Corrado held the envelope out to him. Pascal pulled away from the girls and snatched a hold of it. "Kind of scarce this week."
"It's a bit short," he admitted.
"A bit?" Pascal asked. "A bit short is twenty, thirty, fifty bucks, not thousands."
"Slow week."
"Tell me something, Moretti. What would you do if someone owed you money and didn't come through?"
Kill them
. He stared at Pascal, not answering. He didn't have to.
A slight smile curved Pascal's lips. "Got a job for you, if you're interested."
"What is it?"
He leaned closer. "Got a man that needs taught a lesson... a permanent one."
The hair on Corrado's nape bristled.
A hit
. He hadn't done one in months. "How much?"
Pascal held up the envelope. "How much are you short?"
"Five."
"Five then."
Five thousand? Blood on his hands was worth much more than that. "I'll pass."
"You'll pass?" Pascal asked, surprised.
"Yes."
Pascal tapped the envelope against the table. "It's ten-thirty. That means you have an hour and a half to bring me the rest of the money you said you'd have for me."
So it was going to be that way. "Yes, sir."
Corrado headed out to his car and climbed behind the wheel. Ninety minutes to make five thousand dollars.
He headed uptown and cruised the streets, shaking down a few people who owed him to get a few bucks. He stopped by stores, collecting early payments, hoarding every penny he got his hands on. Twenty minutes until midnight and he still needed a thousand. He stared at the clock as a few minutes ticked away, before driving home. His house was silent, completely dark. He strolled through the downstairs before heading up to his empty bedroom.
No sign of Celia anywhere.
Relief settled through him. She must have gone out somewhere with Maura. At least she wouldn't be there to see this.
He rifled through drawers, pulling out all the hidden cash, and still ended up short. Pausing beside the bed, he stared over at Celia's jewelry box, nestled between the legs of her gigantic stuffed bear, gleaming under the moonlight streaming through the open window.
The phone ringing downstairs shattered his train of thought. Sighing, he looked away. He would give the man his last breath before he ever stole from Celia.
Striding downstairs, he snatched up the phone. "Moretti speaking."
"Tell me my son is there."
Corrado hesitated at the sound of the Boss's raised voice. "Do you want me to say that or would you rather me tell the truth?"
"The truth, Corrado. Is he there?"
"No."
"Where the hell is he?"
"I don't know."
"If you find out, you make him come home. You hear me?"
"Yes, sir."
Corrado set the receiver down just as the front door opened. He stepped into the foyer, catching a glimpse of Celia. "Hey, have you seen your brother?"
Celia froze, holding open the door, wide-eyed as she turned to him.
"Did you hear me?" he asked, brow furrowing, as he glanced past her. "Where's Maura?"
She still didn't speak. She didn't move. Was she even breathing?
Coldness ran through him. "Answer me."
No response.
"Celia!" he growled, stepping toward her. "Where's your brother?"
Her lack of a response told him all he needed to know.
Grabbing her arm, he pulled her to him. "Tell me where they are."
"No."
No
.
She finally speaks and she tells me no?
"I'm your husband, Celia. Tell me."
"No."
She tried to pull away, but he gripped tighter.
"This isn't the way," Corrado said. "Whatever you did, I can still undo it. Just tell me where they are before it's too late."
"I can't."
"You
can
."
"Just let them go, Corrado. Let them be.
Please
."
Any other time 'please' would have won him over, but not now. Not this.
"Your father already called here for Vincent," he said. "Trust me when I say you'd rather me find him than Antonio. So tell me where they are, Celia. While I can still do something about it."
Frowning, she yanked away from him. "I dropped them off at the bus station, okay?"
The bus station.
Unbelievable
.
Corrado rushed out the door, ignoring her protests, everything else forgotten. He jumped in the car and sped away from the house, straight to the Greyhound terminal across town.
He found them as soon as he arrived, sitting on a bench along the side, holding hands, a single black duffle bag on the floor by Vincent's feet. As Corrado approached, a lady came over the loudspeaker, announcing boarding for a bus to New York City. Vincent jumped to his feet, pulling Maura with him as he snatched up the bag. Smiles lit up both their faces as Vincent leaned down to kiss her.
The kiss was soft, but sensual.
A kiss full of hope.
A kiss for their future.
Vincent pulled back, gazing into her eyes for a moment, before his attention shifted past her. And Corrado saw it there, in the boy's eyes, as his hope was doused in gasoline, his future going up in flames.
Busted
.
Vincent yanked Maura to him protectively, his eyes darting around the terminal for others, but Corrado had come alone. Slowly, Corrado stepped toward them.
"Go get on the bus, Maura," Vincent urged, his voice a frantic whisper. "I'll be right there."
The girl moved, listening to Vincent without so much as questioning why, but Corrado's stern voice stalled her. "I wouldn't if I were you."
Maura swung around, her fear palpable. A soft gasp escaped her parted lips. She obeyed him instead, remaining planted in spot.
Vincent groaned. "Look, Corrado, I—"
Corrado silenced him with a raise of the hand that made Maura flinch. Realizing it wouldn't help to argue, Vincent decided to act instead. Tugging on Maura's hand, he started toward the boarding passengers. "We're leaving."
"The only place you're going is home."
"That's the
last
place I'm going."
"Vincent," Corrado warned. "Stop."
"Make me."
The childish words set Corrado off. Snatching Vincent by the back of the collar, he dragged him through the terminal toward the exit, ignoring the looks tossed at him by the crowd. The boy tried to fight, but Corrado was undeterred. A punch landed against Corrado's jaw as he forced Vincent out to the parking lot. Corrado let go of him, adrenaline surging through his bloodstream, numbness coating his nerves as his jaw stung.
Vincent tried to hit him again, but Corrado blocked the blow, instinctively tempering the boy with a punch to his face. Corrado's fist, strong, clenched tightly, hit Vincent straight in the right eye. The boy grunted as a shriek rang out behind them.
Maura
.
"Vincent," she cried. "Oh God!"
Distracted, Corrado glanced at Maura, giving Vincent the upper hand. He lunged at him, knocking right into him, swinging his fists with fury like a cat backed into a corner, fighting for a way out.
He gave a valiant effort, trying to ward Corrado off, landing a few blows, but it only took a minute for Corrado to subdue him. Forcing Vincent's arm behind his back, he slammed him against the side of the Mercedes so hard it left a dent.
"I don't want to hurt you, Vincent."
The boy's breaths were ragged, his voice strained. "Fuck you."
The profanity did nothing but enrage Corrado further.
Corrado forced him in the passenger seat before tossing his bag in the trunk. "Get in the car, Maura."
Maura didn't argue. Corrado's voice, terse and edgy, left no room for argument. Even Vincent surrendered, slouching in the seat as he grumbled under his breath.
Corrado drove straight home, pulling up to his house and glancing in the rearview mirror at a sobbing Maura. "Go inside and stay there."
Again, she didn't argue.
As soon as she was inside, he sped down Felton Drive to the
DeMarcos
. He pulled up in front of the house and cut the engine. Vincent remained in the seat, staring out the side window. "It's not fair. I
love
her, Corrado. What else am I supposed to do?"
"You want my advice?"
"Yes."
"Find somebody else to love."
Vincent scoffed. "Gee, great, thanks. A lot of help you are."
"Until you grow up, Vincent, there is no helping you," Corrado said. "Running away isn't the solution."
"What
is
the solution?"
"Facing it head on."
Corrado got out and walked around to the passenger side, opening the door and motioning for him to get out of his car. Huffing, Vincent obliged, heading inside. Antonio stepped out of the den when they reached the foyer, his expression alternating between relief and confusion when he took in both of their faces, battered, bruising from the scuffle. "What the hell happened?"
Vincent flicked his tongue out, licking his split lip. Neither one answered the question.
Before Antonio pried any further, Vincent stomped upstairs.
Antonio gazed at Corrado once his son departed, questions in his eyes, but he didn't ask.
Somehow, he knew.
"Thank you, Corrado."
It wasn't until Corrado was on the way home that he discovered the money still stuffed in his pockets.
Pascal
.
He drove straight past his house and headed across town, knocking on Pascal's front door.
Nearly two hours late.
A woman opened, eyes bloodshot, hair a mess. She eyed him peculiarly. "Pascal has been looking for you."
Of course he has.
Corrado followed her to the living room, where Pascal lay passed out on the couch, snoring, wearing nothing but a pair of silk boxers. She shook him awake. "Passy, that guy's here."
Pascal rubbed his eyes, his voice cracking as he said, "about fucking time."
Corrado pulled out the cash and laid it out on the coffee table, hesitating before pulling off his watch and setting it on top. He was still short a few dollars. The watch was worth enough to cover it.
