The right to remain silent... Corrado had every intention of following through with that.
Two counts of felony aggravated assault.
Corrado sat in a flimsy wooden chair beside Detective Walker's desk in the middle of the hectic Cook County police station. His left hand had been freed, but his right was secured to a locked drawer on the desk, keeping him fastened in place.
Officers huddled around in a small group, whispering conspiratorially, their eyes fixed on Corrado. He ignored it, avoiding their judgmental gazes, his mind spinning over his charges.
Two counts of felony aggravated assault. It had to be a joke.
"He isn't deaf, is he?" an officer asked, just loud enough for Corrado to overhear. "That secretary downstairs knows sign language, doesn't she? Maybe he doesn't understand what we're saying."
"No, he understands," another responded. "He's just a Moretti."
Despite himself, an amused smile tugged Corrado's lips. They clearly had been acquainted with his father.
The group of officers grumbled to themselves in unison, agreeing with the sentiment. They disbursed, shooting him sideways glares on their way to their desks, as Detective Walker made his way back over. Pulling out his handcuff key, he freed Corrado only to yank him to his feet and force his hands behind his back.
"Since you have nothing to say, we're gonna go ahead and book you," Detective Walker said, securing the handcuffs tightly on both wrists again. "Maybe a night in lockup will loosen your lips."
They transferred him to Cook County Jail and shuffled him around, from cell to cell, from room to room. He had no sense of time, but gathered it was well past dusk when they placed him in a dingy two-man cell. There were no windows, no view of the outside, but the chill of night hung in the air as if it had somehow seeped through the thick concrete slabs. Corrado stood still just inside the small space as the guard closed the bars, locking him in. He assessed his cellmate, a scrawny middle-aged man, and slipped into the unoccupied bottom bunk when he decided the man wasn't a threat.
He closed his eyes but didn't sleep, listening all night to the shriek of inmates and the clatter of metal in the darkness, acutely aware of every squeak of spring from the bed above him. Hours passed this way, tense and uncomfortable, before the jail came alive with daylight.
His hearing was that morning, in another grungy windowless room. He didn't speak, didn't address the court at all. He stood with his head held high as the gruff old man in a black robe read his charges in a scratchy voice. He banged the gavel, his gaze never once meeting Corrado. "Bail's set at ten thousand dollars."
Ten thousand.
Leaving the hearing, the guard escorted Corrado back out to the tier, releasing him from his handcuffs before showing him to a set of phones lining a wall. "Make your call."
Corrado grabbed the receiver of the only free phone and dialed one of the few numbers he had memorized—his father's.
It rang. And rang. And rang. Frustration brewed inside of him during the fourth ring, but it cut off when Vito's voice came on. "Yeah?"
"It's me," Corrado said. "I'm in jail."
"No shit?"
"No."
Sudden laughter rocked the line, so loud Corrado had to pull the phone from his ear.
"Your first arrest," Vito said. "I wondered when I'd see the day."
Corrado leaned against the wall, stretching the phone cord as far as it would go. "Bail's ten thousand."
Vito let out a low whistle. "Damn, kid, what did you do?"
He hesitated. "Nothing. I'm innocent."
"Of course you are."
"They charged me with felony assault," he said. "Two counts."
"Ah." Silence. "Thought I told you never to use your fists."
"I didn't."
"Right, right… innocent."
Corrado didn't correct his father, but that wasn't what he'd meant. He hadn't used his fists… he'd pistol-whipped them.
"Well, tough break, kid," Vito said. "Get up with me when you find a way out of this mess."
The line went dead.
Vito had hung up on him.
Corrado replaced the phone in the cradle and approached the guard. "I need to make another call."
"It'll cost you."
"What?"
"Only the first call's free. The rest you have to pay for."
Corrado stared at the guard with disbelief. "I have no money."
"Well, I guess you shouldn't have wasted your first call then."
Another day passed, then two more like it. Hunger and exhaustion ravaged Corrado as he lay in the filthy bunk, his arm draped over his eyes hour after hour, attuned to everything going on around him.
It was late on the fourth day when someone came for him. A guard pulled him out of his cell and led him out of the cellblock. Corrado walked leisurely, in no hurry to get anywhere, and was stunned when the guard led him back to intake. "I'm still not answering their ridiculous questions."
Are you angry? Do you want to hurt someone?
Corrado nearly laughed when they asked him that.
The guard chuckled under his breath. "You will if you want to get out of here."
He shot him a look of surprise. "I'm being released?"
The guard nodded. "Someone posted your bail."
Although he still said little, Corrado was much more cooperative on the way out. He couldn't believe his father had come around and bailed him out. He rubbed his wrists, sore from being handcuffed, and headed for the front door of the jail. He stepped outside, squinting from the late evening sunshine. Raising his hand to shield his eyes, he glanced across the parking lot, seeing the last person he had ever expected to see waiting.
Gia DeMarco.
She stood in front of Antonio's Cadillac Deville, rivaling Erika Moretti with her poise and stern expression. Corrado approached her, squaring his shoulders as he bowed his head. "Mrs. DeMarco."
"Enough of that," she said. "It's time you call me Gia."
"Gia."
She nodded in greeting. "Corrado."
"I'm surprised to see you here."
"Don't be," she said. "Nobody else is. As many times as I've had to spring my husband from this place, they ought to erect a statue for me out here in the parking lot."
"I thought my father—"
"Vito?" Gia scoffed, silencing Corrado right away. "They would've let you stay in there forever to teach you a lesson. And I would've went along with it had I not spoken to my daughter."
Corrado's stomach knotted. "What did Celia tell you?"
Gia didn't respond, but her eyes told the answer: everything.
"Come." Gia walked around to the driver's side of the car. "I'd rather not linger."
Corrado climbed in the passenger seat, glancing around the DeVille as Gia drove. He'd never been in the Boss's car before. "Antonio lets you drive this?"
"Lets me?" Gia scoffed. "I may yield to my husband on occasion, but nobody lets me do anything, Corrado. If I needed his permission, you'd still be rotting in that cell... especially after what Celia told him."
Corrado stared straight ahead, gaze fixed through the spotty windshield, as words tumbled from his lips. "I'm dead."
"Dead?" Gia laughed. "Only if he's feeling merciful."
He said not another word as Gia navigated the streets of Chicago, driving right past Corrado's house without even slowing down. Corrado took a deep breath as they reached the end of Felton Drive, pulling right to the front of the brick mansion. He got out, tugging on the collar of his shirt. The days-old clothes were scratchy against his skin, smelling of sweat with just a hint of Celia's perfume still clinging to the fabric. He'd never been so unkempt in his life, his sockless feet sweating in the stiff leather shoes, his hair not brushed, everything wrinkled, as he walked into a house to face punishment.
He felt like abused cattle being herded to the slaughterhouse.
Gia's high heels clicked against the foyer floor, echoing through the downstairs. Corrado stepped in behind
her and shut the front door, glancing around cautiously. His eyes drifted to the staircase when he heard footsteps, taking in the much-appreciated sight of Celia.
She made it halfway to the foyer when Gia stopped her. "I don't think so, young lady. Back upstairs."
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."
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