Lie by omission?
Or tell the ugly truth?
"She's a slave," Corrado said tentatively. He couldn't lie to her.
A vast array of emotions took over Celia's face, flashing in her expressive eyes. Shock. Disbelief. Dismay. Horror.
And then came the rage.
"You have a slave?" she hissed.
"My mother has one," he corrected her, but it did nothing to lessen her anger.
Her pointer finger shot out, jabbing him hard in his sternum. "What kind of sick, twisted bitch keeps a girl as a slave?"
Corrado grabbed her hand as she jabbed at him again. "Not so normal anymore, huh?"
After dinner, guests dispersed as others arrived, a steady flow of people streaming through the house—extended family, business associates, friends of friends. Everyone who was anyone made an appearance, coming out of respect.
The men gathered around with cigars later in the evening, half-full glasses of expensive liquor covering the table. The air became a haze of harsh smoke, constricting Corrado's view of his cards.
Wadded bills lay in heaps as the men played five-card draw. Bets were elevated to extraordinary heights as they bickered, throwing down cards and drawing more. Corrado played along, folding even when he held a winning hand.
His heart wasn't in it.
Vito raised the bet to $800. Antonio called the hand.
Corrado folded. He was done.
Picking up his glass, he swirled it around briefly before bringing it to his lips and taking a small sip. Not usually one to drink, he needed something to ease his nerves—nerves that had frayed the second he stepped back into this hellhole.
The faint trace of alcohol simmered in his bloodstream, relaxing his shoulders. The others drank heavily, a bottle continuously flowing, empty ones replaced. A few of the men grew belligerent, especially mouthy Michael Antonelli.
It pushed Corrado's thoughts toward his mother again. He hadn't seen her in a while, the women having excused themselves hours ago.
Corrado didn't bother waiting to find out who won the hand. He bowed out of the game, clutching his glass of scotch as he left the dining room. He strolled around, finding his mother and Gia chatting away in the living room, but there was no sign of Celia. He headed into the foyer, pausing and staring out the front door into the darkened yard, before glancing toward the second floor.
Leave it to Celia to make him go up there.
Hesitantly, he ascended the stairs, his free hand skimming along the rough banister, in no hurry as he strolled down the scuffed hallway. He paused when he reached his childhood bedroom and leaned against the splintered doorframe.
Celia stood inside, the dim bedside lamp emitting a soft orange glow across all of his old belongings.
"How did I know I'd find you up here?"
"Because I make it a habit to invite myself into your bedrooms?"
"This isn't my room," he said, holding his glass out to her. "Not anymore."
Her shoulders sagged with relief as she took the glass, throwing the liquor back. She shuddered at the burn and wiped her mouth as she gave the empty glass back.
She strolled over to a bookcase and ran her fingers along the spines of the books. "Your stuff is still here. It's so weird, like seeing another part of you. I didn't realize you loved reading."
"I don't," he said. "I stopped reading a long time ago."
Her eyes narrowed. "I recall you having The Count of Monte Cristo."
"That's one book. It hardly counts."
"So it's your favorite?"
"There's a prison break, so it's more like research."
Celia moved away from the bookcase and ran her hand along the comforter on the bed. It was over a decade old, the batman symbol washed out and faded. "Superhero fan, huh?"
"Used to be."
"Not anymore?"
"Not since I realized we were the villains."
She laughed. "Yeah, yeah, yeah… you can say what you want, but I know that nerdy little Batman lover still exists inside of you."
"You're wrong," he said as she approached. "My mother murdered him."
"How?"
"Smothered him with a pillow. Right there in that bed."
"Then who are you?"
"His ghost."
He hadn't meant for it to unnerve her, but she trembled at those words.
Celia turned away, scrunching up her nose at the White Sox poster. "Does it bother you that I'm in your room?"
He opened his mouth to correct her, to once more stress it wasn't his room, but decided it was pointless. "I'm just glad you kept your clothes on this time."
Her eyes widened before a sly smile overtook her lips. Reaching up, she unbuttoned the top button on her blouse. "Hmmm, well…"
"Don't," he said, shaking his head. "I'll take you in the filthy basement tunnel at The Flamingo before I let you get naked here."
Her cheeks flushed as she whispered, "promise?"
A throat cleared in the hallway then. Celia's curious eyes tried to see around him, but Corrado didn't move. He didn't have to.
He'd heard her coming. "Katrina."
Celia made a face of annoyance, no longer trying to see.
"Mrs. DeMarco is looking for her daughter," Katrina said. "She's ready to leave."
Celia rolled her eyes but didn't argue. He ventured to guess she didn't like to be there any more than he did. She kissed Corrado. "See you back at the hotel?"
"Yes. I'll catch a ride later."
Celia strode out, not bothering to say goodbye to Katrina. Corrado listened to her high heels against the stairs and waited until she was gone before crossing the threshold into the bedroom. He walked over to his old desk, surprised everything remained exactly how he had left it. He had made enough money with his little schemes as a teen to afford to start over brand new. All he'd had when he arrived in Chicago were the clothes on his back and a single faded photograph of Celia. He had burned her letter, destroying her private words to keep them away from prying eyes, but he could never part with the picture. He carried it with him everywhere to keep it safe from destruction.
It was still tucked in his wallet.
He shut off the lamp to leave, eyeing his sister in the hallway. She scowled, arms crossed over her chest, head cocked to the side as she studied him with harsh eyes.
"Nice to see you, Kat. Congratulations on your, uh… engagement?"
She glanced down at her ring, her stance relaxing. "Thanks."
"Am I invited to the wedding?"
"Would you even come?"
"Probably not."
"Didn't think so."
"I wasn't aware you and Michael were close. I didn't think you liked him."
She scoffed. "He comes from a great family. His dad's going to nominate him for induction the next time the books open, you know. Michael's going places."
Corrado stared at her, surprised she knew so much about the process… although, he shouldn't have been. Michael Antonelli had always had a big mouth.
It was easy to be connected to the mob, but getting inducted was a rare privilege. They seldom opened the books, so to speak, to take nominations for men to join their ranks. Once you were inducted into La Cosa Nostra though, officially making you a made man, you were set for life. It was an honor reserved for the select few who had earned their place, who had time and again proven themselves worthy.
Something Michael Antonelli hadn't come close to doing. And knowing Michael like Corrado did? He never would.
"Congratulations, again," Corrado said, choosing not to broach that subject.
"I still don't like her," Katrina shouted as Corrado walked away. "And that brother of hers—ugh, he's even worse. I saw him outside earlier hanging out with the slave. Talk about pathetic."
Corrado's footsteps faltered for a brief second before he continued on, not letting her goad him into more conversation.
He headed back to the dining room and took his seat at the table beside the Boss. The game
of poker was still going strong, more money surfacing during his absence. He refused when they tried to deal him in, instead pouring himself another glass of scotch to relax now that Celia was out of harm's way.
He sipped on his drink, glancing at the doorway to the room, and spotted Vincent lingering against the wall. Corrado watched the boy curiously as he listened to their conversation, standing on the sidelines because he hadn't been invited in.
Corrado had never quite been sure what to think of the boy.
"This is a good day," Antonio declared, folding on his current hand as he slapped Corrado hard on the back. "I'm proud. Hell, I'm elated. It's going to be an honor to be able to call you my son."
Those words struck Corrado hard, but his own gratification diminished when he noticed Vincent's reaction. He looked like someone had punched him as he hunched over, his face contorted with self-pity.
There was a commotion, a loud clattering in the kitchen, as the shattering of a glass cut through the air. Conversation ceased as Erika's slurred voice echoed through the downstairs. "What the hell's wrong with you?"
"Sorry, Mistress!" Maura gasped. "It won't happen again!"
"It better not, or so help me God, I'll make you wish you'd never been born."
Corrado shook his head, not surprised by the vicious threats. Maura probably wished that every day. His eyes fell upon Vincent once more.
Vincent's back had stiffened, his hands clenched into fists. He wasn't feeling sorry for himself anymore.
And just like that, without uttering a single word, he told Corrado everything.
He'd never be a good made man. He didn't know how to bluff. Corrado saw right through him.
And for the first time, he truly sympathized with the boy.
The men attempted to return to their poker game, but the damage had been done. The lid holding the rage inside Erika Moretti had been unsealed faster than the cork was popped on a fresh bottle of wine.
Pop.
Shrieking ripped from the kitchen as Erika unleashed a verbal lashing, criticizing and cursing Maura's every move. The girl's cries only infuriated her more, words turning threatening before escalating to crashes and bangs, drawers slamming and things breaking, the kitchen engulfing in warfare.
All the while Vincent looked like he was going to be sick.
It went on and on for what seemed like forever until a telltale crack tore through the air, followed by a blood-curdling scream.
Erika was beating the girl.
"Vito," Antonio spat, slamming his cards down on the table. "You gonna do something about that?"
Vito froze. He was so used to ignoring it.
"Vito." Antonio's voice bordered on threatening as he growled his name again. "Handle it."
"Yeah, uh..." Vito set his cards down and stood. "Excuse me, gentlemen."
Corrado sunk down in his chair and swallowed every last drop of liquor in his glass. He had lived in this house for most of his life. He knew what would happen next. Once his mother got started, she didn't stop until she decided it was over. Vito would make it worse.
The moment Vito appeared in the kitchen, Erika turned her rage on him. He begged her, humiliating himself within earshot of the Boss as he tried to diffuse the ticking time bomb, but his pleading fell on deaf ears. She was much too bitter, much too sinister, to let any common sense reign over her.
"Fuck you!" Erika spat. "You show up here and try to boss me around. You're nobody, Vito. Nobody. You think you're a fucking king, but you're not. You're nothing!"
"You shut your mouth," Vito snapped back, losing his cool. Erika wanted a fight, and Vito was always more than willing to oblige. "You will respect me in my own house."
"Your house?" She laughed maniacally. "You're never here! Your house is with that whore in Chicago. Tell me, Vito, does she fuck like me? Does she suck your puny dick? Does she do that for you? Huh?"
"Shut the fuck up," he yelled. "You don't talk about things you don't get. You have no goddamn right!"
"You're my husband! Mine, not hers. You belong to me!"
"Maybe if you'd start acting like a wife—"
"Fuck you! Don't blame me for this!"
"Who else is there to blame? After the shit you put our kids through—"
"Father of the fucking year right here," Erika shrieked. "Please, tell me more. Tell me how great of a father you were from a thousand miles away."
"I made mistakes, but I'm not the one wrecking our son's engagement party!"
"Oh, fuck him, too."
"What did you just say?"
"I said fuck him. He's nobody, too."
"Don't talk about my son that way, Erika."
"I'll talk about him any damn way I want to. I gave birth to that little bastard! He belongs to me."
"He's half mine."
She scoffed. "That's what you think."
Her words were like a bomb going off, the explosion tearing through the house. Vito snarled, "You bitch," seconds before violence erupted. Corrado heard the whack as Vito slammed Erika into the wall with so much force the photos in the dining room shook, a painting crashing to the floor.
"Vito, please!" Erika gasped. "Stop! Please!"
Now her pleading fell on deaf ears.
Antonio was on his feet, the rest of the men following suit when Erika's screams grew louder. They rushed out of the room, but Corrado remained standing there, astounded.
As much as they fought, his father had never hit his mother before.
Fighting continued, incoherent shouting coupled with glass shattering. Vito was dragged back into the dining room, kicking and screaming, finally calming down when the Boss stood between him and the doorway. He breathed heavily, his hat gone and hair a mess. "I can't fucking believe her."
"Watch yourself, Vito," Antonio warned.
"Did you hear what she said to me?"
Before anyone could make sense of the chaos, footsteps stomped their direction. Eyes darted to the doorway when Erika burst in, her eyes wild and chest heaving.
Vito glared at her, his anger flaring once more as he shoved past the Boss. "What the fuck—?"
Corrado saw nothing but the flash of silver as his mother spun around to face him. She raised her arms, both hands clutching a small handgun.
She aimed straight for his head.
Every muscle in Corrado's body seized up, locking him in place, as everyone else threw their hands up defensively. Men retreated, footsteps frantic, while a few ducked for cover.
Vito dove at Erika and struck her from the side the second she squeezed the trigger. The bang of the gunshot was loud, a small fiery explosion ripping from the end of the pistol as Vito threw her to the floor. The bullet zipped right past Corrado, crashing as it struck the mantle to his left. The vase shattered, exploding into dozens of fragments. Stinging tore through Corrado's cheek as a shard sliced his skin, but he didn't react.
He didn't even move.
The world was stricken by slow motion, the picture a haze, sounds diluted by a soft buzzing. Numbness coated Corrado like a bucket of ice water dumped over his head as he watched his mother struggle to break free, frivolously screaming. Vito pried the gun from her hands, shoving it across the room. It skidded along the floor, slamming into an adjacent wall, as she thrashed.
"You love him more than me!" she screamed, the words breaking through Corrado's fog. "You're supposed to love me!"
Vito yanked Erika off the floor, wrapping his arms around her, but she wouldn't be confined. Fists struck him hard as she escaped his grip, slapping him once across the face before storming away.
Corrado still just stood there.
20
There's no faster way to kill a celebration than by almost putting a bullet in the honoree. People fled the house, muttering goodbyes. In less than a minute the place became a ghost town, all the money still scattered along the table, forgotten as men made a hasty exit. Only a few enforcers remained, holding their post around the Boss until they were sure he was safe.
Vito tried to go after Erika, but Antonio shoved him back into the dining room. "You get that woman into rehab."
Vito blanched.
"You get her clean, and you get her sane," Antonio continued, "because if you don't, I'll kill her myself. You hear me?"
"Yes, sir."
"We came here because you said it would be fine. You broke your word, Vito. This isn't fine."
"Look, she's just—"
"Don't go sticking up for her now. We all saw what she did!"
"She wouldn't have really—"
"The only reason Corrado's alive right now is because you hit her when she squeezed the trigger!" Antonio clutched his hands into fists as he paced. "I knew something like this would happen. Knew it. I hoped it wouldn't; I wanted to have faith in you, but I guess I was wrong."
Vito's brow furrowed. "Huh?"
"If you can't control a woman, Vito, how can I trust you running a whole crew?"
Horror flashed in Vito's eyes, the sight of it drawing Corrado out of his fog. The Boss was the kind of man who held a grudge until it festered beyond reasoning. Being demoted meant you were dispensable, and that made you as good as dead.
Corrado inhaled sharply, the rush of dry air burning his chest, as he broke his stance. He suddenly became acutely aware of his stinging cheek, a slight ringing in his ears from the gunshot. Reaching up, he brushed his hand along his face, wincing at the small gash in his skin. Blood gathered along the wound, but nothing substantial. He'd survive. "No harm done."
Vito and Antonio both quieted when he spoke up.
"Your mother damn near killed you," Antonio said.
Corrado shrugged. Wasn't the first time.
Antonio groaned with irritation, glancing around the abandoned dining room at the leftover guests. It seemed to strike him then that his son was missing. "Vincent?"
No answer.
"Maybe he went outside," Vito suggested.
Corrado didn't contradict that. Vincent had slipped out when Vito headed to the kitchen to diffuse the situation, and Corrado had a sneaking suspicion where he'd find the boy now.
"He needs to go back to the hotel," Antonio said, gaze shifting to Corrado. "You mind finding him and taking him?"
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