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Erika grew tired eventually and staggered away. Corrado watched her as she spit toward him, her face contorted. "You disgust me!"

Likewise, mother
.

That moment, as Erika staggered from his room, altered something inside of Corrado. He rubbed his jaw, stinging from a blow, and caught sight of his sister smirking in the hallway. He knew, from the smug look on her face, that she'd instigated it yet again. She'd told their mother he had the money.

Standing, Corrado stalked to his door, glaring at his sister. "You know what, Kat?"

"What?"

"You're on your own now."

He slammed the door in her face.

Early the next morning, while everyone else was still in bed, Corrado slipped out of the house and headed into town. The walk took him two hours, the sun just rising and the streets coming alive when he strolled along the sidewalk, his hands stuffed in his pockets. Where he was going, what he was doing, he wasn't sure. But he couldn't sit around that house; he couldn't deal with them anymore.

He visited shops and sat in a park, enjoying the sunshine, ignoring his life.

As much as he didn't want to admit it, he missed North Carolina. He missed the mountains. He missed that house.

Or maybe he just missed Celia.

It was mid-afternoon when he ran into a group of boys from school: Michael Antonelli, Shawn Smith, and Charlie Klein. The three were rolling through the park on their bikes while Corrado sat alone on a bench. Charlie skidded to a stop when he spotted him, the other two following suit. "Corrado, right?"

Corrado didn't particularly like any of the boys. After a few beats, he nodded.

"Where's your sister?" Michael asked, smiling goofily.

Corrado shrugged. "Home."

"Well,
whatcha
up to?" Charlie asked. "We're heading to the arcade on Fillmore, if you wanna join us."

After considering it, Corrado shook his head. He'd had enough of dealing with people to last for a while, and he just wanted to be left alone.

"Your loss," Charlie said. "You change your mind, you know where to find us. The
pizza's
on me."

Corrado sat there quietly when the boys rode away. After a while, his stomach growled, the mention of pizza stirring up his hunger. What could it hurt?

He debated before walking the few blocks to the arcade. The place was chaotic with summer break still in full force for another few weeks.

"Corrado! Over here!"

Charlie's voice rang through the place. Corrado spotted the boys sitting in a center booth, a large pie already on the table. He joined them, slipping in the seat beside Michael.

"Glad you changed your mind," Charlie said. "Eat up, my friend."

My friend
. The words struck Corrado strangely. He didn't consider Charlie a friend at all. The boy was older by two years and had a reputation as a troublemaker.

"Where you
guys been
this summer?" Michael asked, gnawing on a slice of pepperoni, cheese hanging from his chin.

"Away," he said.

"Missed seeing you around."

Corrado's brow furrowed, while Shawn snickered, tossing a napkin at Michael. "You missed looking at his sister,
Mikey
. That's all that is."

Michael tossed the napkin right back but didn't deny it.

The boys ate and chatted. Charlie dumped out a pocket full of change—at least four dollars in silver coins. Michael and Shawn grabbed some and ran off to play games, while Corrado just sat there, curiously watching Charlie. He wasn't sure why he'd been invited, but he could spot a scheming person a mile away.

His stomach growled at the smell of greasy pizza, so he reached for a slice. He took a small bite, savoring the taste, when Charlie pulled out a stack of bills. He flipped through it, and Corrado nearly choked when he spotted almost a dozen twenties mixed in the bunch. Even his father rarely left him that much. "Where'd you get all that money?"

Charlie smirked. "Earned it."

"How?"

Charlie glanced around to make sure no one was listening as he leaned closer, whispering, "by doing favors for some guys around town."

Corrado narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Favors?"

"Yeah, you know, delivering things, running errands, sending messages. Nothing big, yet, but soon… my day's coming soon." Charlie stared at him. "Especially if I get you on board."

"Me?" Corrado was taken aback. "Why?"

"Don't act like you don't know," he responded, slipping the money back in his pocket. "We all know who your dad is."

So that was it.

"With Vito Moretti's kid involved, we'd be unstoppable. Wouldn't
nobody
mess with us."

Corrado's appetite faded. He set the slice of pizza down. "I'm not interested."

"Oh, come on," Charlie said. "You can't tell me the idea of making your own money isn't tempting."

Tempting, definitely. As much as Corrado tried to deny it, that was true. Having money… his own money… and a means to survive without depending on his mother. Against his better judgment, Corrado nodded. "What do I have to do?"

Charlie's smile grew. "Stick with me, and I'll show you."

The Fillmore Crew, they called themselves. Every day for the next week Corrado slipped out of his house before dawn and made the journey to town on foot, meeting up with the three boys in the park.

It started out innocently enough. They did exactly what Charlie had said: passed notes between men, delivered packages, picked up dry-cleaning, and even ordered dinner. Corrado felt like a messenger boy as he shadowed Charlie, saying nothing, mostly watching. Some tossed Charlie as little as a few coins, while others stealthily slipped him a few dollars. It was nothing substantial—a far cry from the big bills Charlie had touted, but it was something.

And it was the easiest job in the world.

Michael and Shawn did most of the brunt work, while Charlie dealt with the people face-to-face. Corrado stayed in the shadows, nodding whenever he was introduced as Vito Moretti's kid, and collected his share before heading home.

He wasn't sure if his mother even noticed his absences, considering he always made it home before dinner.

The following Friday morning, Corrado sat on the park bench when Charlie rode up alone. Corrado eyed him curiously. "Where are the others?"

Charlie climbed off his bike and secured it to a tree. "Not coming. It's payday."

Payday? Hands in his pockets, Corrado clutched onto the handful of change and scraggly bills he'd accumulated. "Isn't that every day?"

Charlie laughed as if something he'd said were funny. "You're a trip, Moretti." He nudged Corrado's arm. "Come on, let me introduce you to the boss."

Boss?

Corrado's mind ran rampant as they walked through town, toward a middle-class neighborhood. Charlie led him to a small white house on the corner, a golden colored Cadillac in the driveway.

"Be cool, okay?" Charlie said. "Mr.
Barzetti's
kinda paranoid."

Corrado hung back as Charlie stepped up on the porch and knocked. Some locks jingled before the door opened, a vaguely familiar man appearing. Corrado stared at him, trying to place his face.

"Mr.
Barzetti
, sir," Charlie said, whipping out a Manila envelope uncannily like the ones Vito collected at the casino.

Mr.
Barzetti
opened the envelope and pulled out a stack of cash.

Definitely
like the envelopes his father collected.

Mr.
Barzetti
counted it before slipping a few bills to Charlie. "Here you go, shorty."

Shorty. The moment he said it, Corrado recognized the man. He'd seen him at The Flamingo, the first one he'd witnessed carried out through the back door.

Mr.
Barzetti's
gaze drifted off the porch toward Corrado. He narrowed his eyes briefly.

"This is my friend," Charlie said, grinning broadly. "He's—"

"Vito's kid." Mr.
Barzetti's
face paled as he finished Charlie's sentence. Wordlessly, he reached into the envelope again and pulled out even more bills, this stack larger than the first. He passed them to Charlie, his eyes never leaving Corrado. "Send my regards to your father. Tell him I took care of you, okay?"

Corrado nodded.

Mr.
Barzetti
disappeared back inside, relocking his door. Charlie stepped off the porch, cheering as he counted the money... $200.

"Whoop!" he said, splitting it right down the middle and handing Corrado half. "This is yours."

Corrado grasped the stack of twenties in his hand. "How often do you see him?"

"Every Friday."

Four hundred dollars a month... a hell of a lot of money for a kid.

Family dinner was the last thing on Corrado's mind after that. He arrived home well after dark, well past dinnertime, on his brand new bright red Schwinn Stingray. He hopped off the bike in the front yard, leaving it there, and bounded up onto the porch. Before he even made it to the door, it swung open, his mother appearing. "Where the hell have you been?"

"With friends."

"He's lying," Katrina said, stepping around their mother and onto the porch. "He has no friends."

"I do, too!"

Katrina crossed her arms over her chest. "Name one."

"Michael Antonelli."

Instantly, Katrina paled.

"Antonelli?" Erika asked, raising her eyebrows. "You've been with Frankie's kid?"

"Yes."

"
Mikey's
a fool," Katrina declared. "Why would you ever hang out with him?"

"Now, now," Erika said, grasping her daughter's shoulder. "Michael comes from a good bloodline."

Katrina rolled her eyes. "I can't tell."

"Hush up, girl," Erika said. "His family's connected. You'd do well to befriend him."

Katrina cringed.

Corrado stood there, unsure of what else to say. He wanted to go inside, but he didn't dare move. His mother didn't appear angry anymore, but that could change as quickly as the flip of a light switch.