Made (17 page)

"Right."

"Good. Make it a small, with sausage and mushroom.
Light on the sauce.
You think you can get that for me? And a glass of water, of course."

"Uh, sure. Anything else?"

Corrado stared him down. "No, I don't think so. I think we're good here. Aren't we, John Tarullo?"

"Sure thing."

    
11

Beyond the bruises and welts, cleverly concealed by an ample flow of blood, a soul is as easily traumatized as a human body. No one sees it; No one knows. But the crack of a belt against flesh, the strike of bitter words laced with venom, ricochets and lashes away at what lies beneath. Cuts appear on the soul, strong and sturdy as the thickest tempered glass, until one day, one attack is too much for it to take.

The second the strike hits, everything shatters into a million tiny fragments. Shards poke through the skin and are plucked away, unknowingly disposed of, gone forever in the blink of an eye.

The person you were doesn't exist anymore.

And just as bruises fade, the body tries to heal the soul, rebuilding what remains like a puzzle, overlooking the pieces that were lost in the assault. Again and again it happens, more pieces missing, more gaping holes left behind. Sometimes the body compensates, trying to fill the void the best it can based on the memory of a long ago snapshot, but often it shuts down and closes off, building a wall. The strikes still come, vicious and unremitting, but they don't hurt so much.

It's not easy to hurt when you hardly feel anything anymore.

The remnants of the soul become lost, trapped behind the wall with whatever darkness had leached into the fractures. No one could touch it; No one could reach it. Not with a harsh tongue, and certainly not with a gun.

But sometimes, things find a way to slip through.

Sometimes it's a smile; sometimes it's a laugh.

Sometimes it's as simple the sound of your name.

"Corrado!"

Corrado turned toward the familiar voice—a voice he would recognize anywhere—and saw Celia approach. Just after dark on a Friday night, he stood in the downstairs hallway of the DeMarco residence. Antonio had sent him out to handle some business and asked him to stop by afterward for a talk. There were other places he would've rather been, like at home in bed, but when the Boss called you in, you had to come in.

"Miss DeMarco," he said politely, nodding in greeting. Besides a few brief glances in passing while in public, it was the first time he'd encountered her since moving to Chicago.

"Celia," she said, her voice suddenly stern.

"Excuse me?"

"My name's Celia."

Why was she introducing herself? "I know your name."

"Do you?" she asked. "Because I'm pretty sure you just called me Miss DeMarco, and that isn't it."

He smiled guiltily. "Force of habit."

"Habit or not, that's no way to greet a friend."

Friend
. It was a title in the life reserved for his kind. The word seemed foreign coming from her lips. Was that what she was? His
friend
?

As he considered how real friends were supposed to greet each other, Celia rushed toward him. He held out his hand, figuring he would just shake hers to be safe, but it was then that he spotted the blood.

Blood. There was blood on his hands. He wasn't even sure where it came from. He quickly shoved his filthy hands in his pockets but she didn't seem to notice his reaction as she wrapped her arms around him in a hug.

Corrado felt her warmth through her clothes and smelled her sweet perfume, the scent making him dizzy. His heart pounded rapidly and his chest tightened. His throat felt like it was closing up. Breathing was difficult. His skin tingled. He swayed.

Was he having an allergic reaction?

She pulled away from him, smiling brightly. Her radiant expression did nothing to help his condition, his knees going weak. He wanted to tell her to call 911, but no words would come out. He was stunned. Speechless.

Stunned speechless.
What's wrong with me?

"You look good," she said, brushing at his suit coat and straightening his blue tie. "Bigger. Firmer."

Her skin flushed as she spoke.

"You, too," he managed to say. "Good, I mean. Not bigger or firmer. Although, well, you are bigger."

It wasn't coming out right.

"In the good way." Was there a good way to tell a woman she was bigger? "You're bigger in the right places."

She stared at him with shock. Even he recognized how wrong that sounded. Instinctively, almost as if some God-given male gene triggered, his eyes darted to her chest.
Definitely bigger.

That wasn't something friends were supposed to do.

He caught himself, but not quick enough. She caught him. "So you like my, uh, bigger places?"

"Yes." The answer, while true, sounded horrible verbalized. She was the Boss's daughter. What was he doing? "Wait, no." That wasn't good, either. "I just mean—"

She cut him off with a laugh. "You should probably stop right there. Your mouth seems determined to get you in trouble."

A lot would get him in trouble in his life, his mouth being the least of his concerns, but he nodded anyway. "You might be right."

"Of course I am," she said with a wink. "Get used to that fact."

"I'll try."

"That's all we can do," she said. "Try."

She was a far cry from her father. Antonio believed there was no trying, only doing. To survive, you had to succeed, no exceptions.

"So, what are you doing here?" she asked.

"Business. You?"

"What am I doing here?" She snorted. "I live here, Corrado."

"Oh," he said, realizing what he'd asked her. It was confusing. He was flustered, barely able to form thoughts. Everything seemed foggy.

Maybe it wasn't an allergic reaction.

Maybe he was having a stroke.

He stood there, unsure of what to say, and she laughed again.

"You're cute," she said, patting his cheek. "It's good to see you."

He'd been called a lot of things lately—cold, calculating and even crazy.
But cute?
That wasn't one of them. "It's good to see you, too."

Antonio appeared, his footsteps faltering at the sight of Corrado and Celia standing together. "Have you two been acquainted?"

"Of course," Celia said. "We're old friends."

"Friends? The two of you?"

"Yes. Remember North Carolina, Dad? We spent two months living together there."

"Oh, yeah. Right. I'd nearly forgotten."

Celia was still touching him and dropped her hand, taking a step to the side when Antonio gave them a pointed look. He stared Corrado down for a second, silently judging in a way Corrado tried to avoid, before turning to his daughter. "Don't you have a date tonight, honey?"

Date
? The moment the word registered, Corrado eyed Celia. She looked nice in a pair of jeans and a sweater, but she wasn't dressed up. What kind of date was she going on in sneakers?

"Yes, he'll be here soon," she said. "I should go finish getting ready now."

She started out, pausing to kiss her father's cheek. After she left, Antonio led Corrado to the den. He offered Corrado a drink but he declined, not wanting to prolong the visit with socializing.

Too bad socializing was all Antonio had in mind. He chatted away, but Corrado couldn't focus. The fact that he was distracted must have been obvious because after a while Antonio cleared his throat. "Are you alright, Corrado?"

"Yes, sir," he replied. "Fine."

"Are you sure?" he asked. "You're fidgeting."

Corrado glanced down, noticing he'd been wringing his hands together. "I'm just tired, sir."

Antonio stared at him, his expression blank. Corrado wasn't sure if he believed him, but he had no other explanation. He said not a word, the sudden tense silence putting him more on edge. His gaze was intense as he studied him, scrutinizing him, sizing him up.

The sound of the doorbell echoed through the house. Corrado startled, regaining his composure quickly, but the Boss noticed. He didn't move as it rang a second time, followed by the sound of footsteps on the stairs. "You couldn't answer the door?" Celia yelled from the foyer.

Her father didn't respond, too fixated on Corrado.

The boy greeted Celia when she let him inside. His voice was smooth, almost song-like, and she giggled at the sound of it.

Corrado's hair bristled. He instantly hated him.

Celia led her date into the den. Antonio's posture relaxed as he eyed the boy. "Hello."

"This is Andrew," Celia said, motioning toward him. He was an American, with shaggy blond hair. He looked like a surfer, an absurdity to Corrado. Chicago wasn't near the ocean. "Andrew, this is my father and Corrado, a friend of the family."

There was that word again.
Friend
. Unlike the first time, it didn't settle well with him then.

"Nice to meet you guys," Andrew said as he draped his arm over Celia's shoulder. Corrado's heart pounded forcefully again, even harder than before. He was touching her.

Why
was he touching her?

The intense
surge of blood made his skin feel
like it was crawling, sickness brewing in the pit of his stomach. His vision went red and his chest burned, a voice in the back of his head screaming.

Warning. Warning. Warning.

This boy was a threat. He needed to disappear.

Maybe he was wrong. Maybe he was having a heart attack.

"You, too," Antonio said. "You kids have a nice time."

His nonchalance stunned Corrado. Didn't he sense it, too? Didn't he feel how thick the air was? Couldn't he see the red flags?

"We will," Celia said. Her eyes lingered on Corrado, almost as if she expected him to say something, before she took Andrew's hand and they exited the room.

The boy touched her again. He needed to stop doing that.

"They met at school," Antonio explained once they were gone. "His family just moved to town."

"And you think it's safe for her to be with someone you know nothing about?"

"I wouldn't say I know nothing about him. His father's a doctor and his mother's a teacher. They're from Ohio. He has a perfect GPA, plans to go to Princeton. Never been in trouble. He's harmless."

Harmless wasn't the vibe Corrado got from him. "Are we done here, sir?"

"Yes," he replied. "Get some rest. I don't like seeing you frazzled."

Corrado headed for the front door, feeling the Boss's gaze on him as he exited. It didn't matter what he said. Something was horribly wrong with the situation. Celia shouldn't have been with that boy. Dozens of reasons why passed through his mind. He imagined her hurt, or in danger. He imagined him violating her or taking her somewhere she shouldn't be. Violence. Anger. Pain. Horror. Distress. The foreign flood of emotion was intense.

But never once, in his panic, did jealousy come to mind.

"There comes a time, thief, when the jewels cease to sparkle…"

The screen lit up with the film, the sound rumbling through the lot from speakers situated on the dozens of cars. Corrado shook his head, aggravated, and tried to ignore it. Of all the places in the world, all the things they could've done, Andrew took Celia to the drive-in to see
Conan the Barbarian
.

The boy didn't deserve her. She was better than this.

Corrado parked along the back, his car partially hidden, but close enough to watch the dingy, little gray Volkswagen Bug. The two lounged inside of it, eating popcorn as they watched the film.

He hadn't even treated her to dinner. She needed more.

Corrado checked the time. Only a few minutes past ten, but it felt like days had passed since the movie began. Didn't she have a curfew? How long would this nonsense go on?

Corrado glanced back at the car and froze, his blood running cold. Andrew had his arm over Celia's shoulder as she leaned toward him. His chest ached. He wanted to crawl out of his own skin.

And then she kissed him.

Her mouth, those lips that had spoken his name just hours before, touched the blond boy's filthy, rotten mouth. All composure slipped away, every ounce of self-control Corrado possessed gone. He flung open his door and jumped out, his hand going into his coat for his gun.