Made (65 page)

The snake chimed in, bragging, his arrogance infecting the room. Corrado blocked him out, diving deeper into his thoughts, when anarchy broke out.

Carmine jumped to his feet, liquor splashing to the floor as he clutched his glass tightly. His sudden movement startled the others, conversation ceasing as men stood, trained to sense danger. Guns were drawn, and a chorus of clicks echoed through the room as safeties were released, the weapons pointed at Carmine’s head.

Corrado didn't move. He stared at his nephew, coldness sweeping through him at the look in Carmine's eyes as he regarded Carlo with unadulterated hatred.

He knew.

Carmine knew.

He knew the secret Corrado had carried with him into the house, the secret that would be exposed before the night was through.

He knew Carlo had killed his mother.

He knew Carlo had tried to kill him.

But he didn't know it all.

No, Corrado was the only one in the room who did. Carmine didn't yet know that the man who sat beside him, the one who had stood at the altar the day of his christening and swore to God he would protect him, had ordered it all.

Salvatore broke up the standoff, demanding Carmine and Carlo follow him outside. Carlo sauntered from the room. He thought he was untouchable, infallible, but he wasn't.

The men in the den fell back into conversation with ease, unaffected, but Corrado remained on guard, straining his ears as he listened… as he waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Five, ten, fifteen minutes passed before the noise Corrado had been waiting for shattered the air.

Gunshots.

Men were on their feet, sprinting toward the door in a panic, as Corrado rose from his seat and took a deep breath. Reaching into his coat, he pulled out his revolver.

Vincent had come to end the charade.

Corrado paused in the doorway to the backyard as the spray of bullets ripped through the dark. Vincent stood in the middle of it all, firing at Salvatore, while shell-shocked Carmine hovered on the sidelines. Both men—the father he loved, the Boss he feared—yelled at the boy, Vincent imploring him to run, while Sal demanded he fulfill his duties.

Carmine seemed panicked, torn between two worlds—the world he wanted to be in, with his family, and the world he had to be in, the one he'd walked into to save Haven.

It didn't take a genius to figure out which world would win.

Carmine wouldn't run. That October day in 1996, when his mother had begged him to run and he listened, had sealed that decision. He ran
,
leaving someone he loved to face the fight alone.

He wouldn't do that again.

Corrado raised his gun and aimed for Carmine, pulling the trigger.

Don't make a sudden move.

The bullet grazed the side of Carmine's hand where he'd intended, singing the skin. Carmine dropped his gun reflexively, the weapon clattering to the concrete patio as he cursed out loud.

He looked stunned. Horrified. Frightened.

Frightened of Corrado, even though he'd saved him from making the worst mistake of his life.

Corrado sprinted for Carmine before the boy could think to grab his weapon again, knocking him hard to the ground. Corrado demanded he stay there as he stood back up, hoping Carmine would listen for once in his life. Corrado aimed for Vincent, firing over his head so not to hit him. Vincent knew what he was doing and fired back, bullets whizzing by.

Vincent had impeccable aim.

Not once did Corrado worry.

Men fell, bullets tearing through flesh as screams echoed through the air, incessant gunfire lighting up the night sky. Vincent's movements slowed eventually. He struggled, his breathing labored. He'd taken a few bullets, his hands covered with blood as he clutched his heaving chest.

The moment Vincent tore off his coat, exposing the Uzi strapped to his chest, Corrado knew it was all over. The final act had arrived.

It was the end.

Vincent bowed his head and made the sign of the cross, his mouth moving furiously as he prayed. Corrado was reminded of the boy's father then.

Antonio prayed for survival.

Vincent, Corrado knew, prayed for death.

Carmine's terrified screams cut through the night, his pleas falling upon deaf ears. It was too late to stop it, too late to take it back.

What was done was done.

"I think it's time," Vincent had said the last time they spoke face-to-face, a staunch detachment in his voice as the men stood on the steps of Saint Mary's Catholic Church under the cloak of darkness.

Corrado eyed him suspiciously. "Time for what, Vincent?"

"Time for me to be with my wife again."

Corrado closed his eyes as Vincent stepped out into the wide-open, his finger squeezing the trigger of the Uzi. Incessant gunfire lit up the night, deafening, terrifying, as bullets hailed across the yard, shattering glass and splintering wood, ripping through bodies and ending lives.

Corrado pinned Carmine down, shielding him from the deadly spray. The boy he had so fiercely resisted being responsible for trembled beneath him, needing his protection, relying on him for safety.

No matter how hard they fought it, fate snuck up on all of them.

When the bullets ran out, Corrado opened his eyes, watching Vincent fall to the ground. Crawling over to the side of the house, Vincent sat back on his knees. The gunfire had ceased, in its place the faint wail of sirens in the distance. They approached fast, growing louder as the seconds passed.

Nine blocks.

Eight blocks.

Seven blocks.

Vincent reached beside him, picking up his discarded pistol. Corrado, seeing his desolation, yelled in warning. "Vincent!"

Vincent glanced in his direction, his face ashen and eyes dull.

"It's time now," Vincent whispered, the words garbled.

Corrado shook his head, knowing what he was thinking. He'd expected to die tonight. Corrado had expected him to die.

But not this way.

It wasn't supposed to end this way.

Vincent nodded defiantly as the sirens grew closer.

Stubborn and rebellious.
He hadn't changed.

Six blocks.

Five blocks.

Vincent raised his trembling gun, pressing it beneath his chin. Carmine screamed, horrified, but the sound grew muffled as Corrado's heart thumped wildly in his chest. The familiar fog took over, numbness seeping into his skin and coating his insides.

Vincent stared at Corrado, silently pleading for help. He'd never ask him to do it. He had too much pride.
Too much heart
.
But his expression spoke volumes. It always had. Decades later, even after everything, Vincent still couldn't bluff.

Not with Corrado, anyway.

Four blocks.

Three blocks.

They were cutting it close.

Corrado grabbed his revolver as Antonio's hazy voice infiltrated his senses, a long ago memory Corrado had never forgotten.

"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," Corrado had replied. "I swear on my life I won't hurt your family."

Corrado closed his eyes, bowing his head, as he pushed that memory away. Seeing the desperation in Vincent's eyes, knowing what he planned, Corrado realized he had to break that promise.

He had to do the one thing that would hurt Celia most.

He had to break her heart.

It was the only way to save Vincent's.

Two blocks.

One block.

Out of time.

"
Perdonatemi
," Corrado whispered.
Forgive me
.

He aimed, his finger on the trigger, and for only the second time in his life, he hesitated.

This time it was real.

This wasn't a game.

Vincent wasn't another target, another kill. Another number. He was his friend. No, he was his
brother
.

He was just like him.

Corrado stared into Vincent's eyes. Only a second or two passed, but it was enough for Corrado to seek out what he needed. He saw it, watching as Vincent's life flashed before him, as it all played out in his final moments, deep love and happiness shining from his eyes.

He needed to be with his wife.

And Corrado realized then exactly what Maura had seen at the end… it wasn't the pain or the misery. Those things didn't define her. It was her family.

Just as it was Vincent's.

The single gunshot tore through the air as Corrado pulled the trigger, killing his brother-in-law instantly.

Carmine bawled.

Sirens wailed.

Corrado prayed he'd done the right thing.

The days following were a blur as Corrado endured interrogation and nights in a cold, dark jail cell, confined for as long as they could legally keep him. When a judge ordered his release, he didn't call his wife. He didn't call any friends, any associates, or any family.

Instead, he called a priest.

Father Alberto pulled up in front of Cook County Jail, the familiar Cadillac
DeVille
rumbling. Antonio's car, come to pick him up from jail yet again. Corrado ran his hands along the hood before opening the passenger door and slipping inside.

He hadn't seen the thing in years.

The priest said nothing as he drove through town. Father Alberto parked the car at Saint Mary's Catholic Church and climbed out, not giving Corrado another look.

He didn't have to. Corrado followed, anyway.

He kept his head down as he strode down the long aisle, following the priest straight to the confessional. Corrado sat down inside of it, shoving the clunky screen out of the way. He had no intention of hiding his face.

Father Alberto sat beside him. "Whenever you're ready."

Corrado had never done this before, but he knew how it went. "Bless me Father, for I have sinned. I'm forty-six years old, and this is my first confession."

"Go on, my child" the priest said. "I'm listening."

"I lied." Corrado bowed his head. "I made a promise I knew I couldn't keep."

"About what?"

"I promised long ago that I would never leave my wife."

"And you're leaving her?"

"Yes."

"When?"

"I don't know," he said quietly. "Maybe today, maybe tomorrow, maybe the next day.
Maybe next year.
Maybe ten years from now. There's no way to tell. But it'll happen someday. I'll leave her."

"Why?"

"It's not my choice. I'm already on borrowed time. Men like me… we don't live forever. We don't live long at all."

"So by leaving her, you mean…"

"I'm going to die."

"We all die. It's unavoidable."

"I know, but it hasn't been enough," he said. "It'll never be enough. She deserves so much more."

"There's eternal life," the priest said.

"I'm not a fool, Father. My wife sometimes says I am, but I'm not. I know Celia and I aren't going the same place. There is no eternity. This life is all we've got."

The priest was quiet. "Have you considered the prospect of her leaving first?"

"No." Corrado shook his head. "It won't happen that way."

"How can you be certain?"

"Because God knows, if He ever took Celia from me, I'd burn the world down around us all."

Corrado stood to leave, but the priest reached out and grabbed his arm, stopping him. "That's it?"

"Yes."

"There's nothing else you need to get off your chest?"

"No," he said. "Everything else I've done, I've made peace with."