Made (10 page)

She listened intently before letting out a light laugh. "Yes, she's right here. Hold on."

Mrs. DeMarco held out the phone to Celia, who sprinted over to snatch a hold of it. "Daddy?"

Celia's eyes sparkled. "Yes, of course I'm being good…. yes… I miss you, too."

Her excitement grew at something before she launched into a story. It took a few minutes for her to run out of steam, her words slowing to a trickle. "I promise. Love you, too. Bye, Daddy."

Celia held the phone out toward her brother. "Vincent?"

Slowly, he pushed his chair back and walked over to grab the phone. "Hello?"

A long, exaggerated pause of silence passed as Vincent stared at the ground.

"Uh-huh," he mumbled finally. "Yes, sir."

Vincent handed the phone back to his mother and retook his seat. Mrs. DeMarco turned the corner, out of their view, and whispered into the phone, trying to find a bit of privacy. Corrado picked at his food until Mrs. DeMarco returned, taking her seat. Her eyes scanned them before ultimately settling on Corrado. "Vito's fine," she said, glancing from him to Katrina. "Just busy with work stuff."

Work stuff.

Mafia
.

A heat wave struck the mountains of North Carolina, the temperature creeping into the high nineties every afternoon, as summer droned on. The sticky, humid air coated Corrado's skin like sweat as he spent his days outside. He ran around, clad in only a pair of pants, barefoot and bare chested, sunshine blasting him as it streamed through the trees, bronzing his skin.

Celia stood in the backyard one afternoon as the first of August dawned, wearing a ruffled red bathing suit. Vincent ran around her as she clutched a hose, trying to squirt him. Their laughter rang out, jubilant, childish, both kids soaked from head to toe as their feet sunk into the muddy earth. Corrado lurked a few feet away, his dark curls damp from the wayward spray.

Vincent shrieked, running away from his sister, heading straight for the woods. Celia sprayed him as far as the hose would go before bending it, stopping the flow of water, and swinging around to face Corrado. She pointed it at him like a gun, drops of excess water dripping into the puddle around her feet.

"Surrender," she demanded, eyes sparkling, a mischievous twist of the lips. "Or else."

He stared at her.

"Last chance," she warned him.

He still said nothing.

No more than a heartbeat passed before she loosened her grip on the hose, letting the water fly. Corrado backed up a few steps, but it wasn't enough. The spray slammed into him, soaking his chest, as icy water blasted him in the face. Laughing, he lunged at her. Panic flared in Celia's eyes as she squealed, dropping the hose and throwing up her hands defensively. "I surrender."

Corrado was undeterred. Celia backed up, yelping as she slipped in the mud, nearly falling, but she caught herself as she ran. Corrado stared at her retreating form for a fraction of a second before making the decision to go after her.

He took off into a sprint, chasing her through the yard. Celia glanced behind her, squealing as she dodged and weaved, trying to evade him. She ducked into the woods, grasping the trunk of a small tree to swing around it. Corrado jumped in front of her, stopping her, his looming figure backing her against the tree.

She panted, trying to catch her breath, still dripping water. Her flushed cheeks twitched as she fought to contain her smile. "I said I surrender!"

"I didn't ask you to."

She tried to duck around him, but he moved with her, blocking her yet again. Her eyes flared wildly, darting past him with excitement as she sought out a way to escape. Left. Right. Left. Right. Corrado anticipated her every move, keeping her pinned in place, not letting her slip past.

Until finally, once, she came right at him.
She stepped forward, her head tilted as she stared him in the eyes. He looked down at her, curious, and barely had time to react before she sprung up on her tiptoes and forced her lips against his.

Every inch of Corrado, warm and sweaty, froze over like a block of ice. It was over as quickly as it started, Celia ducking past him with a giggle, running through the woods back to the house.

He watched her, wavering this time before following. He caught up to her when she reached the back door, his hand catching hers when she flung it open.

"You cheated," he said.

She cast him an amused look as she headed into the house. A response had come from her lips, but Corrado didn't hear it. All he heard, all that existed when he stepped inside, was the familiar deep voice, smooth and calm. Corrado's eyes darted around for the source, his heart racing when he spotted the man in the hallway.

His father.

Vito turned their way, trying to navigate around Katrina, who clung to his waist. He smoothed her hair lovingly as he grinned, regarding his son. "Good news. You get to go home, kid."

Good news
. Contrary to those words, the smile faded from Corrado's face. Home. Las Vegas.
Back to his mother.
Away from the
DeMarcos
.

Vito's expression shifted to confusion. "Nothing to say?"

Corrado looked away. "I'll go pack."

"Yeah, you do that," Vito said, prying Katrina away from him. "You, too, sweetheart. Sooner you're packed, sooner you're out of here."

He didn't have to tell her twice. Katrina bolted upstairs, taking them two at a time. Corrado slipped past Celia and followed his sister, stopping on the second floor. He packed what little he had brought, done in less than five minutes. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he clutched his backpack between his legs and stared at the floor.

A soft knock on the door caught his attention. He glanced up as it opened, seeing Celia slip inside, her braid let loose into damp waves. She had changed her clothes, wearing shorts and that dreaded Chicago Cubs shirt—the same thing she had worn the day they arrived.

"I'll write you," she said, eyeing him earnestly. "Okay?"

He nodded.

"Come on, kids!" Vito hollered. "Make it fast, will you?"

Corrado stepped around her and walked out, tossing his bag on his shoulder as Celia walked right on his heels. His father stood at the end of the staircase, swinging his keys around his finger.

"Ah, the prettiest DeMarco to ever live," Vito said, a charming grin lighting his lips as he reached over and tugged Celia's hair.

"I heard that," Mrs. DeMarco said, stepping out from the kitchen.

"Busted." Vito glanced at the woman. "I was never very good at being discreet."

"You and Antonio both," she chided.

He let out a laugh, smiling sheepishly. "Guilty."

Mrs. DeMarco shook her head, not seeming as amused, and strode off. Vito winked at Celia, nudging her chin with his hand. "I don't know where you get it, pretty girl."

Katrina's appearance on the stairs shifted Vito's attention away. Corrado stepped down into the foyer and glanced back at Celia, his father's words running through his head. He surveyed her features, her hair, her eyes, taking in the sight of her pale lips… lips that had not long ago touched his.

Pretty
.

Vito snatched up Katrina's bags and lugged them out the front door. Corrado followed him onto the porch when Celia grabbed him from behind, knocking the backpack from his shoulder, as she wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug.

"Bye, Corrado," she said. "I'll see you again someday."

His stomach sank when she let go.

"Goodbye, Celia."

    
6

Two months can alter life in unbelievable ways.

When they made it back home at the end of summer¸ vast sunshine streamed through the downstairs, casting blinding glares off the damaged frames and chipped crystal, but the house itself was spotless.

Corrado squinted, surveying the dead silent surroundings, his eyes falling on a small form in the hallway. For a brief moment, when he first caught the glimpse, he was sure she was an apparition. Her alabaster skin glowed as white as the light surrounding her, matching her snow-colored dress.

Unconsciously, Corrado took a step back.

"Why is there a girl here?" Katrina asked, dropping her bags to the floor in the foyer. "And why is she wearing my dress? Oh God, Mom replaced me! She replaced us!"

"Don't be dumb, Kat," Corrado muttered, staring at the girl. He could make out nothing but her fiery red hair and green eyes. "Mom wouldn't replace us."

"How do you know?"

He didn't know. He wouldn't put anything past his mother. "Well, she wouldn't replace us with Irish kids, anyway."

Their father stepped in the house behind them and cleared his throat. "Corrado, Katrina, this is Maura. She's your mother's new, uh, help."

The girl stepped forward at the sound of her name, out of the blinding glare and into Corrado's line of sight. She was young... younger than him. She was just a girl, no older than Vincent.

"But why's she wearing my dress?" Katrina asked again as her voice rose. "It's mine! Not hers!
Mine
!"

Erika came down the steps then, groaning dramatically. "What's with all the yelling?"

"This girl... this slave... is wearing my dress!"

Maura flinched at the hostility, her cheeks flushing bright red as tears welled in her eyes.

"That dress hardly fits you anymore," Erika said. "Besides, she needed clothes. You didn't expect me to buy her any, did you? Not like I could afford it, though, even if I wanted to. Blame your father. If he'd make some money for once..."

"Don't start, Erika," Vito warned.

Erika waved him off as she strode right past for the kitchen. Vito stood there for a moment, looking at his watch. "I gotta get going, kids."

Corrado frowned. "Already?"

"Yeah, you know, work," Vito said. "I got some stuff to handle at the casino, but I'll be back for dinner."

At least he would come back tonight.

Vito kissed the top of Katrina's head before lingering in the doorway to the kitchen. "I'm leaving, Erika."

"Of course you are," she muttered, coming back through the foyer and heading back upstairs.

Vito shook his head and walked out of the house as Katrina threw her hands up. "Unbelievable!"

She stormed off, leaving Corrado and the strange new girl alone in the hallway. Maura regarded him cautiously, her mouth opening and closing as she considered speaking.

"Hey," she said finally, her voice feeble.

A response hung on the tip of Corrado's tongue, a simple "hello" in return, but a crash upstairs made him swallow it down.

Closing his eyes, Corrado grabbed his bag.

There was no point talking to her when she would just leave eventually.

He couldn't keep anyone.

Screaming. Screaming. Screaming.

Why did there always have to be
screaming
?

"Where's the fucking money, Vito? You promised you'd have it!"

Erika's voice was so high-pitched it surprised Corrado it didn't shatter their water glasses. He kept his gaze on his plate, tired eyes fixed on his untouched food. His appetite was long gone, disappearing when his parents started bickering.

He was almost wishing now his father hadn't come back.

"Is that all you care about? Money?" Vito remained calm. He sounded defeated. Corrado couldn't recall a time his father didn't sound that way. "Figures."

"What, you expect me to care about you? Ha! You can't even handle your responsibilities! You shove them off on me!"

Responsibilities, Corrado knew, was code for him and Katrina. He chanced a peek across the table at his sister.
Welcome home
. She had her elbow propped up in front of her, her face in the palm of her hand as she shifted the food around on her plate.
To
most people she would've appeared bored, disinterested, but Corrado knew better. Moments like this were the only time Katrina showed vulnerability, the only time she even seemed human to him anymore. Watching her, seeing the hurt in her eyes, he almost felt bad. She was still just a kid.

But then again, so was he, and he wouldn't let it get to him. If only the screaming would stop, though. It gave him a headache.

"I sent money last week. What did you do with it all? The kids weren't even here!"

He'd clearly asked the wrong question. Erika slammed her hands down on the table, shaking it from the force of the blow. Her wine glass toppled over, spilling the red liquid. Corrado watched as it spread across the table and ran over the side, dripping onto the floor beside him.

"Are you kidding?" Erika spat. "You send me pennies and have the nerve to ask what I did with it all?"

The wine pooled near Corrado’s chair, the red seeping into the floor. Maura would have a hard time getting it up, for sure.

"Pennies? I sent you thousands!"

"Two thousand. That's it! That doesn't even cover the bills!"

"It would if you wouldn't live so extravagantly."

Again, wrong thing to say.

Erika shoved her chair back as she jumped up, launching her plate of food across the room. Katrina and Corrado both ducked out of the way, but Vito didn't even flinch. It flew right past him and smashed against the wall over his shoulder, the sauce from the lasagna leaving a smear on the white paint.

Maura would have trouble cleaning that up, too.

"You call this extravagant, you little dick piece of shit? You're pathetic! I should've never married you!"

Erika grabbed the bottle of wine before storming out of the dining room, barking orders on the way. Maura scurried into the room from the kitchen and dropped to her hands and knees, blotting the wine from the floor with a white towel. Corrado watched her, seeing the cloth staining bright red, and hoped bleach would take it out or else she'd be in even more trouble.

He considered telling her that but figured it was pointless. It was already done. She couldn't take it back.

Vito sighed, the sound exaggerated. Corrado didn't need to see his father's expression to know he'd find pity in his eyes, shame for their lives, anger at their mother. Vito would frown, his lips twisted as he gnawed on the inside of his stubbly cheek before clicking his tongue. He always did that when deep in thought.

Corrado didn't know what he had to think about. Same thing happened every time.
Nothing new about it.

"I have to get out of here," Vito said, standing. He walked around the table, pausing beside Corrado’s chair. "Maura, sweetheart, you'll wanna throw that towel away. Bury it deep in the trash. Don't let her see."

"Yes, sir," Maura said, her voice shaking. She seemed surprised he'd suggest something to help her, but Corrado wasn't. His father was that kind of person. Corrado liked to think he was more like Vito than his mother, but the fact that he hadn't spoken up suggested otherwise.

His father pulled out his wallet and counted out some cash, setting it down on the table beside Corrado's plate. "Hold on to this in case you need it, kid."

"Yes, sir."

He patted Corrado on the head. The gesture, intended to be warm, annoyed him, and he pulled away. He wasn't a puppy. He didn't need to be pet like one.

Vito started for the door as Corrado slipped the money in his pocket. Katrina jumped up, sprinting for their father, and wrapped her arms around his waist. His footsteps faltered yet again as he hugged her, patting her back gently.

"Don't go." Katrina's voice came out as a broken whisper, but Corrado heard her plea, disturbed she would resort to begging.

Their father wouldn't stay. Didn't she realize that yet?

He never did.

"Where are you, you little bastard?"

Erika Moretti was drunk. Again.

Corrado didn't move, sitting still at his desk in his bedroom, hoping she'd get distracted and forget about him. A book lay open in front of him, but it was impossible for him to focus on any of the words.

"Your father should've taken you with him, that pathetic son of a bitch. But no, he always leaves you behind for me to deal with." Her words slurred, a bottle and a half of wine deep now, he guessed. "He knows I don't want you, that I never did."

She let out a sharp, bitter laugh that bounced off the walls and echoed straight to him, striking him in the chest despite the armor he'd built. "Vito forced me to have you just to torture me. He loves torturing me. That's all he's good at, you know. He sure can't fuck or take care of things."

She grew deathly quiet then, but Corrado detected her footsteps down the hallway. He strained his ears listening. He couldn't let her sneak up on him. On misstep, one miscalculation, and she'd have the upper hand.

His arm hairs stood on end, his skin prickling when her footsteps drew closer, pausing right in the doorway behind him. He was defenseless besides his wit, and to hear his mother tell it, he had none of that, either.

"Are you ignoring me?" she asked. He remained quiet, figuring that would be answer enough, but she didn't accept it. "I asked you a question, Corrado Alphonse. I expect a goddamn answer."

"No, ma'am," he said.

"Liar." She strolled into his room. "Give it to me. Right now."

He looked at her as she held her hand out. "Give you what?"

"You know what." She grabbed the back of his chair and yanked it out from under the desk, snatching him to his feet. He froze as she rifled through his pockets, finding the money his father left. "You're just like him."

She shook her head as she shoved him back into his seat. She raised her hand like she was going to hit him, and he flinched, throwing his arm up protectively. He braced himself for a blow that didn't come.

"Do the world a favor, Corrado," she said. "Don't have a family. You'll only fuck them up like he did."

She started to walk away when Corrado muttered under his breath, "you fucked us up worse than him."

Feet abruptly stopped. Despite her intoxication, Erika spun around gracefully and came back toward him. "What did you say?"

Corrado hesitated.
Lie
, a voice in the back of his head screamed.
Beg
. But Corrado was too far-gone to listen to it. He was worn down, mentally exhausted, and tired of putting up with her. "I said you fucked us up worse than—"

He didn't get it all out before her fist swung, striking him across the face. For a petite woman, she had a strong right hook. Corrado hardly had time to recover, to brace
himself
, when she pounced, wailing on him over and over with her small fists. Strike after strike stung, her blood red painted fingernails ripping at his skin as she resorted to clawing his hands away from his face. He tried to block the blows, deflecting half of them, taking the other half in stride. He didn't throw any punches, refusing to raise his hand to his mother, no matter how furious she made him.