Made (59 page)

"So you named her Haven," Corrado said, his hands in his pockets as he surveyed the mess shoved out of the way. How hadn't Frankie noticed the missing things?

"
I
didn't name her anything," Frankie said, heading for his office today. "Let's get this work finished so you can get out of here."

Frankie had trouble running their operations in Nevada. Antonio frequently sent men down to assist when he got overwhelmed. Usually it was Corrado, but occasionally he'd send Vincent or another
Capo
he trusted. It was in and out, a few hours sweating in the desert to set things straight for a few weeks. It was tedious bookwork, numbers and statistics, the things Corrado watched his father doing growing up.

They spent the next hour wrapping up some plans on a takeover of a small place north of the city. Frankie went to walk Corrado outside when they finished but stopped in the hallway, something again obstructing his path. Frankie groaned with frustration as he sagged against the wall.

Monica was on the floor, on her hands and knees, trying to scrub the crayon markings from the wood. Her eyes narrowed at her husband. "You blame
me
for this, Frank, not her."

"She knows better."

"She's just a kid," Monica said, sitting back on her knees. "She doesn't understand."

"The sooner she learns, the better," Frankie said. "She doesn't belong with us."

"She does," Monica argued. "I want her here."

Frankie pushed away from the wall, his frustration melting to vicious anger in a split second. He grabbed his wife's arm, yanking her from the floor, baring his
teeth
as he growled, "no."

No
. A simple word, laced with more hostility that Corrado had heard from him when he scolded the slave.

Monica pulled away from him, tears in her eyes as she stomped upstairs. Frankie strode outside, throwing open the front door, reaching into his pocket for a pack of cigarettes. "That woman would let any stray in my house. It's the reason we left Chicago in the first place. I bring her out here to the middle of no-fucking-where, and she still pulls the same shit."

"We are who we are," Corrado muttered, stepping off the porch and heading for his rental car. His eyes scanned the property, his gaze stopping at the stables. There, standing in the wide-open entrance, was the little girl. She raised her hand, casually waving goodbye to him.

He didn't wave back, didn't acknowledge her, but he paused there, watching. A child, with no concept of what she was, of what she would someday be… with no concept of what kind of person her mother was, or how she had even been created. She had no idea what kind of man she was staring at, what kind of monster she so nonchalantly greeted.

In another life, in another world, she could have been different. She had enough Italian blood flowing through her veins to make her treasured. Maybe her parents weren't much of anything, but her grandfather was a
made man
.

If only he would admit who she was.

It took a moment for Miranda to yank her daughter into the stables, into the shadows, away from sight.

Corrado gave Frankie a polite nod. "I'll see you next time."

"Do they really have a girl?"

Corrado looked overtop of his morning newspaper at his wife eating breakfast. A peculiar sense of déjà vu struck him. "You'll have to be more specific."

"The
Antonellis
."

Ah
. "Yes."

"It's true?" she asked. "Who is she?"

"Nobody," Corrado said, turning back to his newspaper. "Just a girl."

"What? You mean like Maura?"

"Exactly like that."

Celia gasped, dropping her fork. "You're serious? She's like
that
?"

"It's more common than you think, Celia."

"But she's just a girl!" Celia said. "A
little
girl!"

"She's not that little."

She scoffed. "She's still a child."

Corrado realized then his wife didn't mean the woman, Miranda.

"My mistake," he said. "I thought you meant her mother."

"Her mother? So her mother's a, uh...?"

"Slave." He said it for her. He knew she hated that word. "Yes."

"And what does that make the little girl?"

"The daughter of one."

Celia picked up her napkin and launched it across the table at him, hitting his newspaper. "Don't start bullshitting me
now
, Corrado. We both know it makes her one, too."

"Why'd you ask if you already knew?"

"To get you to admit it."

"Fine." He closed the newspaper and tossed it aside. "It's true."

"And what's going to happen to her?"

Definitely familiar
.
"I don't know. And this time, Celia, I'm not going to find out."

She stared at him hard as if she wanted to argue. He expected her to argue, to get up and storm out. But instead she picked up her fork once more.

"How'd you even know about her?" Corrado asked suspiciously.

"Maura told me."

"How does she know?"

"She saw the girl the weekend Vincent took her to Vegas."

He took her to Vegas? "And where was I?"

"Who knows," Celia muttered. "I was here babysitting alone. You never came home."

"When was it?"

"Two weeks ago," she said. "Valentine's Day."

Out of everything they'd said the past few minutes, the barely restrained hostility tossed back at forth, those last words were what struck him hardest. He'd forgotten another Valentine's Day. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," she said, tossing her fork down again, this time to stand up. "After twelve years of marriage, I'm used to it by now."

    
42

The dark brick building set back off the busy highway, surrounded on all sides by tall trees. It blended into the quiet south Chicago neighborhood, laid-back and low-key, as the modest tan sign above the entrance displayed the name in deep red cursive.

Luna Rossa

Below it, in sparkling gold, the sign bore the word 'lounge', so subtle it wasn't noticeable unless right up on it. It had been intentional, just like the absence of all neon signs and advertisements.

It wasn't intended to lure people off the street.

Corrado stood in the freshly paved parking lot, leaning back against the side of his Mercedes, his arms wrapped around his wife in front of him. Her hair smelled like cinnamon sugar as he inhaled, resting his chin lightly on top of her head.

"I love it," she said. "It's perfect."

He smirked, gazing at the building. Construction had completed the week before, a day ahead of schedule and right on budget. Corrado couldn't be happier.

The project was born one fall night when Corrado had a particularly rough evening. He arrived home close to midnight, the scent of mildew and old alcohol clinging to his clothes, overpowering the sweet fragrance from the bouquet of flowers in his hand. He had hoped to spend some time with his wife, hoped to purge the day's events from his thoughts, but instead he found an empty house with a hastily scribbled note on the table:

Helping Maura. Don't wait up.

Don't wait up
.

How many times had he told her those exact words?

He didn't much like it in reverse.

She hadn't made it home until two in the morning. Corrado sat on the couch, his shirt unbuttoned and shoes kicked off as he flipped through channels on the television. The flowers lay on top of the note on the coffee table, already starting to wilt.

"I thought you'd be asleep," Celia said, running her hand through his hair, her fingernails scraping lightly against his scalp. The tickle shot down his spine, his eyelids drooping at the sensation.

Man, he was exhausted.

"You weren't home."

"I left a note," she said, sitting on the arm of the couch beside him as she massaged the back of his neck.

"I saw it."

"And you still waited up."

"Of course."

She gazed at him in the dark room, the glow from the muted television illuminating her face as she frowned. "I worry about you, Corrado. Don't you ever want more?"

He stared at her, those words making his stomach sink. "I have everything I need."

"Not need," she said. "
Want
."

He answered honestly. "I don't know."

"You should have something that's yours," she said. "Something you pour your soul into."

"I have you."

She gripped the back of his neck. "Besides me."

"
Wor
—"

"Don't even say work."

Did he want more than that?

"You work hard," she said, not waiting for him to come up with an answer. "Harder than you need to."

She reached over, grasping his right hand, running her finger along the scar across his palm. Although she didn't elaborate, he knew what she meant. He had fought hard to be
made
, to earn his place, yet despite the title, he still did the brunt of the work himself.

Work others should be doing for him instead.

Corrado dwelled on that all night and the next day as he worked the streets, going in and out of grungy buildings around the city. Just once he wanted to step foot somewhere where he felt welcome, somewhere where he didn't have to fight the urge to gag.

For guys who prided themselves on being honorable, they sure frequented some disgraceful places.

He mentioned that in passing to Antonio, who laughed it off. "The only way you're going to get a classier hangout is if you open one yourself, Corrado."

He'd been joking, but Corrado took those words to heart.

Luna Rossa
, every aspect built to his strict specifications. And standing in the parking lot beneath the warm spring sunshine, his wife in his arms, he felt almost as if he were seeing
himself
. It was an extension of him, a reflection of his personality.
Luna Rossa
was everything he loved in the world, translated into something legitimate, something to be proud of.

It was his and his alone, built from the ground up, his soul poured into it, just as his wife had suggested.

"Come on," Celia said, pulling out of his arms, a sparkle of excitement in her eyes. "Show me the inside."

"You don't want to wait for the others?"

"Nope."

Corrado pulled the keys from his pocket, shifting through them until he found the one for the main entrance. The door was steel reinforced, top of the line in security. He had done everything imaginable to make the place secure, to thwart break-in's and vandalism, even making the glass shatter-resistant.

Unlocking the door, he moved aside, motioning for her to go ahead of him. She paused in the dark walkway as he turned off the alarm and flicked the row of switches, one-by-one flipping on the lights. Celia looked around, her eyes wide with intrigue as she studied the place in the dim lighting. Everything was dark and wooden with deep red trim. Four tiers of shelves lined the mirrored wall behind the long bar, stacked with hundreds of bottles of the finest liquor and spirits, glowing red spotlights shining above them.

Dozens of booths and tables took up the back half of the building, the atmosphere darker the further back you walked. The vast area between the tables and the bar was wide open, the waxed floor sparkling beneath twinkling spotlights.

Celia gasped as she walked out onto the gold-tinted dance floor, her high heels clicking against the wood. She held her arms out and spun in circles, smiling radiantly as she gazed up at the lights. Her red dress, skin-tight on her chest but flowing from her waist, stopping near her knees, stood out strikingly as she twirled. "This is
beautiful
. Who knew you had it in you?"

Corrado stepped behind the bar and grabbed two small glasses. He poured vodka in both, adding a splash of cola to Celia's, before holding it out to her. She took the drink, shoving a stool out of the way as she climbed up on the black marble bar. Corrado shook his head, grinning, but said nothing as she made herself at home on top of it, her heels digging into the leather stool seat.

She sipped her drink, glancing around some more, as Corrado stepped out from the bar. He strode over to the Compact Disc jukebox along the edge of the room, gold and red with wooden paneling to match the rest of the club. There would be a DJ on staff most nights and occasionally live music, courtesy of the piano in the far back, but it was all he had then. He fed coins into the slot, choosing the same song for every selection:
Luna Rossa
.

Celia's eyes widened when Frank Sinatra's voice crooned from the speakers. "How'd you get this on CD?"

"I have my ways," he said. "There's nothing in this world I can't get."

"Huh." She shifted around on the bar to face him. "Nothing?"

"Nothing," he stressed, stopping right in front of her. He threw back the last of his liquor, feeling the burn in his chest as he set the empty glass down on the bar beside her. "If I want it bad enough, it's mine."

Sipping the last of her drink, she set her glass down beside his. A devilish smirk lifted the corner of her red lips. "Does that include me?"

"
Especially
you."

Corrado shoved his way between the two stools, stepping between her legs. He laid his hands on her knees and ran them up her thighs, pushing her dress the whole way up to her waist as her arms wrapped around his neck, her fingers running through the hair at the nape.

"I
always
want it, Celia," he said, his voice low and gritty, his words earnest. "I always want you."

Grasping the sides of her panties, he tugged, sliding them over the curve of her ass and down her thighs when she lifted off the bar. He threw them to the floor before yanking her closer to the edge of the bar. One hand slid up her inner thigh, her legs spreading for him, as his other hand gripped the back of her neck and pulled her face toward him. He kissed her hard, passionately, as he stroked her center, his thumb grazing her clitoris.

She was already ready for him.

Her breath caught as he pushed two fingers inside her, curving them upward, reaching for that spot he knew would drive her wild. He pumped them in and out, teasing her. His mouth moved from hers to her neck, his lips trailing along her collarbones, his teeth nipping at the hint of breast. She shivered, her hands gripping his hair as he bent down, his head dipping beneath her dress.

"Oh, fuck!" she gasped, the curse cracking as it lodged in her throat when his mouth came into contact with her sensitive flesh. He tasted her, licking and sucking, his fingers over and over grazing her sweet spots, as she writhed on the bar, leaning back on her elbows. Whimpers tore from her throat, louder and louder, as he brought her closer to climax.

It hit her hard, muscles seizing up, body going rigid seconds before the convulsions. She cried out, tossing her head back and nearly throwing herself right off the back of the bar. Corrado grabbed her just in time, standing up straight with surprise as she let out a sharp laugh. "That would've hurt."

"It would've," he agreed, letting go of her once she was steady. His hands went straight for his belt, the buckle clanging as he unfastened it.

Celia arched an eyebrow. "Not done yet?"

"I'm just getting started."

He unbuttoned his pants and reached into his boxers, grasping a hold of himself. His erection throbbed in his palm when he pulled it out, stroking a few times with his left hand as he grabbed her with his right. A startled yelp escaped her when he yanked her off the bar, pinning her back against the vinyl padding along the edge. She wrapped herself around him, her legs around his waist, her arms circling his neck.

He thrust hard, eliciting a hiss from Celia as he banged her back against the bar. "This might hurt, too."

"I hope so," she teased, holding on to him.

Perching her there, he pounded into her, her body wrapped around his. The pointy heels of her shoes dug into his ass like tiny daggers, the sharp stabs of pain spurring him on. He gave her all of himself, thrusting so hard she gasped loudly, the breath knocked from her lungs. Tingles shot down Corrado's spine as pressure built inside of him, the sounds of wet slapping skin mingling with the sultry music. He panted, gripping her hips, his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling the spicy combination of her perfume and her natural aroma, as he slammed against her a few times.

His orgasm hit, so strong he grunted, biting down on the skin along her shoulder blade as he spilled inside of her.

He stilled his movements, pinning her against the bar as he caught his breath. Celia ran her hands up his back, beneath his suit coat, and laughed when she grasped his gun, still tucked in place.

"You are so full of sin," she whispered against his skin.

Kissing her once, he set her on her feet and took a step back, smiling as she tugged her dress down. Her cheeks were rosy, her hair tousled. The imprint of his bite mark gleamed just north of her right collarbone, brighter than the flush of her skin.

Before he could point it out to her, bright sunshine streamed through the walkway into the club from outside as the door open. High-pitched cheery voices met his ears, the sound spurring Celia into a panic. Cursing, she shoved past him, frantically smoothing her dress and toying with her hair as she stepped that direction.

Corrado fixed his pants, tucking his shirt back in, and was securing his belt when Vincent appeared. Always intuitive, Vincent froze, his eyes wide as he snatched a hold of the waist-high little boys and pushed them behind him.

"Really, guys?" Vincent looked between Corrado and Celia. "You couldn't wait?"

Celia's cheeks burned brighter as she avoided the question, instead focusing on the boys. Vincent's eyes turned from her to Corrado. He finished situating his shirt before reaching down and snatching Celia's black silk panties from the floor, shoving them in his pocket with a slight shrug.

Did he expect him to apologize? He had no regrets.
None at all
.

"If it wasn't my sister, I might give you kudos," Vincent said, approaching him at the bar as Celia took off with Dominic and Carmine in tow, giving the excited boys a tour. "Nice place."

"Thanks," Corrado said. "No Maura?"

Vincent was silent, giving Corrado the only answer he needed.

No Maura
.

"It's not you," Vincent said. "It's just, you know… everyone else."

Corrado knew. Despite what Vincent said, it was
him
.
Maybe not only him, but still…
him
.
He turned away from his brother-in-law, watching as Dominic shrieked, tearing across the dance floor, his pale skin glowing white beneath the lights. "Yet you brought the kids."