Made

  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.

  It didn't matter how many people were there or what he had to do to stop it… that boy was never going to touch her again.

  Corrado took a few steps in their direction, grasping his gun when someone called his name. The sound of it stalled him. His senses cleared long enough for him to realize what he was doing. He turned toward the voice, seeing Vincent standing a few feet away. He regarded Corrado suspiciously, his gaze shifting to his hand before his eyes darted toward the car his sister sat in.

  "Did my father send you?" Vincent asked, panicked. "Why are you here?"

  "Shouldn't I ask you that?" Corrado asked, deflecting. "Aren't you a little young to be out at this time?"

  Vincent narrowed his eyes, his cheeks flushing. "I'm not much younger than you. I'm sixteen now."

  Sixteen. "Well, does your father know you're here?"

  "Does he know you're here, Corrado?"

  Corrado stared at him as that question sunk in. Vincent raised his eyebrows, a smirk tugging the corner of his lips. He knew he had him. He could be a cocky little punk when he wanted to be.

  "Go home," Corrado said, "before I decide to tell your father."

  "You, too," Vincent said, taking a few steps back. "And for the record, I don't like that boy either, but I don't think killing him is going to help. It might make her mad. If you like my sister, just ask her out. At least it would be less messy... I think, anyway."

  Corrado watched as Vincent walked away before glancing back at the car. Celia had pulled away from the boy and sat straight in her seat, her attention focused on the movie. The ache in his chest lessened, a bit of relief washing through him.

  Was that what he wanted? To date her?

  Corrado stood along the street near the high school, leaning back against his parked car with his arms crossed over his chest. It was a warm, cloudless afternoon. He was sweating profusely from the strong sunshine.

  Classes had just let out and students swarmed the streets. It was a Friday, and he could hear their excitement about the weekend. They were deep in conversation about things he knew little about, like games and parties and dates.

  Dates. He suspected he started sweating more at that word.

  Girls strolled by, wearing skimpy clothing. Some of the guys were already going shirtless, relishing in the sun, and there he stood, dressed as usual—plain black fitted suit, black tie, and black polished shoes. Usually he fit in with his clothes, falling into the background, but now he stuck out like a sore thumb.

  At least, he was pretty sure he did, considering the looks he kept getting from the students.

  Everyone blended together in a sea of people. He was reconsidering his idea when the sound of familiar laughter reached his ears. He turned in the direction it came from, stunned when he saw her. She wore a pair of extremely short shorts and a flimsy white tank top, cut short to show her navel, the material so thin her black bra shined through.

  Corrado was equal parts awestruck, aroused, and downright horrified. Did her father know she went into public like that?

  When she glanced in his direction and caught his eye, he suspected Antonio didn't. She looked ashamed. Nervous. Petrified. "Corrado? What are you doing here?"

  Suddenly, he was nervous, too. "I needed to speak with you."

  "Is something wrong? Did something happen? Oh God, it isn't Daddy, is it?"

  He realized how his imposing presence must have seemed, like he came to deliver bad news.

  This wasn't going as planned.

  "Your father's fine," he said, reassuring her. "It's nothing bad."

  "Oh." She relaxed, and he wondered if maybe he shouldn't have said that. What if she thought it was a bad thing? "So, what's up?"

  "I just wondered if you'd like to do something."

  Her brow furrowed. "What?"

  What? He hadn't figured that out yet.

  "Just something," he said, "with me."

  "With you? Like what?"

  "Anything. But if you would rather not, I understand. I wanted to ask you before I went to your father for his blessing. I didn't want to presume..."

  "Blessing for what?" The moment she asked, her eyes widened. "You mean do something, like, together?"

  "Yes."

  "Corrado Moretti, are you asking me out on a date?"

  The word came from her lips as a squeal. He nodded hesitantly, unsure of her reaction. Was she sweating at the word, too? "Yes, I'd like to take you on one of those."

  He held his breath as he waited for her to respond. He figured she'd have to think about it. He even prepared himself for an outright denial. But what he hadn't expected was for her to laugh.

  "You know it's unnecessary to ask my dad, right? I mean, it's really sweet, but I'm eighteen. I'm an adult now. We don't need his permission."

  She may not have needed his permission, but Corrado did. One of the most important rules in their world—you don't mess with a made man's family, especially the Boss's.

  Without his blessing, Corrado would be violating a La Cosa Nosta commandment, and their God wasn't very forgiving. No Hail Mary's would save him from His wrath.

  "So is it a 'no'?"

  "No."

  "Okay," he said. "I'll let you go on your way."

  He turned away, but she grabbed a hold of his arm to stop him. "I said 'no', as in it wasn't a 'no'. That means it's a 'yes'."

  "Oh." He gaped at her. Yes? "Would you, uh… like a ride home?"

  "Sure."

  "This was nice of you," Celia said as they parked in front of her house. "Thanks."

  "Thank you," he replied, cutting the engine of the car.

  He opened his door to walk her inside, but she
grabbed his arm. "Not yet."

  "Something wrong?"

  "No. Well, yes." She glanced down at herself and groaned. "Daddy's home. He's going to be pissed about my clothes. I'm not ready to deal with him yet."

  Corrado had been right. "I thought you were an adult? You don't need his permission."

  She narrowed her eyes. "You think you're funny, don't you? You know how he feels about appearances. 'No daughter of mine will look like a streetwalker'."

  Corrado smiled at her feeble attempt at an impression. "How did you get out of the house this morning?"

  "He was still asleep, so it wasn't hard."

  "Next time take a spare set of clothes along with you."

  "Wow, you're pretty good at this being sneaky thing."

  "Yeah, it sort of comes along with the job."

  "Do you like it?" she asked. "Your job, I mean?"

  It was the first time anyone had asked him such a thing. Did he like it? "I like that it keeps me busy."

  She laughed. "You sound like an old man with a nine-to-five office job. You're only eighteen. Live a little. Take some risks. Break some rules."

  "I take risks and break rules every day."

  "You do what you're told to do, Corrado. You follow orders. I'm not taking about breaking the law; I'm talking about breaking your own rules. Step out of your comfort zone."

  "I did." He started to get defensive. "I asked you out."

  "Yeah, and it took you long enough. We've known each other for years. You're slower than a turtle. At this rate, you won't have the guts to actually follow through until I'm already married."

  The mere mention of her marrying someone made his heart race again. He clenched his hands into fists. "You're wrong."

  "I'm always right," she said. "I told you to get used to it."

  "Yeah, well, you're wrong this time. I don't just do what people want me to do."

  "Prove it to me," she said, her expression serious.

  He wasn't going to back down from her. Climbing out, he walked around to her side to help her out of the car. "Come on."

  "What are we doing?" she asked, panic in her voice.

  "Bending rules."

  He reached the front door and shoved it open. The foyer was empty, same with the hallway, but in the den, off to the side, a television played.