Corrado set the phone down and reached for the newspaper, opening it to where he'd left off. He scanned half a page and started reading an article about some local break-ins when a loud ring once more shattered the silence. Balling the newspaper up, he tossed it aside and grabbed the phone. "Moretti speaking."
"Moretti." Antonio's voice was flat, all business. "You busy?"
"Not at all."
"Good. I have some work for you."
15
"Come on," Celia said, grabbing Corrado's hand. "It'll be fun."
He stood firmly in place, not budging. "I'm not going in there."
"Why?"
"Because I'm just not."
She pouted, poking her bottom lip out. "You sound like a petulant child, Corrado."
"You look like one."
She rolled her eyes, proving his point. "Oh, come on."
"No."
She tugged on his hand. "You're so ridiculous sometimes. We'll just stay for a little while."
"I'd rather not."
"Please? For me?"
He groaned. "Are you seriously begging?"
"Yes," she said. "What, do I need to get on my knees?"
She started to kneel in front of him, and he quickly grabbed her, yanking her back to her feet. He stared at her, horrified that she would do that. Did she not know what people would think? "You can't do that!"
She laughed.
He found nothing funny about it.
"Well, I'm going in," she said, letting go of him and walking away. "Stay here if you want."
Corrado flexed his empty hand, something about it feeling abnormal. He had gotten so used to her presence, their brief moments together filled with stolen embraces, that not touching her made his chest ache. He looked back at Celia, who casually strolled toward the entrance to the small fair, as if it didn't bother her at all. He debated, part of him stubbornly planted there, while another part yearned to go after her.
She glanced over her shoulder, the void intensifying.
What's she doing to me?
"This is absurd," he grumbled, starting toward her.
Celia paused at the ticket booth as he jogged to catch up to her. "One, please."
"Two," he corrected her, pulling out his wallet.
"I can pay for my own admission."
"Over my dead body," he said, handing some cash to the woman working. He turned to Celia after grabbing their tickets.
"Thank you," she said.
He shrugged. "It was only $5."
She smirked, satisfied with herself, and grabbed his hand again. "Not for paying," she said, leading him inside. "For conceding."
Conceding. He didn't do it often.
Squeezing her hand, he pulled her closer, their arms brushing against one another as they strolled through the fair. Celia's eyes lit up as she took in the chaos while Corrado just tried to endure the crowd. People gathered everywhere in masses, shouting and playing around, as whistles sounded and lights flashed.
He felt like he was back at the casino.
Celia's footsteps faltered when they reached a row of games.
"Oh, I want that!" she said, pointing at the large stuffed bear hanging at the very top of a display, a fat red bow around its neck.
"That thing?" he asked incredulously.
She shrugged. "It's cute. Can you get it for me?"
"Uh, I suppose," he replied, turning to the man standing behind the booth. He was massive, his forearms bulging, a blue bandanna on his head. "How much?"
"A dollar a dart," the guy said. "Pop one balloon, get a small prize, three gets a medium prize, and five for the big."
"So five dollars," he said, pulling out some cash again. He held the five-dollar bill out to him and pointed at the giant bear. "That one."
"You gotta throw these and see how many balloons you pop," he said, counting out five plastic darts. "Then you see how many more you need."
"I won't need any more."
"Whatever you say, man. I've worked this booth for three years and never seen anyone hit five in a row."
He won't be able to say that after today. Picking up one of the darts, Corrado glanced at Celia. She wore a vibrant red sweater, accentuating the flush of her cheeks.
Red it was, then.
He turned to the booth and hurled the first dart, the plastic tip piercing the flimsy latex of a red balloon. Back-to-back, the next four darts flew through the air, striking red balloons dead center, every one bursting right away. The man stared at him with shock.
Corrado wasn't sure why. He told him that would happen.
"That one," he said, pointing at the massive stuffed bear again.
He grabbed it, pulling it down. "Man, you've got killer aim."
If he only knew…
Corrado took the prize from him and handed it off to Celia.
"So what now?" he asked, stepping away from the booth. "Anything else you want me to shoot or throw?"
"No, I'm good." She hugged the bear tightly, grinning. "How about we share a funnel cake?"
"A what?"
"You know, deep fried goodness smothered in powder sugar?"
"Never heard of it."
She looked horrified. "How can that even be? What do you eat at fairs?"
"Nothing," he replied. "This is the first time I've been to one."
She gasped. "You're shitting me?"
He laughed at her crass language. "No, I'm not shitting you. My mother wouldn't take us to these things."
"So you've never ridden a Ferris wheel?"
"No."
"Eaten cotton candy?"
"No."
"Bumper cars?"
"No."
A mischievous twinkle lit up her eyes. "I lied earlier. I think we'll stay a while. I'm popping your fair cherry."
As strange as it sounded, all Corrado could do was laugh again.
"I had fun," Celia said as they strolled toward her house hours later. She still lugged around that massive bear, picking at the last of her pink cotton candy. Corrado watched as she popped globs of it in her mouth, letting it melt on her tongue.
"I'm glad."
She glanced at him curiously. "Did you?"
"It was okay."
"That's not what I asked," she said. "Did you have even the tiniest bit of fun?"
He paused, half a block down from the DeMarco residence. She always asked him those things. Did he like it? Did he have fun?
Did it matter?
"I did," he replied honestly, "because you were there."
Her smile was radiant as she gazed at him. She stood up on her tiptoes, pressing her sugary lips to his. He never liked sweets before, but he suddenly craved more.
He deepened the kiss, and she moaned into his mouth, the sound giving him chills. He shivered, pulling back to take a breath, and a flash of something caught his attention the second he opened his eyes.
Corrado tried to react, to stop it before it started. There were two of them, the men dressed in dark clothing. One had dark skin, the other chalky pale, but their approach told him it wasn't personal. This was random. Unplanned. They were jumping on whomever they stumbled on.
Pity for them, that person was him.
The dark one grabbed Celia from behind, shoving his gun to her throat. "Cooperate and I won't hurt her."
Corrado immediately looked at Celia, assessing, seeing the terror in her eyes.
"Listen to them," she pleaded. "Please."
Corrado held up his hands in surrender. The second assailant grabbed him, and he gritted his teeth as the guy dug through his pants pockets, emptying them.
"Mercedes," he said as he eyed his keys. "Where's it parked?"
Corrado didn't answer right away. The man shoved the gun into Celia harder, making her yelp. It took every ounce of determination Corrado had to remain still, not wanting to get her hurt, but fire burned inside of him, giving way to that smoldering numbness.
"Down the street," Celia said, her voice frantic. "A block or so."
&nbs
p; The man pocketed the keys, grinning. He'd scored a nice car and wouldn't even have to hotwire it.
"Give me the watch," he demanded, motioning toward Corrado's wrist. Reluctantly, he took it off and held it out to him as the second guy rifled through his wallet. He took out the cash and discarded the rest on the ground, not interested in any of it.
They snatched Celia's jewelry off her, relief flashing across her face when the man finally let her go. She grabbed a hold of Corrado, trembling as the man haphazardly aimed the weapon at them. The assailants backed away, satisfied, and for a brief second Corrado considered letting them go. Celia was safe, and that was what mattered. For her, he would have given them money and jewelry. She was more important than the car. But as one final act of defiance, they took the one thing he couldn't let them take.
The godforsaken teddy bear.
The moment it was ripped from Celia's hands, Corrado lost his composure. He almost felt it, the cracking inside of him as he separated from himself. Shoving Celia behind him, he reached into his coat and grabbed his gun.
The fools hadn't patted him down.
Shock froze them when Corrado pounced. Neither man stood a chance. He didn't pull the trigger. He didn't even flip the safety off. He wouldn't kill them… at least, not now. But he beat both men unconscious, their bodies motionless by the time Celia dragged him away. His temper had gotten the best of him and controlled his every move.
Sirens wailed in the distance. Panicked, Celia gathered their things before grabbing him by the hand. He snatched up the stuffed bear as she yanked him down the street, not resisting. Instead of heading for the front door, she pulled him around the side of the DeMarco house, to a darkened area covered by tall trees.
As his senses came back to him, he waited for her to be horrified. He waited for her to be sickened by him. He expected fear. Anxiety. Disgust. He anticipated her anger. But never, in his wildest dreams, did he think he would see desire.
"Wow," Celia squeaked out, cheeks flushed. "That was… wow."
He couldn't even respond. He had no idea what to say.
"That was crazy," she said, pacing in front of him. "Seriously, that was just... wow... crazy."
"Are you okay?" he asked tentatively.
"Thanks to you. Jesus, Corrado, is it always like that?"
"Like what?"
"Like... that," she said again. "The adrenaline, the blood flowing, the pure craziness. My heart was in my throat. I felt like I was going to pass out, but I felt so high. I felt, I don't know, alive! Does it always feel that way?"
No, he thought. There had been a fleeting surge of anger, but there was usually nothing. No emotion. Numbness.
She wouldn't understand though, but he knew how she felt—it was how he felt with her.
"I know what you mean," he said quietly.
Celia smiled, and right there, right then, without any warning, she dropped to her knees.
This time he didn't stop her.
Falling back against the side of the house, his head rested against the cold brick. Now his adrenaline pumped. Now his heart raced. Now he felt high.
Now he felt alive.
The jingle of his belt buckle was magnified in the still night as Celia hastily unfastened it. Unbuttoning his pants, she yanked the zipper and let them fall down his muscular thighs. The night air swarmed him, cooling his skin, but inside of him a fire raged.
Reaching into his boxers, she grasped his erection. Her hand wrapped around the shaft, squeezing, stroking, exposing him to her, as he let out a low hiss. Eyes squeezed shut, he fought to block off his mind, the part of him opposed to this.
It's wrong. It's not right. It can't happen this way.
The voice of conscience screamed loud, but not convincing enough. Warmth enveloped him as she parted her lips, her tongue meeting his bare flesh. The feel of her for the first time, the slick heat as she took him in her mouth, wiped away all doubt lingering inside of him. Hormones surged. Pleasure exploded.
Nothing else mattered.
Nothing.
Corrado gasped, his hands drifting to her head, fingers running through her soft hair. He guided her, not forcing, not pushing, instead drowning in the sensations and losing himself in her touch. She didn't hesitate. She didn't falter. There was no second-guessing. No self-doubt. She sucked vigorously, stroking firmly, teeth lightly scraping.
He was losing his mind.
"Celia," he ground out through clenched teeth. "You're killing me."
It didn't take long, minutes at most. It built and built inside of him, filling him up until it had nowhere else to go. He threw his head back, smacking it against the unyielding brick. "I, uh... I, uh..."
I love you.
The words almost glided from his lips, but the explosion of pleasure rippling down his spine silenced him. Shuddering, his hands clenched into fists as orgasm rocked him. He convulsed, spilling down her throat. She kept going, taking in every drop. The pleasure faded into an intolerable tingle, his flesh sensitive from her touch. He pulled away, breathing deeply, and opened his eyes.
Celia remained on her knees, a seductive smirk twisting her glistening lips. A twinkle of satisfaction shined from her eyes as he fixed his pants. Corrado was vaguely aware of sirens still blaring in the distance, a subtle flashing of red and blue lights infiltrating the dark sky down the block.
He yanked Celia to her feet, wobbling a bit, his knees weak, his firm hands covering her cheeks, locking her in place as he kissed her hard. After a frozen moment of surprise, she kissed him back, lips moving feverishly against his. Celia wrapped her arms around his neck and shoved him back toward the house, slamming him against the rigid brick siding. Pain curled across Corrado's back, rippling down his spine, as a wave of pleasure washed through him. He grew aroused again, and Celia must've sensed it, because she pressed herself against the bulge in his pants.
"Stay," she gasped.
He shook his head, the movement barely registering, and forced out a response. "I can't."
"You can," she insisted, clawing the back of his neck as she tried to draw him closer. "I'll sneak you in."
"No."
The second he said the word, firm and final, a sharp pain shot through his bottom lip as Celia's teeth pierced the skin. He winced, the small gash throbbing as he ran his tongue along it, the familiar coppery taste of blood tingling his tongue. "You bit me."
She smiled guiltily as she backed up a few steps. "See you later, Corrado."
He caught her arm, clutching her wrist as she tried to walk away. "Tomorrow."
She cocked an eyebrow. "Tomorrow?"
He loosened his grip on her arm. "Tomorrow."
Hesitating, she stepped back in his direction, placing a small, chaste kiss on his lips. "See you tomorrow."
Corrado set off for home, strolling right by the idling police cruisers. Lights intermittently flashed, illuminating his downcast face. A small crowd had gathered, curious and anxious, but Corrado felt only contentment.
Just as he approached the scene, a blaring ambulance sped away, carrying at least one of the men in it. Corrado hazarded a glance across the street, spotting a few police officers hanging around.
No one looked at him. No one paid him any attention.
He continued on, walking the few blocks to his dark, empty house. Reaching into his pockets, he fumbled around for his keys but came up empty.
Cursing under his breath, he tried his coat, finding only his gun. No keys, no wallet, no watch.
He would have to remember to get it all back from Celia tomorrow.
Frustrated, Corrado walked around the outside of his house, shoving one of the cracked windows open the whole way to slip inside.
16
The sun outside had just risen when Corrado awoke to a string of knocks on the door. Groggily, he climbed to his feet, still dressed in yesterday's clothes. Grimy sweat made the stiff cloth cling to him. He tore off his jacket, tossing it on a nearby chair, as they knocked again.
&
nbsp; Corrado headed to the front door, figuring it would probably be his father, maybe even Celia, or the Boss if he were set to have a bad day. Swinging it open, he braced himself, but he was unprepared for what he found.
Three men stood shoulder to shoulder on the porch. The one in the middle was dressed in a cheap gray suit, thick glasses on his face, his hair balding. Nothing substantial stood out about the man, but the guys flanking him gave it all away, wearing dark pants and bright powder blue button down shirts with Chicago Police Department patches sewn on the left arm. Dull badges were pinned to their hefty chests. Behind them, Corrado made out a set of police cars.
Sickness swam in his stomach. He didn't greet them.
"Corrado Moretti?" the middle one asked. "I'm Detective Walker. I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions."
Even before the detective reached into his pocket, Corrado knew he had made a terrible mistake. The fact was confirmed when the man held up a set of keys. "Do these look familiar?"
Corrado shrugged noncommittally.
The detective singled out the marked car key in the bunch. "There's only one Mercedes parked on this street. We ran the VIN, and it came back to you. The key worked when we tried it."
Corrado stared at the man. Was that even legal?
"So?" the detective pressed, jingling the keys. "Familiar?"
Tense silence swarmed the air between them. He was torn on what to do. Lie and deny, hoping for the best? Or implicate himself in something inadvertently? He couldn't decide, so he did neither.
He just stood there in stone cold silence.
The detective lowered his hand, slipping the keys away. "We're going to need to take you downtown."
Corrado recognized the absurdity of his stubbornness, but cooperating was out of the question. The officer on the right whipped out a set of handcuffs as the other grabbed him and patted him down. Thank God he had taken off his coat.
The thick metal handcuffs, heavy on his wrists, dug into his skin as the officer secured his hands behind his back. Both officers snatched a hold of him, violently yanking him toward an idling cruiser.
"You have the right to remain silent," one officer started, reciting a set of words Corrado would come to hear over and over again. "Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law."