Made

  Pascal was out the door, no hesitation. Corrado followed, slowing when they reached the back of the building. Pascal stopped to lean against the corner, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket.

  "Are we leaving?" Alex asked.

  "Go on ahead," Pascal told him. "Take the cars and meet us over at that steakhouse on Melrose."

  "Sure thing," Alex said, him and Michael walking away.

  Corrado stood there, coldness seeping through his clothes, wondering why they weren't leaving also. Time was of the essence in a hijack. But Pascal seemed to be in no rush, puffing away on a Newport.

  Before Corrado had the chance to grow impatient, the motel room door opened and frantic footsteps crunched in the snow. Pascal let out an exaggerated groan as he stamped out his cigarette. "Couldn't even wait ten goddamn minutes."

  His hand darted in his coat, whipping out his gun, as the truck driver scampered through the parking lot. Pascal stepped out from behind the building and fired, shot after shot, the echo bouncing off the trees. The driver fell into a snowdrift, bullets tearing into his back. He cried out, trying to drag himself through the lot, but Pascal was on top of him in no time. Squatting down, Pascal grabbed the man by the back of the hair and lifted his head up, pressing the gun to his temple.

  A last shot exploded his skull.

  Dropping him, Pascal slipped his gun away and strolled back over to Corrado. "Now we go."

  They drove to the steakhouse, meeting the others behind the restaurant. Alex cracked the lock on the back of the truck and shoved the door open, laughing excitedly. "Jackpot!"

  Corrado stared at the containers, reading the warning stamped onto them as he breathed in the sour smell of salt water. Live Lobsters.

  They hijacked a truck of seafood.

  "Ever stolen fish before?" Alex asked.

  "They're crustaceans," Corrado replied.

  Alex stared at him with disbelief. "Look at Mr. Encyclopedia-fucking-Britannica over here. They swim. We eat them. Same thing."

  "Your wife swims," Pascal said. "You eat her, too, don't you, Alex? Doesn't make the bitch a fish."

  "Fuck you," Alex said, his words betraying the humor in his voice. "She might be. She damn sure drinks like one."

  Corrado's focus turned back to the lobsters. "No, I've never seen the point in stealing… fish."

  "Watch and learn," Alex said.

  Michael and Corrado got stuck doing most of the brunt work, taking them straight into the back door of the steakhouse. They jumped from restaurant to restaurant, each one associated to La Cosa Nostra someway, and sold the lobsters directly to the business owners for a fraction of their usual cost. The lobsters flew off the truck, the last one unpacked two hours later and taken into the backdoor of Rita's as the owner counted out a stack of cash and handed it to Pascal.

  Corrado stood behind the truck, watching, no longer feeling the cold. He was drenched with sweat and melted snow, his toes numb, the water long ago seeping through his shoes. The stench of seafood clung to him. The more he sweat, the more he reeked. He wanted to rip off his skin and soak it in bleach.

  It would take a week of scalding showers to wash this sin away.

  They ditched the truck in a bad part of town and headed back to Corrado's, the four men gathering in the dining room as Pascal spread out their take. Twenties, fifties, hundreds… there had to be well over a hundred thousand dollars.

  He watched Pascal count it when he heard movement in the kitchen. "Maura," he called, not moving.

  A second later her meek voice rang out from the doorway behind him. "Yes, sir?"

  The second she spoke, Pascal stopped counting and glanced over, his elated expression falling. He stared at her hard.

  "Get my guests drinks," Corrado said. "The good scotch."

  "Yes, sir."

  Maura skidded back away, but Pascal's eyes remained on the doorway until she reappeared. Maura set empty glasses on the table beside the bottle of scotch, not bothering to pour any, before bolting out the door again.

  Pascal's gaze shifted to Corrado, an incredulous look on his face. "She's fucking Irish."

  "Yes."

  He appeared awestruck, something on the tip of his tongue, but he swallowed it with a shot of scotch.

  It neared dusk when the phone rang. Corrado excused himself from the dining room to answer it. He picked up the receiver, sitting down on the edge of the couch in front of his sister. Katrina remained in the living room, making herself at home on his couch, sprawled out watching television.

  "Moretti speaking."

  "Meet me at my house."

  He closed his eyes at the sound of the Boss's voice. "Now?"

  "Twenty minutes ago."

  The line went dead. He had sensed anger in his voice.

  Not good.

  Corrado hung up, glancing back at Katrina when she shifted. Sensing his gaze, her eyes flicked from the television screen to him. She raised an eyebrow questioningly.

  "I know you're up to something," he said to her, dropping his voice low so only she would hear. "Your act doesn't fool me, Kat."

  She said nothing, turning back to the television.

  Corrado excused himself, grabbing his coat and telling the men to make themselves at home while he dealt with some business. He left, opting to drive the few blocks so not to waste time trying to walk through the snow. Antonio stood in his driveway, leaning against the side of Manny's black sedan, while Manny sat behind the wheel of the idling car. Corrado parked and climbed out just as Antonio opened the back door to the sedan. "Get in."

  Corrado slid into the back seat with no hesitation. Antonio got in beside him, the car pulling away before he even got the door closed.

  They drove through town in silence. Corrado watched out the window, subconsciously memorizing the route. Twenty minutes later, they pulled into an alley beside a barbershop, and Manny cut the engine. Corrado followed the Boss, climbing out of the car and heading through a side door into the building. The place was dark and cold, growing drearier as they hit a set of side steps leading into a basement. A single swinging light bulb hung overhead, wires exposed, the light flickering as it cast a circular glow around a single wooden chair. Thick chains tied a man to it, circling his bloody, bare chest, as rope dug into his ankles and wrists. His face was swollen from being savagely beaten, Corrado ventured to guess from the baseball bat nearby on the floor.

  Sonny and Salvatore stood in the basement, lurking as Antonio approached the guy. Corrado stopped in the shadows, not stepping into the light as Antonio pulled the gag from the man's mouth. He took an instant deep breath, a painful inhale that came back out in the form of a shriek of agony. Antonio silenced it instantly with a slap to the face, stunning the man into quiet sobs.

  "Be a man!" Antonio spat.

  "I'm sorry," he cried. "I'm so sorry. Please. Just… please."

  Antonio's hands were around the man's neck, choking his words when he tried to plead again. "You're a coward. A fucking cockroach."

  He let go, shoving against him so hard the chair shifted. The man painfully gasped again as Antonio snatched the bat from the grimy floor.

  "Confess."

  The word, spoken so coolly, caused the man to sob harder.

  "Confess," Antonio said again.

  "I didn't—"

  The swing of the bat was a blur to Corrado's eyes as it collided with the man's chest, cutting him off mid-sentence.

  "Confess."

  "Please, please, I'm begging you."

  Another crack to chest resulting in incoherent screaming.

  "Confess."

  Strike after strike with the bat, bones audibly cracking as the man shrieked, followed simply by that lone word. Confess. Antonio savagely beat him, taking no mercy on the man as he cried and begged. Corrado forced himself to watch, but every blink brought on flashes of memory, the vision of Zia dying in front of him.

  "Confess."

  Antonio raised the bat again when the man let out a strangl
ed breath. "Okay!"

  Antonio paused, waiting.

  "Just, please, stop," the man cried. "No more. I can't take anymore."

  Antonio lowered the bat. "Say it."

  "I did it. It was me."

  "Did what?"

  "I killed him." The man's voice cracked. "I killed Virgil Tarullo."

  That garnered Corrado's attention. He blinked a few times, staring at the man in the chair.

  "Tell me what you did."

  "Please," the man pleaded. "I can't do this."

  Another swift crack from the bat changed his mind.

  "I broke into his house," he cried. "I took a knife, and I stabbed him. I stabbed him in the neck. I just… I did it. I killed him. Just please stop. No more. I can't take any more."

  Antonio threw the bat aside, the crash of the wood against the concrete echoing through the barren basement. The man wheezed, barely able to breathe. It grew eerily silent, nobody moving, nobody speaking, before Antonio walked away.

  "Get rid of him," he said to Corrado. "Send a message that they don't cross the DeMarco family. Let them know we're watching."

  Let them know we're watching.

  Corrado pulled out his gun when Antonio walked out. Sonny followed right behind, while Sal lingered. He strode across the room, stopping in front of the man in the chair, glaring at him before spitting right in his face. "I'd kill you myself, but your blood isn't worth dirtying my hands."

  Once Sal was gone, Corrado stepped over to the man.

  "Please," he pleaded. "Please. I didn't do this. I didn't."

  "I know," Corrado said as he raised the gun, aiming straight for his eye, and pulled the trigger, instantly silencing his cries, the force of the shot knocking the chair over. "I did."

  Manny's car still idled in the alley when Corrado made it out of the building. Corrado opened the back door and slid in. Manny started driving right away.

  "You're quiet," Antonio remarked on the drive.

  "I have nothing to say…" Corrado paused before adding, "sir."

  "You know, I don't often tolerate people questioning me."

  Corrado rubbed his temple at the onset of a headache. "I'm not questioning you."

  "I know you aren't," he replied. "But Salvatore did."

  Corrado's brow furrowed. Sal?

  "He wanted to know why we weren't acting. He wanted to know why Virgil's killer wasn't dead. Why we weren't out there, hunting down whoever did it. Reasonable questions, but I didn't like it. I don't like being questioned."

  "Sal doesn't seem like the type to question things."

  Antonio laughed at that. "He's a fucking salamander. Sneaky. Slimy. He gets into trouble? He drops his tail and runs. No sweat to him, he'll just grow another. He doesn't understand the concept of loyalty."

  Corrado was flabbergasted. Salvatore was second in command.

  "Virgil, he made a mistake. A big mistake. I try to be a fair man… I don't tell men what to do on their own time. Prostitution, slavery… I hold my tongue. I'm not the moral police. What a man does with a woman is his own business. I don't have to like it. But when you put drugs out on my streets, when you sell them to my people? Then you cross a line.

  "I warned him. I warned Virgil. But he didn't stop. So I stopped him myself. And I don't regret that. I gave him a second chance. I don't do that. You fuck me once? You fuck nobody else ever again. But I let him fuck me twice. The man was my friend, and he thought that made him immune to the rules. Nobody is immune to the rules."

  Corrado said nothing as the Boss ranted.

  "Sal wanted blood, so I gave him blood," he continued. "It didn't matter whose it was. Sal would've had his own fucking mother killed just to make it even. He doesn't give a shit who the tail is that got dropped."

  "Why's he your underboss then?"

  Antonio glanced at Corrado when he broke his silence with a question. "Now you're questioning me."

  "I'm merely curious."

  "Curiosity killed the cat. It'll kill you, too."

  Corrado nodded, understanding, and turned back to the window.

  "It should've been his brother-in-law," Antonio said, answering despite his rebuke. "Luigi was set to step up into the position; he was set to take over from me. But then somebody killed him. Sal wanted it—wanted the responsibility. Wanted to honor his sister, honor his family. And I figured, you know, if I couldn't have a Russo, a Capozzi was the next best thing. But Sal wanted blood then, too. Never found who killed them, but I gave Sal blood, anyway. I started a fucking war for him. You wouldn't know about that, though. You were just a kid."

  Corrado knew. It was how he had met Celia. It was the reason Vito sent them into hiding.

  "It'll be a cold day when that salamander succeeds me. This organization needs ran by somebody made of steel. Not a fucking little lizard I could stomp on with my boot."

  Manny pulled onto Felton Drive, coming to a stop in front of Corrado's house. Antonio waved him away. "You can come pick up your car tomorrow."

  "Yes, sir." Corrado opened the door and climbed out, barely getting to shut the door again before the car pulled away.

  Turning to his house, Corrado noted Michael's car still parked out front. He hoped for some peace finally, but that dented old Cadillac suggested otherwise.

  He strode inside, slipping along the icy, snow covered path. The television was still on in the living room, but nobody watched it. Voices rang out from the dining room, animated slurring words. Corrado headed that way, finding Michael and Alex still drinking. The money had been cleared away. In its place on the table sat Katrina, feet dangling off the edge as she drank straight from the nearly empty bottle.

  "Corrado," she said with a mischievous smile, holding out the bottle of liquor. "Want some?"

  "No."

  She shrugged, taking a swig. "More for me."

  He glared at her. She reminded him of his mother right then.

  Trying not to dwell on that, he focused on the others. "Pascal go home?"

  Alex rubbed his neck, half-shrugging, while Michael sat frozen. A flush stained Alex's cheeks, the collar of his shirt misshapen. Michael just appeared terrified.

  Something inside of Corrado jolted.

  "Where's Pascal?" he asked, glancing between the men before again looking to his sister. Subtly, slyly, her eyes darted toward the ceiling as if by some visceral reaction.

  It was all Corrado needed.

  He took the stairs two at a time as he headed to the second floor, his insides twisting into knots when he heard the noises.

  Bang. Bang. Bang.

  Corrado strode past his bedroom, following the sound, and froze in the doorway to the guest room.

  Maura's room.

  Maura lay on her stomach, her body pressed into the bed, head roughly forced to the side with a thick, calloused hand wrapped around her neck. Pascal's sweaty, heaving body covered her frail form, each thrust slamming the headboard into the wall.

  Bang. Bang. Bang.

  Tears coated Maura's face, strangled cries on her lips dulled to a whimper by the hand choking her. Pascal whispered something in her ear, something Corrado couldn't hear, but the words fueled the girl's tears. Her eyes met Corrado's in the doorway, the emerald green diluted by terror.

  Bang. Bang. Bang.

  Corrado snapped.

  He was in the room, ripping Pascal off of Maura before the man even realized anyone was there. Corrado threw him against the wall, his fist pummeling him as Pascal shouted for him to stop.

  The spineless begging only spurred Corrado on.

  He ruthlessly beat Pascal until his screams were whines, his body huddling on the floor, bloody and battered. Maura shrieked, terrified, so loud it made Corrado's ears ring, but he hardly registered her through his fog. Corrado's hand throbbed, his knuckles bruising and swelling, as he reached into his coat and pulled out his gun. He pressed it to Pascal's temple.

  "You can't kill me." Pascal spit blood on the floor. "I'm made."

  Corrado sta
red at him, finger hovering on the trigger. "Bang."

  Pascal flinched at the word.

  Pushing himself up, Pascal staggered, half naked with blood streaming down his face. Corrado grabbed his arm and dragged him out of the room, shoving him down the stairs. Opening the front door, he forced Pascal outside into the bitter cold before turning to the others as they gathered in the foyer.

  Raising his gun, he aimed it at Alex. "Did you touch her?"

  His eyes flashed with fear.

  It was the only answer Corrado needed.

  He moved on to Michael. "Did you?"

  Michael threw his hands up. "I didn't, I swear!"

  Corrado eyed him skeptically. "I don't believe you."

  "I didn't!" Michael yelled. "Ask Katrina!"

  He glanced at his sister but asking was pointless. "She lies."

  "I didn't," Michael swore, pointing at Alex to deflect the attention. "He did, though!"

  "Shut the fuck up!" Alex hissed.

  "He was first," Michael said. "It was his idea!"

  "You dumb fuck!" Alex spat. "You were gonna do her, too! As soon as your girl passed out."

  "I wasn't! I swear!" Michael seemed even more terrified now as he looked at Katrina. "I wouldn't."

  Out of the three, Michael was the only one not made—the only one Corrado could get away with killing—but even that pushed it. He was the son of a made man. Corrado glared between the men, bitter about that fact. It wasn't the first time he had found Michael in this situation, wrapped up in something but somehow managing to remain guiltless. Coward.

  "Relax, Corrado," Katrina muttered. "You're overreacting."

  "Get out," he demanded. "All of you. Get out of my house and never come back."

  Alex didn't have to be told twice. He darted outside, cursing. Corrado turned toward the doorway to ensure he was gone and spotted the red and blue lights flashing along the curb. He lowered the gun, quickly slipping it back into his coat as a pair of officers approached the house. One stopped beside the porch, gazing down at Pascal sitting in the snow, shirtless, pants still unzipped, while the other stepped into the open door.