"They didn't like fathers there for that back then, so I stood in the hallway and waited, waited for my son, waited to hear you cry. And I heard it… heard the loudest scream I'd ever heard in my life. And I heard some screams before, kid. But this scream was enough to make ears bleed. I shoved my way inside the delivery room, and there it was… Erika holding this shrieking baby.
"'My son?' I said. She shook her head. 'Your daughter.' Daughter. I ain't planned on having a daughter. Before I could say anything, Erika waved toward the other side of the room. 'Your son's over there,' she said."
"You weren't expecting twins," Corrado said. He'd known that… his mother had made it abundantly clear during one of her drunken rants.
"Didn't even think it was possible," Vito said. "I ran to the other side of the room, looking for my boy, my son… my Vito Junior. And I found him. But he wasn't crying. He wasn't screaming. No, he was dead."
Coldness swarmed Corrado, a shiver tearing down his spine that he tried to ignore, but he visibly shook.
"You were bluer than the night sky. They were just looking at you, and I couldn't figure out why. 'Why the fuck are you just standing there?' I asked, shoving the doctor. 'Save my boy.' He looked at me, and you know what he said?"
"What?"
"He said, 'your wife told us not to bother.'"
Those words hung thickly in the stifling air of the visiting room.
"That was the first time in my life I ever hated someone," Vito continued. "I never got over that. Life with Erika before that was beautiful, but after that?"
"Nightmare."
Vito nodded slowly. "The doctor, he tried to warn me… said if they revived you, you'd have all these problems. Said you'd be a shell. I said if he didn't save you, he'd be less than a shell by the time I was done. So they revived you, and you started breathing, but you didn't cry. They tried to make you cry, but you wouldn't. They took that as a sign you had problems, brain damage, but I knew. My boy was strong. My boy wasn't gonna bend for those motherfuckers who wished him dead." Vito's gaze settled intently on Corrado. "Proudest moment of my life, kid."
Corrado stared back as those words sunk in.
"Of course, your mother wasn't happy, having two babies to take care of. She named your sister Katrina… means pure or something, I don't know. Didn't care, either. But I named you Corrado… my wise, brave ruler."
"Why not Vito Junior?"
"Vito Junior died," he said, matter-of-fact. "You're the one who made his way back."
Corrado mulled that over, absently rubbing his fingers together again. "Why are you telling me this?"
"Because you ought to know," he said. "Everyone fears death one way or another, whether they wanna admit it or not. You don't fear your own death because you already died, but that doesn't mean you don't fear death at all."
"I don't."
"You do," Vito insisted, his voice dropping low. "I guarantee if someone stuck a gun to Celia's head and pulled the trigger in front of you, in that split second before she dropped, when you saw the horror in her eyes… the terror she has of death… you'd feel it, too. A fear like no other."
The image flashed in his mind: his wife, dead on the filthy ground, her blood spilling out around her, warm brown eyes ice cold and wide-open, terror lingering in her unseeing gaze long after the brain stopped registering the horror. He'd seen the look in the eyes of others. But on her, on Celia, he couldn't fathom it.
Strong hands clenched into fists of fury at the mental image alone. Vito remained slack in his chair, nodding without surprise at Corrado's visible distress.
"She's your one weakness, kid. And if you let them see that, they'll exploit it."
"She's my wife," Corrado said. "They already know."
"They know she's your wife, but they don't know she's your weakness," he said. "They never knew Erika was mine."
"But you said you hated her. You were never around. You cheated. You—"
"Made sure nobody knew," he said, cutting Corrado off. "That's love, kid. Love makes no fucking sense. As much as I sometimes hated your mother, I never stopped loving her. A few times I wanted to kill her myself, but I couldn't, because killing her would be killing me, and suicide's one hell of an unforgivable sin."
Corrado couldn't understand how his father loved someone so cruel, so vicious, so cold-blooded… but then again, somehow, Celia found it in her to love him.
"Speaking of weaknesses," Vito said. "Maura have that baby?"
"Yes," Corrado said. "They named him Carmine Marcello."
"Carmine Marcello," Vito echoed. "A nice Italian name for a half-Irish boy."
"Celia says he has the brightest green eyes now to show it."
"Celia says?" Vito raised his eyebrows. "You don't see him?"
"I keep my distance," Corrado said. "Vincent doesn't like seeing Maura upset, and well, it's hard for her not to be upset when I'm around."
"Can't say I'm surprised," Vito said. "She's Vincent's weakness. If he doesn't learn to control that, he'll get her killed."
"Antonio says it's the other way around."
"I don't often disagree with the Boss, but nah... her blood will be on Vincent's hands someday."
Vito's eyes drifted across the room, settling on something beyond Corrado's shoulder. Corrado turned around, looking at the big clock on the wall. Half past ten in the morning. Visitors were given two hours, and a mere thirty minutes had lapsed since Vito had been brought in.
An hour and a half to go.
Not much else was said, a few casual words here and there. Both men remained silent and passive, absorbing their surroundings as they'd been trained to do in life, as the clock ticked away. When the time had nearly elapsed, Vito let out a long sigh, the sound full of desolation, but his expression gave nothing away. Still the calmness. "I need a favor from you, Corrado."
Corrado. His father rarely called him by his name.
"I need you to look out for someone for me," he said.
His stomach sunk. "My mother?"
Vito shook his head. "Your mother will be fine. I made sure of it all these years. She doesn't need me around. Katrina will be fine, too. But Vivian… she's come to depend on me, and well… you know."
He couldn't be there for her anymore.
"What do you want me to do?"
"Just check in on her."
"You want me to keep you updated?"
Vito shook his head stiffly. "Absolutely not. In fact, I don't want you to come here ever again. I don't want any of you to come here. I'm letting the guards know—no visitors. Period. You're lucky I even came down here to see you. I had half a mind to turn you away, but…"
"You needed this from me."
"I did," he agreed.
"I'll check in on her then."
"Thanks," Vito said as the clock behind Corrado hit noon. Pushing his chair back, Vito stood. A small, wistful smile curved his lips as he momentarily gazed at his son. "How about those Sox, huh? You think they'll go the whole way?"
With no uncertainty, Corrado shook his head. "They haven't done it since 1917."
"Eh, it could be worse, kid." Vito took a step back as the guards approached. "You could be a Cubs fan."
The sound of Vito's laughter mixed with the buzz of the door as they led him away.
38
The air around the table was suffocating. Corrado hadn't experienced this much tension in the DeMarco's dining room since the night he had walked in to be initiated, and he was sure the men who lined the walls that night were a lot friendlier than the lady sitting across from him.
Gia.
The only words spoken had been the obligatory 'please' and 'thank you', 'yes, sir' and 'no, ma'am', but somehow, it was like they had all run out of things to say. Voices dried up along with all traces of warmth, dinner untouched as forks scraped needlessly against the fine china, everyone pushing the food around in an attempt to look busy.
Nobody was fooled. They all knew. It was only a matter of who would speak
up first.
Definitely not Gia, with her bitter scowl focused on her son's wife. Maura held sleeping Carmine against her chest, tucked securely in a yellow baby carrier, one hand protectively over his back as if trying to shield him from the hostility. The chances of either of them speaking up were about as good as the odds of Corrado being the one to break the silence.
Not happening.
Celia sat beside him, her focus on the lasagna on her plate unwavering. She, like him, had no idea why a family dinner had been called. No, it would be one of the DeMarco men… whichever one grew fed up with the strain first.
If Corrado were a betting man, he would put his entire fortune on the Boss.
A minute passed, then another, and a few more, before an exasperated groan echoed through the room, a fork slammed down.
Corrado looked down the table with surprise. Vincent.
"She's my wife, mother," Vincent said sharply. "Get over it."
Gia glared at him as Antonio tossed his silverware down, not far behind his son in frustration. "Don't talk to your mother that way."
"Then tell her not to treat my wife this way."
"I have," Antonio said, picking up his glass to take a drink. "She doesn't listen to me."
"Then why should I?"
"Because you have no other choice. You have to listen to me."
"I didn't come here to have dinner with my boss," Vincent said. "I came here to see my father. He still lives here, doesn't he? Or am I wasting my time?"
Antonio waved his hand toward Vincent. "I'm right here. But if you came to see me, why are you so worried about what your mother's doing?"
"I hoped she would come around."
"She's sitting here, isn't she?" Antonio asked. "I'd say that's progress."
It was the first time all of them had been in a room together for anything, much less coming together voluntarily for dinner.
"Why don't you just say what you came to say, son?" Antonio suggested. "You wanted us here for a reason."
Vincent's gaze turned to his wife. She smiled reassuringly.
"Fine," Vincent said. "Maura and I, well… we're getting another son."
Just when Corrado thought it couldn't get any tenser, the entire table froze. Another son? It only lasted a few seconds before Celia let out a shriek of excitement. "I'll have two nephews?"
Vincent nodded.
"God, you guys..." Celia laughed. "You don't waste any time, do you? I mean, I'm happy for you, but… she just had a baby, Vincent. Can't you keep it in your pants for a minute?"
Maura's face turned bright red.
"Yeah, well, that's the thing." Vincent ran a hand through his hair nervously. "He's not really ours."
Celia's brow furrowed. "What?"
"He will be ours," Maura clarified, breaking her silence. "Soon."
"Very soon," Vincent agreed.
Celia blinked at them with confusion, but Corrado understood. Adoption. It was why they were so anxious tonight. Touchy subject among a circle of people who didn't trust outsiders and put emphasis on bloodlines.
"Who is he?" Antonio's voice was terse. "Or rather, what is he?"
"Daddy!" Celia admonished. "He's a baby! Their baby. Or he will be... as soon as they have him."
"They're not having him," Antonio said pointedly. "They're getting him. Learn to listen, Celia Marie, or keep your mouth shut."
Celia recoiled, struck by her father's callous words. Corrado cleared his throat. "Sir, with all due respect..."
"Don't 'with all due respect' me, Moretti. I'm addressing my children right now."
Corrado closed his mouth again. Their father might have been sitting at that table, but it was most certainly still Corrado's boss.
"Your father asked you a question, Vincenzo," Gia said. "Answer him."
"He's, uh… well, his mother has some Italian blood."
"Some?" Antonio asked. "What's she mixed with?"
"Irish."
Gia cringed.
"And the father?" Antonio asked, raising his eyebrows. "Italian?"
"No, he's, uh…" Vincent hesitated. Not good. "He's Russian."
"Mio Dio," Gia muttered, making the sign of the cross. She threw her napkin down on top of her plate and stomped out of the room.
"Russian," Antonio repeated, still clutching his glass. "You're taking this rebellion of yours a little far, aren't you?"
Anger flashed in Vincent's eyes. "It's not a rebellion. If you don't like it, if you don't want anything to do with it, fine. Don't. But this is my life. Mine."
"Those people tried to kill me," Antonio said sharply.
"Those people?" Vincent shook his head, shoving his chair back. "Maura didn't try to kill you. My children didn't try to kill you. Those people have nothing to do with any of this!"
Vincent stood, fed up with trying to explain himself. It was the same argument Corrado had heard them have time and time again. Antonio set his glass down. "Sit back down, Vincent."
"I'm not going to sit here while you insult my family."
"Sit down," Antonio barked. The Boss was back in full effect. Vincent glared at him before hesitantly retaking his seat. Antonio waited until his son was planted in the chair before his attention turned to Maura. "I apologize if what I say offended you. It wasn't my intention."
She nodded. "It's okay."
"I don't understand it," Antonio said, turning back to his son. "But I raised you, so I have to trust you know what you're doing."
"I do," Vincent said. "We want this."
"Then congratulations." Antonio stood. "Stay and finish your dinner. I need to have another talk with my wife."
Corrado focused back on his plate of food when Antonio left, stabbing a piece of lasagna with his fork. "That went well."
"Tell me about it," Vincent muttered. "It was a nightmare."
Corrado shook his head. "I was being serious."
Nothing had been thrown. No guns were pulled. Nobody even cursed.
He ate his dinner now that the tension had lifted as Celia drilled them for information, her voice full of enthusiasm. "When do we get to meet him?"
"Actually, you already have," Maura said. "Remember the girl at our New Years Eve party with the newborn?"
"No way!" Celia squealed.
"She tried, but she's just so young and she just…" Maura trailed off. "She can't handle it."
"And you think you guys can?" Celia asked. "Two little ones?"
"Well, Carmine's such an easy baby," Maura said, gazing down at him adoringly as he slept. "And the other… well… he's almost one now. We've kept him here and there the past few months, and he's such a sweetheart. So outgoing and playful."
"What's his name?"
"We haven't given him one yet," Vincent said.
"He doesn't already have one?"
Maura's smile faded. "Not one that he recognizes."
"Well, I have faith you'll come up with the perfect name," Celia said, raising her glass to toast them. "I can't wait to spoil the hell out of him."
Dominic Angelo DeMarco
The adoption went through in early December of 1988, just a few weeks before the holidays. Christmas was an elaborate event that year, Corrado's bank account taking a hit as Celia splurged on gifts, more toys than he had ever even seen before piling up in his living room. He humored her, never once criticizing, not putting his foot down when she covered their house with frilly decorations.
He even helped her set up their first Christmas tree.
"You're kidding," she said, brushing hair from her face as it fell from her loose ponytail. "You're twenty-six years old, and you've never had a Christmas tree?"
"Does it look like I'm kidding?" he asked, stringing the colorful musical lights around the thick branches of the evergreen. She always seemed surprised when he shared those things with her, like she still believed he had a normal childhood.
"No." She pursed her lips. "Who doesn't get a Christmas tree?"
"We haven't," he pointed ou
t. "Not until this year."
"That's because we haven't had a reason to get one before."
They still didn't have a reason as far as Corrado was concerned, but he continued to humor her even as it stirred up the rare guilt that existed inside of him. She would never have her own children because of him, so it was only fair, he figured, that he accept her splurging for her brother's kids.
"Had I know you hadn't had one before," Celia continued, "then we would've gotten one years ago."
Exactly why he hadn't mentioned it before. He plugged in the lights, the bulbs flashing to some high-pitched melody blaring from a speaker on the power box.
Celia squealed and clapped, jumping up and down, as the vibrant lights cast a colorful glow on her face. "Perfect! Now the garland! And tinsel! And bulbs! Oh, and can't forget the angel for on top!"
She sprinted from the room as Corrado kicked the button on the power box to turn off the obnoxious tune.
It was going to be a long Christmas.
Despite his worry, the holidays flew by, a blur of family and celebrations. Late in the evening of Christmas Eve they stopped by Vincent's house, dropping off dozens of wrapped gifts, before they all set off for the church for Midnight Mass. The place was packed to the rafters when they arrived, but the first pew on the left in the front remained empty.
Corrado and Celia sauntered down the long aisle, hand in hand, as Vincent and Maura followed them, carrying the boys. Rows of parishioners quieted when they passed, gaping at the family, before breaking out into hushed murmurs of gossip when they thought they were out of earshot.
Corrado heard, though. He heard their grumbling, the criticism they wouldn't dare say to any of their faces. He heard it, and ignored it.
Their opinions meant nothing to him.
He stopped at the front pew and slid down to the far end, as Celia took a seat beside him. Maura settled in beside her, clutching Carmine to her chest as he slept. Vincent sat beside his wife, Dominic on his lap, wide-awake, wide-eyed.
Although Vincent made it to church every Sunday, it was the first time his family had come with him.
They sat still, waiting, until Antonio arrived. The church fell into a stone cold silence the moment he stepped foot through the doors, his wife on his arm. There was no murmuring as he passed the rows, no disapproval, and no hostility. People bowed their heads as if God Himself had graced them with His presence. Antonio politely nodded as he passed acquaintances, pausing beside the front pew to survey his family. Corrado caught his eye, seeing the smile cracking his stern expression.