Sempre: Redemption

41

Carmine’s phone was ringing again by the time he reached Corrado’s, but he didn’t bother answering it since he was so close. Corrado’s car was parked along the curb, the headlights blacked out but engine running. Carmine climbed in the passenger side and gave his uncle a cautious glance, seeing the look of impatience on his face, and tensed in anticipation of him snapping. Corrado closed his phone and Carmine’s instantly stopped ringing, but he didn’t say a word.

Corrado pulled away and sped down the street, waiting until he was a block away before flipping on his headlights. Carmine surveyed his uncle, noticing he wore his black leather gloves, and instantly knew something serious was happening.

“I hope you had a nice time with Haven tonight,” Corrado said, shattering the tense silence.

“Uh, yeah, I did,” Carmine replied. “Thank you for everything you did for her. She told me about it all.”

“No reason to thank me,” he said coolly. “I was only doing the job that was given to me, Carmine. That’s what we do. Personal feelings are irrelevant. We follow orders and one thing you should know about me by now—one thing I hope you respect me for—is the fact that I don’t fail when I take on a task. Ever.”

Carmine nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Good. And I didn’t want to interrupt your evening, but it’s time.”

Carmine eyed him warily, wondering what time it was, but Corrado didn’t elaborate and Carmine knew better than to question him.

A bad feeling seeped into Carmine’s bones as Corrado drove without saying another word toward a rough area in the south side of Chicago. It was fairly deserted except for the occasional scraggly passersby, the street aligned on both sides with condemned buildings covered in graffiti. It was gang territory, the part of town where they battled for control of corners no one really wanted in the first place. They killed one another for the fuck of it, for the right to rule the forsaken streets.

The fact that they were there, moving deeper into the midst of gangland territory, didn’t sit well with Carmine. He reached under his shirt and felt his gun secured in his waistband, his thumb flicking the safety off just in case.

“Do the thugs in this neighborhood scare you?” Corrado asked, noticing his movement.

“No,” he replied. “I just know anyone who comes to this side of town is up to no good.”

“True,” Corrado responded, pausing before adding, “It’ll be over quick.”

His cryptic words sent Carmine’s heart pounding furiously. They neared the end of the main street and took a left onto another narrow road, stopping halfway down. Corrado cut the engine and opened his door, hesitating as he glanced at Carmine. “Leave your gun in the car. You seem to have an itchy trigger finger tonight.”

“Excuse me?” Something was off, Carmine could sense it, and being unprotected was as good as asking to be killed.

“You heard what I said,” Corrado said. “Don’t question me.”

Carmine grabbed the gun and shoved it in the glove box. He had to do it. Corrado would have taken it.

Carmine followed Corrado across the street to a run-down house. It looked like it hadn’t been inhabited in decades, the shutters barely hanging by their hinges and old wooden boards nailed up along the windowpanes, the glass long gone. They stepped on the porch and Corrado knocked twice on the large door. Before he could knock a third time, it opened. Corrado walked in and Carmine followed him cautiously, his eyes falling upon an Italian man right inside. He was about Corrado’s age and familiar, definitely a friend in the organization. He held a gun defensively, but he seemed to relax a bit when Corrado nodded at him.

Their silent exchange made Carmine feel queasy, the bad feeling nearly overpowering him.

He tried to sort through his thoughts to make sense of what was happening, briefly considering bolting back out the door while he still had the chance. He wondered how far he could get while unarmed, but such a train of thought was senseless. He would be caught before he even made it off the porch. He needed to stay calm, to play cool, and not let them see his fear, even if that was exactly what he felt.

He was fucking terrified.

Corrado grabbed his arm as he shut the front door, shoving Carmine toward the staircase that the man started up. No one said a word, no instructions given as Carmine begrudgingly climbed the creaky steps with Corrado on his trail. He felt like cattle being herded to the slaughterhouse as he followed the man down a long hallway.

They approached a room, and Carmine froze in horror as soon as he stepped in the doorway. Vision blurring, his knees went weak as fear slammed into him. He nearly collapsed but Corrado grabbed him, keeping him on his feet as he pushed him farther into the room.

The pieces of the puzzle clicked together in an instant. He should have sensed it earlier, should have known what was happening. The signs were all there. The look on Celia’s face . . . Corrado’s cryptic words . . . “You never know when you might only have a few hours left.” “I didn’t want to interrupt your evening, but it’s time . . .” “It’ll be over quick.”

The moment he told Carmine to leave the gun in the car, he should have known what he would find in the house: his demise.

As his green eyes met the pair of dark, cold muddy ones across the room, it made sense. Corrado told him not to worry about retaliation because the entire time he had planned to take him straight to Salvatore.

The Boss stood in the corner of the empty room, near a shattered window with a single board nailed over it. Moonlight filtered inside, giving Carmine barely enough light to see. Salvatore appeared disheveled, his right arm bandaged sloppily in a blue sling. He took a few steps in their direction, his movements rigid like he could no longer bend his left knee.

“About time,” his raspy voice called, his eyes trained on Carmine as the other man strolled to the window to gaze out.

“I apologize for being late, but you know how he can be,” Corrado said behind Carmine, blocking the only exit.

“Yes, I know exactly how he can be.” Salvatore’s voice seethed with anger. “He doesn’t listen. You tell him to do something and he ignores it. He seems to think he knows better than everyone else, like he’s above us all and doesn’t have to fall in line.”

“Well, he certainly is his father’s son,” Corrado said.

Carmine sensed something in his uncle’s voice, amusement with a hint of sarcasm. He started to turn around to look at him, to get a read on his mood, but Corrado grabbed the back of his neck roughly, keeping him in position.

Rage flashed in Salvatore’s expression at the mention of Vincent. He angrily spit on the floor with disgust, like just the thought of him made him sick.

Carmine shook, his eyes darting around the room. The sins of the father were about to be paid for by the son. His brain worked a million miles a minute as he tried to think of some way out. He was unarmed and outnumbered, everyone in the room more experienced than him.

“Looking for a way to escape?” Salvatore asked, slowly approaching. “Pity for you, there isn’t one.”

Corrado violently shoved him toward the ground, forcing him on his knees in the middle of the room. He let go of the back of his neck and withdrew his gun.

“Please don’t do this!” Carmine pleaded, the words tumbling from his mouth. “I swear, just . . . fuck! This isn’t necessary!”

Before he could say any more, Corrado shoved the muzzle of his gun against the back of Carmine’s skull. He closed his eyes, tears burning their way to the surface as he bowed his head in desperation.

If there’s a fucking God, He won’t let me die today.

“How dare you tell me what’s necessary!” Salvatore yelled. “This is what I was talking about! You think you know better than everyone! I gave you a simple order, and you had every opportunity to do it, but you disobeyed me! Vincent never would’ve hurt you, and now, because you betrayed me, my men are dead! Your father got what he deserved, and frankly so did your mother! Your entire family is a disgrace!”

Carmine fought back a sob, his body shaking violently at those words. His world was imploding and there was a gun pointed at the back of his head.

Corrado was a perfect shot. He never missed his target.

His uncle, his own fucking family . . .

“Please,” Carmine whispered. “Please don’t fucking do this.”

As soon as those words passed his lips, something slammed hard into the back of Carmine’s head. He fell forward onto his hands and knees, splinters of wood from the floorboards digging into his palms.

He knew he couldn’t give up. He couldn’t go down without a fight. He wouldn’t win, but he wasn’t a coward. He wouldn’t just stand there and let them steal his life. Maybe a month ago he would have, or even yesterday, but not now. Not today.

“Good-bye.”

The lone word slipping from Corrado’s lips set Carmine in motion. He dropped flat against the floor and rolled as a deafening bang sounded, the gunshot echoing in the room. He braced himself for a scorching bullet to tear into his flesh, but he felt nothing. No blood. No pain.

Adrenaline or sheer fucking luck?

Carmine forced himself to his feet and turned for the door when something across the room captured his attention. The man at the window dropped with a thump to the floor, blood pouring from a wound dead center in his forehead. Salvatore turned in horror as Corrado knocked Carmine to the floor again on his hands and knees. As he scurried away, Carmine watched in shock as Corrado used the distraction to swiftly reach into Salvatore’s waistband with his left hand and pull a pistol from it.

Salvatore turned back around, his eyes wide when he saw both guns now pointed at his head. “What are you doing?”

“Following orders,” Corrado said calmly. “When I initiated, I took an oath. I swore to Antonio DeMarco that I would be a man of honor, a man who always put the organization first. They may just be words to some, but they have meaning to me. La Cosa Nostra or death. That’s what I swore. I choose La Cosa Nostra and always have. It’s a real pity you chose death, sir.”

Corrado lowered his gun and fired two shots, bullets ripping through both of Salvatore’s knees. He let out a blood-curdling scream as he collapsed. Corrado stood stoically as Salvatore desperately tried to pull himself away, his legs gushing blood and soaking his gray pants.

“Do you know what happens to rats, Carmine?” Corrado asked. “What we do to vermin, the disloyal and dishonorable?”

“Yes,” he responded weakly, his voice shaking. It was an urban legend within the organization, a story everyone whispered about but had no proof it ever happened. “Rats for the rats.”

Corrado took the few steps toward Salvatore, thrusting his foot out and kicking him square in the nose. Carmine flinched as Salvatore cried out, trying to shield himself as Corrado kicked him a few times in quick succession. The brutality in his uncle’s movements terrified him, anger and passion erupting from him. He did it again and again until Salvatore’s face poured blood like a leaky faucet.

“This place is infested,” Corrado said, his words strained as he fought to catch his breath. The rage had taken a toll on his composure. “If you listen carefully, you can hear them in the walls, scratching and scurrying around. It won’t take the rats long to catch a whiff of the blood. As soon as they realize there’s fresh meat, they’ll swarm. It’s a brutal way to go, being eaten alive.”

Carmine’s stomach churned ruthlessly and he resisted the urge to gag. What kind of monster would think to do such a thing?

Corrado turned to him as if he had heard Carmine’s silent question, the vacant expressionless mask enshrouding his face the only answer he needed. He seemed inhuman, the monster from the legends, the one he had heard about. The Kevlar Killer. No remorse, no emotion, and absolutely no conscience. “Sal knows this already. It’s why he chose this place. He just didn’t anticipate being the one to face the horror.”

Corrado slipped his gun back in his coat, ignoring Salvatore’s incessant yelling. He focused his attention on the pistol he had taken from the Boss, removing bullets from it one by one. He spun the chamber as he started toward the door, pausing in the doorway to lay the pistol on the floor. “I left a single bullet in your gun, Salamander. It’ll take you a while to drag yourself over here to it, but I’m sure you’ll manage if you want the suffering to end. The choice is yours.”

“You traitor!” Salvatore spat. “You’ll burn in Hell for this!”

Corrado laughed bitterly. “I’ll probably burn in Hell for most of what I’ve done in my life, but this is one of the few things I feel is actually worth it.”

He walked out without another word.

The moment Carmine heard his uncle’s footsteps on the stairs, he jumped to his feet and ran after him, tripping on a loose board and nearly falling in his haste. He could still hear Salvatore screaming as they exited the house but it didn’t seem to faze Corrado as he headed for the car.

Carmine opened the door to climb in the passenger seat when it all hit him. Hunching over, he dry heaved on the road.

Corrado waited patiently for Carmine to get himself together before starting the car to drive away.

“Won’t people hear him screaming?” Carmine asked as he wiped his watery eyes.

“Possibly, but it doesn’t matter,” he replied. “Like you said, anyone who comes to this neighborhood is up to no good.”

They drove in silence, the atmosphere suffocating. Carmine had reached the end of his rope, on the verge of a breakdown as he tentatively clung to the last shred of his sanity. It pressed upon Carmine, the memory of everything he had been through tearing through his system at once—the chaos, the destruction, the pain, the murder.

“Why’d you do it?” he choked out.

Corrado glanced at him. “Would you rather it had been you?”

“Not Sal.” He shook his head as the tears continued to stream from his eyes. “My father.”

Corrado let out an exasperated sigh and swung a sudden right, pulling the car along the curb and cutting the engine.

“Your father died a long time ago,” he said, his voice low. “Just because he was walking around and breathing doesn’t mean he was alive, Carmine. We die the day we lose the will to go on. We die the day we stop caring about life. The Vincent I knew, the man who made you, whose blood flows through your veins, ceased to exist when you were eight years old. He died in that hospital room as he held vigil beside your bed, mourning the loss of his wife. I watched every painful second of it as it happened and did nothing to stop his death.”

Corrado avoided looking at Carmine, instead staring out at the vibrant full moon in the sky. “He had work to do, so he kept going until it was done. He’d finally finished, so it was time for him to go. To him, it was better than the alternative. He had no intention of going to prison.”

“But why would he?” Carmine asked, shaking his head. “It didn’t have to be this way. I mean, the Feds . . .”

“You’re wrong,” he said. “Your father didn’t make a deal for himself. He didn’t turn state’s evidence against me. He accepted his fate long ago. Your father cooperated for you. He cooperated for Haven and everyone else you love. He gave them what they wanted so they’d leave his family alone, and in the process he did Maura’s memory justice by saving a young girl.”

Corrado paused briefly to collect his thoughts before he continued. “He’d made his decision, but I couldn’t let him do it himself. He wouldn’t find the peace he sought if he did. He wanted to be with your mother. He wanted to live again, with her. I made it so he could.”

Carmine stared at him as he processed his words. “Why’d you ask him for forgiveness then?”

“What?”

“When you pulled the trigger, you said ‘Forgive me.’”

Corrado shook his head. “I wasn’t asking him.”

Starting the car up again, Corrado pulled away from the curb. “We have one more thing to take care of tonight, so pull yourself together.”

They drove across town to the run-down strip club, the one he had been to before when Corrado killed Remy. The crummy lot was packed, the back row filled entirely with familiar sedans. Corrado parked along the side of the building, climbing out and glancing around cautiously. “Are you registered to vote?”

“Uh, no,” Carmine said as he got out of the car.

Corrado nodded, as if that answer didn’t surprise him, and motioned for Carmine to follow him inside. The club was packed, the air thick with smoke. They slipped by the bouncer without saying a word, Carmine keeping his attention on his uncle as they headed to the back room.

“Voting’s important,” Corrado said, pausing at the cellar door. “People like to feel like they actually have a say in what happens, even if it’s just an illusion.”

Corrado opened the cellar door and voices filtered out instantly, but they quieted once they descended the stairs. Carmine hesitated on the bottom step, looking around the small grimy space with shock. There were at least twenty-five men present, mostly Capos from what he could tell—the highest-ranking men left within the collapsing organization. They all looked at Corrado as he entered and he nodded toward another man, who cleared his throat to gain everyone’s attention. “We all know why we’re here. Nominations?”

A few people said Corrado’s name, while others just murmured in agreement.

“Any others?”

The basement remained completely silent.

“Any objections?” the man asked. “Speak now or take it to the grave.”

Carmine looked around. The men appeared nervous, their shifty eyes everywhere except for on Corrado. The room once again remained silent, no one speaking up.

The entire scene was strange to Carmine.

“Moretti it is, then,” the man said. “This meeting never happened.”

Corrado turned back around, motioning for Carmine to go right back up the stairs without having spoken a single word. They headed out to the parking lot, pausing beside the car not more than five minutes after arriving. “Like I said, people like to believe they have a choice, even if they really don’t.”

Corrado got in the driver’s side and Carmine slipped into the passenger seat, eyeing him warily. “You’re the Don now?”

“Yes.”

“What would’ve happened if someone objected? Would they have been allowed to leave?”

“They would’ve certainly left the room,” he replied. “Just in a dozen pieces.”

Carmine listened for sounds as he opened the front door, noting the house was completely silent, but the glow from the television illuminated the living room. Haven lay on the couch fast asleep, her shoes kicked off and sitting on the floor in front of her.

Carmine walked over and crouched down, stealthily slipping his gun under the couch before pushing some stray hair from her face. She stirred a bit but still slept, and he remained there for a moment, just watching her breathe.

If he hadn’t been sure before, it was at that moment he knew it. It was then, watching her sleep, that he felt it. He didn’t know what would happen in the future, but somehow they would make it if they gave it a try.

He fought back tears again, still unable to get himself under control. Life overwhelmed him, tugging him in opposite directions while he stood stagnant, trying to remain whole. He was surrounded by violence and death, the ugliness eating away at him, but then, on the other side, there was her. She was peace, and hope, and pure fucking beauty. She was the good that he hoped would overpower the bad.

“Haven,” he whispered, running the back of his hand along her cheek. “La mia bella ragazza.”

She stirred again and opened her eyes, blinking rapidly with confusion. It seemed to strike her where she was, a sleepy smile curving her lips. “You’re back.”

“And you waited.”

“Of course I did. I told you I wouldn’t run from you, Carmine.”

“I won’t either,” he said, smiling softly. “I won’t leave you again.”

“You swear?”

“You fucking know I do.”

She laughed, eyeing Carmine curiously as she sat up. She placed her right hand on his cheek, gently stroking his skin and brushing her thumb along his mouth. “Have you been crying?”

“Maybe,” he replied, leaning forward to softly press his lips to hers. She didn’t pull away that time, didn’t turn her head. Instead, she moved her mouth in rhythm with his. It was sweet, and innocent, but it was enough.

He ducked his head and nuzzled into her neck, inhaling deeply as he kissed the exposed skin. Her presence was overwhelming, the touch and scent and taste of her driving him wild.

“Do you still feel that?” he asked, nipping at the skin near her collarbone. “The electricity between us? Please tell me you feel it.”

“I feel it,” she whispered.

“I need you, Haven,” he said, his voice cracking as the words caught in his throat.

“I know.”

A strangled sob escaped his throat, the sound causing her to grip him tighter, and she whispered quietly as he cried in her arms. He couldn’t seem to stop himself—she destroyed his walls all over again, broke Carmine down so it all came flooding out.