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When they reached the Moretti’s house, Celia headed inside without waiting for him. He followed, his footsteps faltering when he heard her frantically whispering in Corrado’s office.
“I couldn’t do it,” she said. “How am I supposed to tell him?”
“You know him better than anyone,” Corrado said. “He’ll take it better coming from you.”
“It doesn’t matter who it comes from—he’s going to flip out.”
“That may be true, but someone needs to tell Vincent.”
Vincent stepped into the doorway. “Tell me what?”
Celia stammered. “Carmine was worried. Or, he is worried. He couldn’t just sit around. I suspected what he was going to do, but I couldn’t forbid him. I didn’t even know if I should. He’s an adult, and it’s not what she would want for him, and I knew you’d be upset, but it’s his life. And he was worried, Vincent. You were in jail, and he didn’t know who else to turn to.”
Her statements were disjointed, but the gist of them registered with him. “Don’t tell me he . . . No, there’s no way he went to them after everything I did to make sure it didn’t happen.”
“He did.”
“You’re wrong! He’s not that stupid, Celia!”
Her eyes filled with tears. “I’m not wrong.”
“Then you misunderstood.”
“I didn’t,” she said. “Giovanni was here with him.”
“Giovanni? You have to be kidding. If he—”
“Vincent,” Corrado said, his harsh voice cutting him off. “You know there are things we cannot and should not say as men of honor, and you’re teetering dangerously close to saying something you’ll later regret.”
“But this is Carmine we’re talking about. This is my son!”
“Yes, and he’s made his choice. He’s in the life now, and nothing can change that fact.”
“There has to be something! Carmine isn’t cut out for this! He’s throwing his life away and why, Corrado? For what?”
“For her,” he said, giving him an incredulous look. “How soon you forget. You were once that eighteen-year-old boy, turning to La Cosa Nostra to save the woman you loved.”
“But I didn’t save her! She’s dead, and if I would’ve never gotten involved in this, she’d—”
“She’d what?” Corrado asked, cutting him off again. “She’d be alive? Even you can’t believe that! She’d still be dead today, but she would’ve died a slave. You gave her a chance. Her life was cut short, but it wasn’t you or La Cosa Nostra that did it. Maura sacrificed herself. You think your son is so much like you, but what you fail to realize is he’s his mother, too. There’s nothing naïve about the decision he made.”
Before he could respond, the phone in the office rang. Corrado grabbed the receiver off the desk in front of him. “Moretti.” He paused. “Yes, we’ll be there.”
Vincent sighed when he hung up. “Salvatore.”
“He wants to see us.”
“Carmine’s in too deep,” Vincent said. “He has no idea what he’s doing.”
“Let’s hope you’re wrong.” Corrado grabbed his keys. “How long until you need to report in?”
“Forty-eight hours.” Vincent had two days to self-surrender to be fitted with an ankle monitor. It wasn’t house arrest, with a curfew or a base restricting him to a certain location, but a precaution to make sure he didn’t try to disappear. It also meant they could keep a log of everywhere he went, which put him in a precarious situation within the organization.
“I suppose that means we have forty-eight hours, then.”
Corrado started for the door, but Celia stopped him. “It’s good to have you home, so make sure you come back.”
He brushed his hand across her cheek. “I always do, don’t I?”
