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“Sounds odd.”
“It does,” Corrado said. “It also sounds like a good place to start.”
49
The sun had set, darkness falling over Chicago as Vincent and Corrado drove to the west side of the city. A full moon hovered in the sky, a ring of light surrounding it partially shielded by a thin cloud covering. The wind whipped a bit, vibrating the car with its unpredictable gusts.
The lack of communication wore on Vincent’s nerves. He had no idea what his son was up to, what situation he was in, or if he was okay. Giovanni had never given Vincent reason to distrust him, but the fact that it was his soldati that had gone awry didn’t sit well with him. If he had been paying attention, he should have seen it.
Corrado turned off the highway and cruised through the streets. Most of the buildings appeared abandoned, worn down and boarded up. Gang signs were strewn around with spray paint by street thugs who considered themselves hardcore. Men with no true loyalty, no respect within their orders.
Their lack of civility had always disgusted Antonio. He loathed their usage of the word gangster, cringed at their definition of brotherhood. Vincent couldn’t count how many times his father had ranted about it, priding himself on the fact that his organization had respect. They may have committed heinous crimes, but in his mind, all of it was founded. His father took the oath seriously and believed, until the day he died, that they were a true family, la famiglia, with a bond stronger than blood.
Vincent never thought he would see the day where he wished his father was still in control.
“Are you all right, Vincent?” Corrado asked. “We can’t afford second thoughts.”
“I’m not having second thoughts,” he said. “I’m thinking about how disturbed my father would be about this.”
“None of this would be happening if your father were around,” Corrado said. “He was an honorable man, as far as honor goes within our world. Antonio’s organization was united.”
“And now we’re no better than the guys tagging these buildings.”
“I wouldn’t go that far. I think most of us still have our honor. What you’ve done for Haven, after what she’s cost you, is honorable. I can’t say I’d do the same if I were in your position. If it were my wife, I would’ve killed the girl a long time ago.”
“I almost did,” he said. “I wanted to.”
“But you didn’t,” he said. “Instead, you’re risking your life to find her, and that’s where the honor is, Vincent. Sometimes you have to look at the bigger picture.”
Vincent shook his head as Corrado pulled the car behind a vacant building, partially concealing it beside a Dumpster. “I never imagined you’d be the one to give me a pep talk about this.”
“Well, you heard my wife,” he said as he cut the engine. “She told me to come home, and I need you to have a level head for that to be possible.”
They climbed out and walked alongside the building, staying out of sight. Corrado stopped when he reached the corner, and Vincent spotted a black Mercedes parked among some trees.
“Squint’s car,” Corrado said, reaching into his coat for one of his guns. “I’m going to check it out. Cover me.”
Vincent pulled out a gun and flicked off the safety as Corrado jogged across the road. He peered into the car and tried the doors as Vincent watched for signs of movement. Corrado looked around, glancing into the windows of an old business, before returning. “It’s empty.”
Vincent started to speak when a loud noise rang out behind them, startling him into silence. He swung around, aiming his weapon, but Corrado pulled him around the corner instead. Multiple rushed voices blurred together, cutting through the night as they hid alongside the vacant building Corrado had checked out moments earlier.
Three men stepped out from a warehouse and paused in the spot Vincent and Corrado had been standing moments ago. Vincent recognized Squint, a guy with shaggy blond hair nonchalantly clutching an AK-47 beside him. It was one of Volkov’s guys, one who had been in the pizzeria. The third man was vaguely familiar, but Vincent couldn’t place him in the dark.
“Brazen,” Corrado said. “Brave and careless. It’s a dangerous combination.”
“Demented is what they are,” Vincent said as Squint pulled out a set of keys and tossed them to the third guy. He and the man with the AK-47 disappeared inside.
“Unlocked,” Corrado observed. “I suppose we can add stupid to the list of adjectives.”
The third guy sprinted across the street toward Squint’s car as Corrado slipped around to the back of the building. Vincent took a few steps around to the front, remaining in the shadows. He reached the corner just as Corrado warded off the guy, pointing his gun at his head.
The guy threw up his hands as he dropped the keys. “Corrado.”
The voice struck Vincent as familiar. His stomach sank. “Tarullo?”
The guy turned, fear flashing across his face. Dean Tarullo, the youngest son of the man who had saved Carmine’s life.
“Uh, Vincent, sir,” he said. “What are you doing here?”
