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The sun set as they drove to Sycamore Circle, meeting up with the other guys about a block away. They scoped it out, lounging in Carmine’s car with binoculars as music played from the speakers. Remy pulled out a blunt, lighting it and taking a long hit. He held it out and Carmine promptly grabbed it from him, dropping the binoculars. He couldn’t remember the last time he had smoked, the drug infiltrating his system and relaxing his taut muscles. Relaxing back into the seat, he closed his eyes, all of his worries leaving in a slow exhale of smoke.
The job was quick and easy, in and out in minutes. Not a single shot was fired, not a drop of blood spilled as the men surrendered the trucks without a fight. They had caught them off guard and completely unprepared. The last thing they had expected was for Sal to make a move in their territory.
* * *
Night had fallen long before, the air stifling from the late summer heat wave that had been tormenting Chicago for days. Corrado was sweating profusely, his back completely soaked, but he didn’t dare remove his suit coat until he was safely inside his residence. He let it drop to the floor right inside the door, exposing his white button-down that was splattered with fresh blood. He quickly unbuttoned it, wanting to dispose of the offensive material before anyone saw, but the light gasp from the stairs told him he was too late.
Busted.
“I thought you’d be in bed,” he said without even looking at her, more to explain than apologize.
“I was,” Celia said softly. “I couldn’t sleep.”
He removed his shirt before making his way to the living room. He lit the fireplace swiftly, tossing the garment in. Burning soiled clothing and disposing of incriminating evidence was something he did so often he could accomplish it in his sleep.
He could sense Celia behind him, following, watching. He could also sense her trepidation, and he didn’t like it. Celia always found a way to understand.
“Is something bothering you?” he asked. “You don’t usually wait up.”
“I was worried.” She paused. “Well, I am worried.”
“It’s ridiculous for you to lose sleep,” Corrado replied. “I’m fine.”
“I know,” she said. “It’s not you I’m worried about.”
Corrado watched as the flames consumed the shirt before turning to his wife. A frown tugged her lips, the subtle wrinkles forming on her face more noticeable tonight. He had just seen her a few hours before, but she appeared to have aged years within a single day.
His beautiful wife—he wanted to take her anxiety away.
“I’m hurt,” he teased, running the back of his large hand along her warm cheek. “My wife doesn’t worry about me? I must be doing something wrong.”
He leaned down for a kiss, hoping her soft lips would help erase the brutal memories of the day, but she pulled away with a dramatic sigh.
“I’m serious, Corrado. I know you can take care of yourself.”
Celia grew quiet, her frown only deepening. Corrado knew there was so much more she wanted to say.
“But?” he asked. “I know you’re not finished.”
“But Carmine’s a different story.”
Corrado exhaled exasperatedly. He should have known. “Not again, Celia. Please.”
“He’s new to all of this,” she said, ignoring his pleas. “I worry about him.”
“He’ll figure it out,” Corrado said. “He has no choice.”
“I know, but he’s hurting,” she continued. “You should’ve seen him tonight.”
Corrado shook his head. “It’s not my problem.”
“Not your problem? You’re his Capo!”
“And I make sure he does what he needs to in the business,” Corrado said. “His personal life is none of my concern.”
“But—”
“But nothing,” Corrado said, cutting her off. “I have my own issues to deal with right now. You know that.”
