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“I know, but he’s falling apart.”
“There’s nothing more I can do,” Corrado insisted. “And quite frankly, your meddling is only hurting him more.”
“He’s my nephew, Corrado. I’m asking you to help him.”
“I am.” He shook his head. Their definitions of help were vastly different. “I’m helping him the only way I know how.”
“By forsaking him?”
“By making him stand on his own two feet.”
“But he’s not.” She hesitated as if she weren’t sure what to say. “There’s something going on with him. I don’t know what it is, but it’s not right.”
“Becoming one of us,” Corrado said quietly.
“No, it’s more than that.” She sighed with frustration. “It’s hard to explain. I don’t like the people he’s involved with. Why can’t he work with you personally?”
Corrado let out an abrupt, bitter laugh. “Have you forgotten what I do, Celia? Do you need me to remind you?”
He could tell she tried to fight it, but a look of disgust briefly passed over her face. It twisted his stomach with guilt, having to strike her that way.
“The stealing is a lot safer than the rest,” Corrado continued. “And the kids he’s working with are harmless . . . relatively speaking. You don’t have to agree with me, or even like it, but I hope you’d at least respect it. Respect me.”
“I do.”
“Then drop it,” he said. “I’m doing all I can.”
Celia said nothing. Her lack of response told Corrado he had won that round, but he knew there would be more battles. More requests, more denials, more conflicts. His wife was just as determined as he was stubborn.
“I’m starving,” he said, hoping to change the subject as he headed for the kitchen. He had been busy all night and hadn’t had time to eat. “Can you make me something?”
Celia scoffed. “I’m going back to bed. If you want to eat, I’m sure you can help yourself. You’ve never relied on anyone else before, remember, so why start now?”
18
We have a problem.”
Corrado shook his head as he stood by the window of his lawyer’s office. “Don’t tell me that. I came here because you said you had good news.”
“I do,” Mr. Borza said. “Well, I did, but it seems petty now in comparison.”
Sighing, Corrado turned to him, not in the mood for guessing games. This case was proving to be harder than his others to shake. “Just be out with it.”
“We got your arrest record thrown out since it would bias the jury. All previous trials resulted in not guilty verdicts or dropped charges.”
“That’s good,” Corrado said. “It’s progress.”
“Yes,” Mr. Borza agreed. “The prosecution’s barred from mentioning any of it. Your criminal record, on the other hand, is still in, but it’s squeaky clean.”
“I know,” Corrado said. “What else?”
“The judge ruled the wiretaps at the club weren’t covered by the warrant, so those tapes are inadmissible. I’m still working on the ones from your home. The crime scene photographs were thrown out, since they would unfairly incite the jury. Being guilty under RICO is a far cry from being a cold-blooded murderer.”
Not as far of a cry as the man thought. “Anything else?”
“Tommy DiMica and Alfredo Millano are both off the witness list. Seems Tommy recanted his story and now says he doesn’t even know you, and Alfredo was assaulted a few days ago in his jail cell. He’s alive, but in no condition to testify.”
Corrado nodded. He knew those things already. Tommy and Alfredo were both former La Cosa Nostra, and men who turned against the oath had to pay the price.
