AllFreeNovel
Share Us
He glanced back. “It was the best thing I’ve ever seen.”
Antonio smiled, a genuinely elated smile, before waving him away.
And as Vincent strolled through the streets of Chicago years later, he could still remember that look of pride on his father’s face. It wasn’t a look he received often—mostly it was disappointment as he forced harsh lessons upon him growing up, lessons he carried with him his entire life. Some good, some bad, but every one of them had somehow changed him. They had turned him into the person he was—a man ripped apart by the concept of loyalty.
He walked the first three blocks easily, slowing his footsteps as he approached the alley. Something in the back of his mind urged him to take the long way around, but he ignored that pesky voice, shoving it back as he continued on. He stepped into the alley, strolling down the narrow path as he looked between the old tall buildings, desperate for renovations.
About halfway down he paused, kicking around at some loose gravel on the ground. He ran his fingers along the worn siding of a business, the brick crumbling a bit in his hand. He let out a deep sigh as he felt the ridges and gashes, his chest tight with anxiety.
“Vincent.”
Vincent looked over as Corrado strolled down the alley toward him. His suit was wrinkled, his eyes tired, and a small gift box wrapped in bright green paper was tucked under his arm. “You missed the wedding, Corrado.”
“I know,” he said. “I just got back from New York.”
“Business?” Vincent asked. “Amaro family? Geneva? Calabrese?”
Corrado shook his head. “More like Antonelli.”
Vincent’s brow creased. “Haven?”
“No reason for concern,” Corrado said, dismissing his inquisitive look as he looked around the dingy alley, shifting the present to under the other arm. His eyes settled upon the brick wall behind Vincent. “It was right here.”
“Yeah, it was.”
It was in that spot, more than a decade earlier, when Vincent’s world violently collapsed. He felt the pressure of it pressing on him, the memory weighing him down. Whenever he blinked, in that split second when blackness took over, drowning out his senses, he could still see it—ashy pale skin, lifeless eyes, copper colored hair drenched in red. Terror coated her face, a horrifying mask of questions with no answers . . .
Why her? Why them? Why now?
They were things he had wondered for years, things he thought he had figured out when he murdered Frankie Antonelli. But standing there, the questions still lingered.
Why?
“It’s peculiar, isn’t it?” Corrado asked. “The thirst for revenge? It’s easy to dismiss the things we do, but it’s impossible to forget the things done to us. We never think about their families, but when it’s ours, we never get over it. We carry that grudge forever.”
“I think about them,” Vincent said. “I always consider their families.”
“Did you think about Frankie’s?”
Vincent hesitated. “No. I was only thinking about mine back then, but I do now. Every day.”
“That doesn’t count,” Corrado said. “The only relative he has left is Haven, and I assure you she isn’t grieving that loss.”
Vincent thought that over. “You’ve honestly never considered their families?”
“Never,” Corrado said, staring at him pointedly. “My conscience is clear, Vincent. I carry no regret, and I don’t want to start now. It’s why, with God as my witness, I’ll never pull the trigger unless I’m absolutely certain the world is a better place without them.”
“You’re lucky,” Vincent said. “Every time I think I clear my conscience, something else comes about.”
“That’s because you’re letting yourself be a pawn.”
A bitter laugh forced itself from Vincent’s chest. “I was just thinking about the day my father told me to be a king and not a pawn. But he failed to tell me there could only be one king. The rest of us, well . . . we can only do what we can do.”
“You’re missing the point,” Corrado said. “Being the king isn’t always about having the title. Sometimes the title is a ruse. You want control? You need the upper hand, but you never let them see you have it until you’re ready to make your move.”
“And what if the only moves I have left break the rules?”
He shrugged. “Depends on whose rules you break.”
