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“Is that a new dress?” she muttered, mocking him. She stubbornly stared out the side window of the car, refusing to look in his direction. “I’m not a child, you know, and I don’t appreciate being treated like one—especially by you. Antonio would have your head if he were still alive, God rest that bastard’s soul.”
“He would,” Corrado agreed quietly. “Antonio would be severely disappointed.”
“It really is a nice dress, Mom,” Celia chimed in, glancing into the backseat with a hopeful smile plastered on her face. “That color blue looks fantastic on you.”
“And other colors don’t?” Gia asked, finally shifting position to look at her daughter. Her gaze scanned her, picking her apart piece by piece with her sharp eyes. “You shouldn’t wear so much black, Celia. The darkness washes you out, and you look like you’re in mourning. People are going to think you’re unhappy. They’re going to start wondering about your marriage. Is that what you want? For them to think you can’t please your husband?”
“Don’t be silly,” Celia said, turning back around. “Everyone knows I wear black because it’s slimming.”
“Well, it doesn’t appear to be working,” Gia said. “Maybe you should try exercise.”
Celia forced a laugh, but Corrado could tell from her expression that the insult stung. He reached over to grab his wife’s hand, wordlessly comforting her.
They pulled up to a stoplight, traffic heavy despite it being early on a Sunday. Gia dramatically exhaled and Corrado glanced in the rearview mirror in just enough time to see her turn her stubborn eyes back out the side window. “I can’t believe we’re late. We’re going to have to sit in the back.”
“We always sit in the back, Mom.”
“Because we want to, not because we have to,” Gia said. “I hate when I don’t have a choice. I should have a choice, you know. When your father was alive, everyone waited for us to sit first. It was a matter of respect. No one cares anymore.”
Corrado sighed in relief when the light turned green.
The church was packed when they finally arrived, and Corrado had to park around the corner. He offered Gia his arm, but she refused and walked a few feet ahead of him, huffing the entire way. Celia tried to keep up with her mother but Corrado didn’t bother, instead strolling slowly toward the church doors.
He slid into the back pew beside his wife a few minutes later, smoothing out his jacket. Mass had already started, Father Alberto standing up front preaching about love and forgiveness. Corrado remained quiet through the service, merely going through the motions, and he stayed in his seat when it was time for communion. When it was over and they were dismissed, Corrado was out the door before anyone else.
Celia and Gia joined him, lingering with the others and greeting friends. Corrado stood along the side, patiently waiting for them, when Father Alberto sought him out in the crowd. “I didn’t see you at first, Corrado. I thought perhaps you were missing church today, after all.”
“Of course not, Father,” he replied. “We were just running a bit late.”
The priest eyed him closely. “Will I be seeing you later this week?”
“For . . . ?”
“Anything,” he said. “My door is always open, but as you know, I regularly take confession on Wednesday nights.”
He was fishing, Corrado realized. He wanted information that Corrado wasn’t going to give.
“Maybe,” he replied. “The week’s still young. There’s no telling what may happen between now and then.”
27
The run-down building was set back off the main highway.
Massive holes littered the large gravel lot surrounding it, cars haphazardly parked every which way to avoid getting stuck in them. A fluorescent sign hung above the entrance, the word SINSATIONS flickering in hot pink letters.
“What are we doing here?” Carmine asked as he climbed out of the passenger seat of the black Mercedes. Corrado had dragged him out of bed at three in the morning, but he hadn’t explained where they were going on the drive. Of all the places he considered, a trashy strip club hadn’t been one of them.
“Business,” Corrado replied, motioning for Carmine to follow him.
Carmine strolled through the parking lot behind his uncle. “Do you own this place, too?”
Corrado’s footsteps faltered as he flashed Carmine an irritated look. “You clearly don’t know me very well if you think I’d run a place like this. The owner pays a fee every month and we let them keep their filthy dump in our territory.”
“Blackmail and extortion,” Carmine muttered. “Nice.”
Corrado laughed dryly. “It’s a fair trade. No one messes with them because they pay their dues, and in exchange we utilize their facilities when necessary.”
“What would you ever want with this shithole?”
