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Grasping her chin, Corrado pulled her face up, forcing her to look at him. “I know where you live. I know where your father hangs out. I know where your little cousin Jessie goes to school. Your best friend Marie? I know where she works, and I’ve been to the church your grandmother plays Bingo at on Tuesday nights. You cross me again, you step foot near my club, and I’ll kill every single one of them before I slit your throat in your sleep. Capisce?”
Vanessa nodded furiously, hiccupping, unable to speak through her cries.
Corrado removed her restraints and took a step back. “Walk out of here calmly and hitch a ride home. Don’t speak a word of this.”
Vanessa jumped up, stumbling as she scurried up the stairs. Carmine watched in shock, his eyes darting between the door and his uncle. “You let her go? What if she calls the police?”
they arrived, Celia went upstairs to get her as Corrado waited by the entrance. He opened the car door when he saw them coming and Gia slid into the back seat of the Mercedes without acknowledging him. She scowled, her arms crossed over her chest.
Corrado shut the door, sighing, as Celia shot him a pointed look that said whatever they were about to endure was entirely his fault.
He would take the blame. It was the least he could do.
“You look nice, Gia,” he said politely as he pulled out into traffic. “Is that a new dress?”
“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.
