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“Your wife can’t help you right now.”
Corrado glared at the man. “She’s going to think it’s me.”
“What?”
“You said they’re going to be making the notification soon. As soon as they show up at my door, she’s going to think it’s me.”
A debate played out on the man’s face momentarily, his lips twitching into a frown. “Her brother, her husband . . . it’ll hurt either way. They’ll explain it to her.”
“I made her a promise that I’d never leave her again,” he said. “I don’t want her to think I broke it, even if it’s only for a minute.”
The agent’s brow furrowed. “How could you promise her that? Living the life you live, you’re bound to break it someday.”
“I won’t,” he said. “There’s nothing I won’t do to keep my vows.”
“Even if it means killing?”
Corrado just stared at the man, and he stared right back. The agent broke first, though, a deep sigh reverberating his chest as he looked away. Frowning, he released Corrado from the interrogation room and led him to a small cubicle, where he picked up a black phone and handed it to him. “You have five minutes.”
Corrado dialed his house number, listening as it rang and rang. He was on the verge of giving up when he heard Celia’s voice on the line. Although she spoke hesitantly, he could detect no distress. Worried, but not heartbroken. She hadn’t been told yet. “Hello?”
“I didn’t think you were going to answer.”
Celia let out a deep sigh. “Corrado, why does the caller ID say the Cook County Police Station?”
“It’s a long story.”
“Does it end with you getting arrested again?”
“No.” He glanced down at himself, eyeing the handcuffs secured to his wrists. “Not technically.”
“Do you need me to get you out?” she asked. “I don’t think I can come up with bail money until morning, although we might have—”
“Celia, stop. I’m not calling about me. I can take care of myself.”
“Carmine!” she gasped. “Oh God, what did he do? Is he okay?”
“He’s . . .” Corrado shook his head. “Carmine will be fine. This isn’t about him. It’s about his father.”
There was nothing but silence on the line for a moment. Had he not detected her steady breathing, he might have suspected she hung up.
“Celia, Vincent is—”
“No.” She cut him off. “Don’t say what I think you’re going to say. Don’t . . . just don’t say it, Corrado.”
“I’m sorry, Bellissima.”
Before she could react, before he could say another word, the federal agent reached over and pressed the button on the phone, effectively ending the call.
“You have a lot of nerve,” Corrado seethed, his voice a low hiss escaping from between his angrily clenched teeth.
“You wanted to tell her and you did,” the agent said. “I didn’t have to give you that much.”
* * *
Disoriented, Carmine’s surroundings twisted and distorted as the interrogation room spun, the dark gray walls slowly closing in around him. Even though frigid air blew out of the vent above him, chilling his taut skin, his body felt like it was engulfed in fire. Teeth chattering, his flushed skin poured sweat, making his torn and bloody shirt stick to him uncomfortably.
Carmine tried to sort through everything that had happened, but he couldn’t think straight. It was all just too much. Agent Cerone and another man, whose name Carmine couldn’t remember hearing, sat across from him, while Mr. Borza sat to his right. The lawyer urged Carmine to cooperate, but the flickering fluorescent lights made it impossible for him to concentrate.
