"I'll write you," she said, eyeing him earnestly. "Okay?"
He nodded.
"Come on, kids!" Vito hollered. "Make it fast, will you?"
Corrado stepped around her and walked out, tossing his bag on his shoulder as Celia walked right on his heels. His father stood at the end of the staircase, swinging his keys around his finger.
"Ah, the prettiest DeMarco to ever live," Vito said, a charming grin lighting his lips as he reached over and tugged Celia's hair.
"I heard that," Mrs. DeMarco said, stepping out from the kitchen.
"Busted." Vito glanced at the woman. "I was never very good at being discreet."
"You and Antonio both," she chided.
He let out a laugh, smiling sheepishly. "Guilty."
Mrs. DeMarco shook her head, not seeming as amused, and strode off. Vito winked at Celia, nudging her chin with his hand. "I don't know where you get it, pretty girl."
Katrina's appearance on the stairs shifted Vito's attention away. Corrado stepped down into the foyer and glanced back at Celia, his father's words running through his head. He surveyed her features, her hair, her eyes, taking in the sight of her pale lips… lips that had not long ago touched his.
Pretty.
Vito snatched up Katrina's bags and lugged them out the front door. Corrado followed him onto the porch when Celia grabbed him from behind, knocking the backpack from his shoulder, as she wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug.
"Bye, Corrado," she said. "I'll see you again someday."
His stomach sank when she let go.
"Goodbye, Celia."
6
Two months can alter life in unbelievable ways.
When they made it back home at the end of summer¸ vast sunshine streamed through the downstairs, casting blinding glares off the damaged frames and chipped crystal, but the house itself was spotless.
Corrado squinted, surveying the dead silent surroundings, his eyes falling on a small form in the hallway. For a brief moment, when he first caught the glimpse, he was sure she was an apparition. Her alabaster skin glowed as white as the light surrounding her, matching her snow-colored dress.
Unconsciously, Corrado took a step back.
"Why is there a girl here?" Katrina asked, dropping her bags to the floor in the foyer. "And why is she wearing my dress? Oh God, Mom replaced me! She replaced us!"
"Don't be dumb, Kat," Corrado muttered, staring at the girl. He could make out nothing but her fiery red hair and green eyes. "Mom wouldn't replace us."
"How do you know?"
He didn't know. He wouldn't put anything past his mother. "Well, she wouldn't replace us with Irish kids, anyway."
Their father stepped in the house behind them and cleared his throat. "Corrado, Katrina, this is Maura. She's your mother's new, uh, help."
The girl stepped forward at the sound of her name, out of the blinding glare and into Corrado's line of sight. She was young... younger than him. She was just a girl, no older than Vincent.
"But why's she wearing my dress?" Katrina asked again as her voice rose. "It's mine! Not hers! Mine!"
Erika came down the steps then, groaning dramatically. "What's with all the yelling?"
"This girl... this slave... is wearing my dress!"
Maura flinched at the hostility, her cheeks flushing bright red as tears welled in her eyes.
"That dress hardly fits you anymore," Erika said. "Besides, she needed clothes. You didn't expect me to buy her any, did you? Not like I could afford it, though, even if I wanted to. Blame your father. If he'd make some money for once..."
"Don't start, Erika," Vito warned.
Erika waved him off as she strode right past for the kitchen. Vito stood there for a moment, looking at his watch. "I gotta get going, kids."
Corrado frowned. "Already?"
"Yeah, you know, work," Vito said. "I got some stuff to handle at the casino, but I'll be back for dinner."
At least he would come back tonight.
Vito kissed the top of Katrina's head before lingering in the doorway to the kitchen. "I'm leaving, Erika."
"Of course you are," she muttered, coming back through the foyer and heading back upstairs.
Vito shook his head and walked out of the house as Katrina threw her hands up. "Unbelievable!"
She stormed off, leaving Corrado and the strange new girl alone in the hallway. Maura regarded him cautiously, her mouth opening and closing as she considered speaking.
"Hey," she said finally, her voice feeble.
A response hung on the tip of Corrado's tongue, a simple "hello" in return, but a crash upstairs made him swallow it down.
Closing his eyes, Corrado grabbed his bag.
There was no point talking to her when she would just leave eventually.
He couldn't keep anyone.
Screaming. Screaming. Screaming.
Why did there always have to be screaming?
"Where's the fucking money, Vito? You promised you'd have it!"
Erika's voice was so high-pitched it surprised Corrado it didn't shatter their water glasses. He kept his gaze on his plate, tired eyes fixed on his untouched food. His appetite was long gone, disappearing when his parents started bickering.
He was almost wishing now his father hadn't come back.
"Is that all you care about? Money?" Vito remained calm. He sounded defeated. Corrado couldn't recall a time his father didn't sound that way. "Figures."
"What, you expect me to care about you? Ha! You can't even handle your responsibilities! You shove them off on me!"
Responsibilities, Corrado knew, was code for him and Katrina. He chanced a peek across the table at his sister. Welcome home. She had her elbow propped up in front of her, her face in the palm of her hand as she shifted the food around on her plate. To most people she would've appeared bored, disinterested, but Corrado knew better. Moments like this were the only time Katrina showed vulnerability, the only time she even seemed human to him anymore. Watching her, seeing the hurt in her eyes, he almost felt bad. She was still just a kid.
But then again, so was he, and he wouldn't let it get to him. If only the screaming would stop, though. It gave him a headache.
"I sent money last week. What did you do with it all? The kids weren't even here!"
He'd clearly asked the wrong question. Erika slammed her hands down on the table, shaking it from the force of the blow. Her wine glass toppled over, spilling the red liquid. Corrado watched as it spread across the table and ran over the side, dripping onto the floor beside him.
"Are you kidding?" Erika spat. "You send me pennies and have the nerve to ask what I did with it all?"
The wine pooled near Corrado’s chair, the red seeping into the floor. Maura would have a hard time getting it up, for sure.
"Pennies? I sent you thousands!"
"Two thousand. That's it! That doesn't even cover the bills!"
"It would if you wouldn't live so extravagantly."
Again, wrong thing to say.
Erika shoved her chair back as she jumped up, launching her plate of food across the room. Katrina and Corrado both ducked out of the way, but Vito didn't even flinch. It flew right past him and smashed against the wall over his shoulder, the sauce from the lasagna leaving a smear on the white paint.
Maura would have trouble cleaning that up, too.
"You call this extravagant, you little dick piece of shit? You're pathetic! I should've never married you!"
Erika grabbed the bottle of wine before storming out of the dining room, barking orders on the way. Maura scurried into the room from the kitchen and dropped to her hands and knees, blotting the wine from the floor with a white towel. Corrado watched her, seeing the cloth staining bright red, and hoped bleach would take it out or else she'd be in even more trouble.
He considered telling her that but figured it was pointless. It was already done. She couldn't take it back.
Vito sighed, the sound exaggerated. Corrado didn't need
to see his father's expression to know he'd find pity in his eyes, shame for their lives, anger at their mother. Vito would frown, his lips twisted as he gnawed on the inside of his stubbly cheek before clicking his tongue. He always did that when deep in thought.
Corrado didn't know what he had to think about. Same thing happened every time. Nothing new about it.
"I have to get out of here," Vito said, standing. He walked around the table, pausing beside Corrado’s chair. "Maura, sweetheart, you'll wanna throw that towel away. Bury it deep in the trash. Don't let her see."
"Yes, sir," Maura said, her voice shaking. She seemed surprised he'd suggest something to help her, but Corrado wasn't. His father was that kind of person. Corrado liked to think he was more like Vito than his mother, but the fact that he hadn't spoken up suggested otherwise.
His father pulled out his wallet and counted out some cash, setting it down on the table beside Corrado's plate. "Hold on to this in case you need it, kid."
"Yes, sir."
He patted Corrado on the head. The gesture, intended to be warm, annoyed him, and he pulled away. He wasn't a puppy. He didn't need to be pet like one.
Vito started for the door as Corrado slipped the money in his pocket. Katrina jumped up, sprinting for their father, and wrapped her arms around his waist. His footsteps faltered yet again as he hugged her, patting her back gently.
"Don't go." Katrina's voice came out as a broken whisper, but Corrado heard her plea, disturbed she would resort to begging.
Their father wouldn't stay. Didn't she realize that yet?
He never did.
"Where are you, you little bastard?"
Erika Moretti was drunk. Again.
Corrado didn't move, sitting still at his desk in his bedroom, hoping she'd get distracted and forget about him. A book lay open in front of him, but it was impossible for him to focus on any of the words.
"Your father should've taken you with him, that pathetic son of a bitch. But no, he always leaves you behind for me to deal with." Her words slurred, a bottle and a half of wine deep now, he guessed. "He knows I don't want you, that I never did."
She let out a sharp, bitter laugh that bounced off the walls and echoed straight to him, striking him in the chest despite the armor he'd built. "Vito forced me to have you just to torture me. He loves torturing me. That's all he's good at, you know. He sure can't fuck or take care of things."
She grew deathly quiet then, but Corrado detected her footsteps down the hallway. He strained his ears listening. He couldn't let her sneak up on him. On misstep, one miscalculation, and she'd have the upper hand.
His arm hairs stood on end, his skin prickling when her footsteps drew closer, pausing right in the doorway behind him. He was defenseless besides his wit, and to hear his mother tell it, he had none of that, either.
"Are you ignoring me?" she asked. He remained quiet, figuring that would be answer enough, but she didn't accept it. "I asked you a question, Corrado Alphonse. I expect a goddamn answer."
"No, ma'am," he said.
"Liar." She strolled into his room. "Give it to me. Right now."
He looked at her as she held her hand out. "Give you what?"
"You know what." She grabbed the back of his chair and yanked it out from under the desk, snatching him to his feet. He froze as she rifled through his pockets, finding the money his father left. "You're just like him."
She shook her head as she shoved him back into his seat. She raised her hand like she was going to hit him, and he flinched, throwing his arm up protectively. He braced himself for a blow that didn't come.
"Do the world a favor, Corrado," she said. "Don't have a family. You'll only fuck them up like he did."
She started to walk away when Corrado muttered under his breath, "you fucked us up worse than him."
Feet abruptly stopped. Despite her intoxication, Erika spun around gracefully and came back toward him. "What did you say?"
Corrado hesitated. Lie, a voice in the back of his head screamed. Beg. But Corrado was too far-gone to listen to it. He was worn down, mentally exhausted, and tired of putting up with her. "I said you fucked us up worse than—"
He didn't get it all out before her fist swung, striking him across the face. For a petite woman, she had a strong right hook. Corrado hardly had time to recover, to brace himself, when she pounced, wailing on him over and over with her small fists. Strike after strike stung, her blood red painted fingernails ripping at his skin as she resorted to clawing his hands away from his face. He tried to block the blows, deflecting half of them, taking the other half in stride. He didn't throw any punches, refusing to raise his hand to his mother, no matter how furious she made him.
Erika grew tired eventually and staggered away. Corrado watched her as she spit toward him, her face contorted. "You disgust me!"
Likewise, mother.
That moment, as Erika staggered from his room, altered something inside of Corrado. He rubbed his jaw, stinging from a blow, and caught sight of his sister smirking in the hallway. He knew, from the smug look on her face, that she'd instigated it yet again. She'd told their mother he had the money.
Standing, Corrado stalked to his door, glaring at his sister. "You know what, Kat?"
"What?"
"You're on your own now."
He slammed the door in her face.
Early the next morning, while everyone else was still in bed, Corrado slipped out of the house and headed into town. The walk took him two hours, the sun just rising and the streets coming alive when he strolled along the sidewalk, his hands stuffed in his pockets. Where he was going, what he was doing, he wasn't sure. But he couldn't sit around that house; he couldn't deal with them anymore.
He visited shops and sat in a park, enjoying the sunshine, ignoring his life.
As much as he didn't want to admit it, he missed North Carolina. He missed the mountains. He missed that house.
Or maybe he just missed Celia.
It was mid-afternoon when he ran into a group of boys from school: Michael Antonelli, Shawn Smith, and Charlie Klein. The three were rolling through the park on their bikes while Corrado sat alone on a bench. Charlie skidded to a stop when he spotted him, the other two following suit. "Corrado, right?"
Corrado didn't particularly like any of the boys. After a few beats, he nodded.
"Where's your sister?" Michael asked, smiling goofily.
Corrado shrugged. "Home."
"Well, whatcha up to?" Charlie asked. "We're heading to the arcade on Fillmore, if you wanna join us."
After considering it, Corrado shook his head. He'd had enough of dealing with people to last for a while, and he just wanted to be left alone.
"Your loss," Charlie said. "You change your mind, you know where to find us. The pizza's on me."
Corrado sat there quietly when the boys rode away. After a while, his stomach growled, the mention of pizza stirring up his hunger. What could it hurt?
He debated before walking the few blocks to the arcade. The place was chaotic with summer break still in full force for another few weeks.
"Corrado! Over here!"
Charlie's voice rang through the place. Corrado spotted the boys sitting in a center booth, a large pie already on the table. He joined them, slipping in the seat beside Michael.
"Glad you changed your mind," Charlie said. "Eat up, my friend."
My friend. The words struck Corrado strangely. He didn't consider Charlie a friend at all. The boy was older by two years and had a reputation as a troublemaker.
"Where you guys been this summer?" Michael asked, gnawing on a slice of pepperoni, cheese hanging from his chin.
"Away," he said.
"Missed seeing you around."
Corrado's brow furrowed, while Shawn snickered, tossing a napkin at Michael. "You missed looking at his sister, Mikey. That's all that is."
Michael tossed the napkin right back but didn't deny it.
The boys ate and chatted. Charlie dumped out
a pocket full of change—at least four dollars in silver coins. Michael and Shawn grabbed some and ran off to play games, while Corrado just sat there, curiously watching Charlie. He wasn't sure why he'd been invited, but he could spot a scheming person a mile away.
His stomach growled at the smell of greasy pizza, so he reached for a slice. He took a small bite, savoring the taste, when Charlie pulled out a stack of bills. He flipped through it, and Corrado nearly choked when he spotted almost a dozen twenties mixed in the bunch. Even his father rarely left him that much. "Where'd you get all that money?"
Charlie smirked. "Earned it."
"How?"
Charlie glanced around to make sure no one was listening as he leaned closer, whispering, "by doing favors for some guys around town."
Corrado narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Favors?"
"Yeah, you know, delivering things, running errands, sending messages. Nothing big, yet, but soon… my day's coming soon." Charlie stared at him. "Especially if I get you on board."
"Me?" Corrado was taken aback. "Why?"
"Don't act like you don't know," he responded, slipping the money back in his pocket. "We all know who your dad is."
So that was it.
"With Vito Moretti's kid involved, we'd be unstoppable. Wouldn't nobody mess with us."
Corrado's appetite faded. He set the slice of pizza down. "I'm not interested."
"Oh, come on," Charlie said. "You can't tell me the idea of making your own money isn't tempting."
Tempting, definitely. As much as Corrado tried to deny it, that was true. Having money… his own money… and a means to survive without depending on his mother. Against his better judgment, Corrado nodded. "What do I have to do?"
Charlie's smile grew. "Stick with me, and I'll show you."
The Fillmore Crew, they called themselves. Every day for the next week Corrado slipped out of his house before dawn and made the journey to town on foot, meeting up with the three boys in the park.
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