Made

by J. M. Darhower

  "Or maybe I'd cure you of it."

  "You can't know that."

  "Neither can you."

  He spared her another glance. A frown tugged her lips, her eyes downcast. Pouting at her own party.

  "You should be celebrating," he said. "Dancing."

  "Will you dance with me?"

  "Not a chance. I wasn't made for dancing."

  "Then we'll just sit here," she said, shrugging, "and not dance… together."

  He shook his head, picking up his glass and swirling the ice around in the water. He stared at it, watching the ice clink against the sides as water rushed overtop of them, swarming them briefly before they resurfaced again. The water churned, round and round, matching his insides—the scarcely confined tumultuous cyclone of his soul.

  "Why?" The question he hated so much… the question he'd been taught never to ask… spilled from his lips as he stared into the glass.

  "Why what?"

  "You hardly know me, Celia, and what you do know about me isn't pleasant. Why would you ever torture yourself pursuing me?"

  "Torture?" She laughed. "You might think you're dangerous, Corrado, but you don't scare me."

  There was no think about it. Corrado knew what he was capable of, and dangerous put it mildly. He was a man with a gun and no regard for his own life. It was hard to see what was so special about breathing when your own mother thought smothering you with a pillow was an ideal solution.

  "Besides," she continued, shrugging, "you pursued me first."

  "It was a mistake."

  She recoiled. "Ouch."

  Setting his glass down, Corrado shifted in his stool to face her. "You weren't a mistake. I like you, Celia, and I have no shame about that. But it couldn't work, and the mistake was thinking it could. Maybe we exist in the same world, but we live on opposite ends."

  "Then we move to the middle," she insisted. "I don't see why you can't get that."

  She made it sound simple. So simple, in fact, that he didn't know what to say. He shook his head, muttering, "You're far too beautiful to be so damn wise."

  Her dejected look perked up as she swung her body toward him, knees knocking against his. His eyes were immediately drawn downward to a set of creamy, bare legs. "Beautiful, huh?"

  "You know you are. That's half the problem… you use it."

  "Oh, I haven't used it." Her voice dropped low as she leaned toward him, slowly crossing her legs, her dress riding further up on her thighs. "Yet."

  Corrado suppressed a groan and yanked his eyes away from her bare skin just in time to see Antonio's approach. Shoulders squaring, Corrado shifted his body away from Celia as the Boss surveyed the two of them. Celia remained relaxed, boldly moving closer to him in response to his subtle retreat.

  Enforcers lingered behind Antonio, keeping a few feet distance to give the Boss his illusion of privacy, but Corrado knew they were listening.

  "Sir," Corrado said.

  "Corrado." He turned his attention to his daughter as he stepped even closer. Corrado moved his head out of the way as the Boss reached past him, snatching the glass off the bar. Bringing it to his nose, he sniffed. "Liquor, Celia? You're only 18!"

  "It's mine." The words were out of Corrado's mouth instantly. Celia's eyes widened in shock, but she straightened her expression out as her father glanced between the two of them again.

  He didn't believe it. That was clear from the narrowing of eyes, the thin line of his lips. Antonio held the glass out to him. "Drink up, then."

  Corrado took the glass and brought it to his lips, pausing to take a deep breath, before throwing it back. It felt like rubbing alcohol scorched his throat, tasteless and harsh, setting his chest on fire. He swallowed back bile as his body tried to force the liquor back out.

  Eyes watering, he slammed the glass on the bar with a grunt.

  "That's not right," Celia said, crossing her arms over her chest. "He's 18, too!"

  "He's a man," Antonio said nonchalantly. "You're my little girl."

  She huffed. "Double standards are a bitch."

  Anger sparked in Antonio's eyes. "Language, young lady."

  She grumbled, reaching over and snatching up Corrado's glass of water. "It's totally unfair. I can't do anything—you tell me what to drink, what to say, who to date."

  She sneered the last part. Corrado tensed, whereas Antonio merely laughed. "I've never told you who to date."

  "But you—" Corrado knocked his knee into hers and shook his head, warning her not to go there. Her mouth remained open as she considered it, but she conceded eventually. "Did you need something, Dad?"

  "Just wanted to say goodbye," he said. "I have work to do."

  He pulled her into a hug, nearly yanking her off the stool. Celia kissed his cheek, saying goodbye as he backed away. His gaze turned to Corrado then. "Moretti."

  "Sir."

  "A word, please."

  Tensing, Corrado slid off the stool, avoiding Celia's concerned eyes as he followed the Boss. Antonio wandered a few feet away, to a pocket of empty dance floor. The enforcers followed, maintaining their distance, but their looming presence made Corrado's defenses prickle.

  "Make sure my daughter gets home safe," Antonio said. "I know she's been drinking."

  He hesitated for a fraction of a second. "Yes, sir."

  Antonio cut his eyes at him. "That was honorable, what you did, but it was fucking stupid. You gotta let a woman fight her own battles."

  "Yes, sir."

  Slapping him on the back, Antonio nodded his goodbye and headed for the exit. The enforcers followed, moving around Corrado like he was a boulder in the middle of a rushing river. Corrado stood there for a moment before turning back. Celia sat halfway in her stool, halfway leaning across the bar as she yelled at the bartender. Corrado's brow furrowed as he approached, hearing her agitated voice. "Give me a break, man! It's just a drink!"

  The bartender shook his head as he picked up a wet glass and dried it off. "Sorry."

  "Come on!" she said. "You didn't say no before!"

  "You've had your limit."

  "But I didn't even get to drink the last one."

  "Not my problem."

  She groaned, the sound practically a feral growl. "Don't you know who I am? This is my party!"

  Corrado slid back onto the stool beside her and motioned toward the bartender. "Vodka, straight up."

  The man debated before pouring some vodka in a glass and sliding it down to him. Celia glowered at him as she settled back into her stool. "Such crap."

  Corrado pushed the glass toward her, offering the drink. Without hesitation, she picked it up, smiling radiantly.

  He couldn't help it. He smiled back.

  He'd let her fight her own battles, sure, but it wouldn't stop him from doing all he could for her.

  "Watch this!"

  Corrado's footsteps abruptly stopped at those words. This wouldn't end well.

  Celia kicked off her heels, one skidding along the sidewalk while the other struck a parked car in the street, but she was too preoccupied to notice. Corrado gaped at her, stunned as she broke into a sprint, throwing her hands out in front of herself. Every muscle in him seized as she flung her body over, her legs coming out from under her as she cartwheeled down the sidewalk.

  Once. Twice.

  Her dress rode up as she spun, bunching near her waist. Corrado caught a flash of her underwear on her third cartwheel, but he couldn't spare a second to dwell on it. She tried to land back on her feet but overshot it, skidding right onto her butt, her back landing flat on the sidewalk. Alarmed, Corrado jogged the few yards over to her.

  Getting her home safe proved harder than he'd thought.

  "Celia," he hollered, hunching over her. "Are you okay?"

  Her arm shielded her eyes from him as she burst into laughter. "That hurt just a bit."

  He scanned her as he reached out, assessing to make sure she wasn't harmed. Groaning, he tugged at her dress, yanking it down to cover more of her bo
dy. His frantic assessment only made her laugh harder as she swatted him away.

  "If you want to feel me up, all you have to do is ask first."

  "I'm not feeling you up." He scanned over her again, cringing when he realized his hand rested on her upper thigh. He withdrew it fast, feeling the heat of her flesh beneath his fingertips. Celia watched him with amusement, still deep in the throes of giggle fits.

  "Come on," Corrado said, standing and reaching for her hand. "You're drunk."

  She took his hand, her body like dead weight as he yanked her to her feet.

  "I'm not drunk," she declared, staggering a bit once she stood. "Okay, just a little drunk."

  He exhaled deeply once she was steady and tried to move away from her, his hand nearly sliding from hers. She gripped it at the last second, her fingers intertwining with his and squeezing. Blinking a few times, Corrado glanced at their connected hands in the darkness, seeing her shiny, milky white nail polish pressed against his tanned flesh. His hand dwarfed hers, momentarily making her seem fragile.

  Corrado's eyes met Celia's. The amusement evaporated from her expression, replaced with an earnest vulnerability, a soft hint of yearning. Slowly, carefully, her free hand took his, lacing their other fingers together as she stepped closer to him. He stared down at her, the top of her head reaching his chin.

  Teasingly, she licked her lips.

  "Celia," he warned.

  "Don't fight it," she whispered. "Please, Corrado. Don't fight it anymore."

  "You're drunk," he rationalized.

  "I'm sober enough."

  "It's not right."

  "It's not wrong either."

  She rose up on her tiptoes, inching even closer. His heart hammered in his chest. Don't do it, his mind reeled. Stop this. Stop it right now.

  But his body… his body didn't listen. The haze settled over him, detaching body from mind, the physical and mental disconnect urging him on. Celia pressed a light, barely-there kiss on his jawline. The tingle radiated from that spot, consuming his senses.

  Leaning down, his lips found hers, soft at first, tender, but more eager when she let go of his hands. Her arms snaked around his neck, tugging him further down, her fingers running through the hair on the back of his head. Her tongue darted out, swiping across his lips before plunging inside.

  And just like that, he was a goner.

  Heat like he'd never experienced before rushed through his body, starting at the top of his head and extending to the tip of his toes. Frantic hands gripped her hips, pulling her flush against him, holding her there as he kissed her deeply. She fisted his hair, having just enough of a curl to get a good grip. Throbbing emanated from the spot, sending a quiver down his spine, pleasurable pain fueling him forward. His lips were frenzied, matching hers as she tried to devour him with a hard kiss.

  "Celia," he murmured, pulling back long enough to take a deep breath.

  "Your house," she panted, shoving against him, making him take a few awkward steps backward.

  "What?"

  "Your house," she repeated. "We can be alone there."

  Her hands gripped him tighter, fingernails digging against his skin, as the harsh reality of her words struck him. Abruptly, he pushed away from her, breaking the kiss. "Slow down."

  She stared at him incredulously, wide-eyed, her cheeks flushed as she panted. "I'm tired of waiting."

  "You're drunk," he said. "Think about what you're saying."

  "I have thought about it," she said, matter-of-fact, as she reached up on her tiptoes, again pressing a light kiss on his jawline. She left a soft trail of kisses down along his chin. Despite himself, Corrado closed his eyes at the sensation, his hands relaxing on her hips. "I've thought about it… and thought about it… and thought about it. I'm tired of thinking about it. I want to do it."

  Her words caused the blood to feverishly rush through him, his pulse racing from arousal. "With me?"

  That simple question cracked the mood. Celia pulled away from him, her lips leaving his skin. Thank God, Corrado's mind screamed, while his body pleaded for the sensation back.

  "No, not with you," she deadpanned. "With Johnny at the pizza place. You think I have a chance?"

  He knew she was joking… he did… but it didn't stop the intense swell of rage that rushed through him. "I'll kill him."

  Rolling her eyes, Celia stepped from his reach. "Way to ruin the moment, Corrado."

  He ran his hands down his face, flustered. "It's for the best."

  "How can you say that?"

  "You're worth more than a moment, Celia," he said, reaching out and grabbing her hand again. "I'd rather give you a lifetime."

  The flush on her cheeks deepened. "You're such an enigma, Corrado. How can someone like you—someone who says things like that—do what you do?"

  "One has nothing to do with the other," he said. "I can't even compare the two."

  "You have a twisted sense of morality."

  "Thank you."

  She laughed. "Not sure I meant that as a compliment."

  He tugged her hand as he took a step. "Let's get you home. It's late. We don't want your father sending out a search team."

  She put up no argument, walking in step with him as the two strolled down the street. Their fingers remained entwined until they approached the house at the end of Felton Drive. Corrado reluctantly pulled his hand from hers.

  Wordlessly, she approached the front door as Corrado remained in the driveway. She grasped the knob, standing under the glowing porch light, and peered at him. "Promise me, Corrado."

  "Promise what?"

  "Promise you won't wake up tomorrow and forget tonight happened," she said quietly. "Promise you won't change your mind."

  "I'll never change my mind about you," he said, "nor could I ever forget. You have my word."

  She turned back to the door as it yanked open. They both froze, inhaling sharply, but Corrado managed to relax again when he spotted the familiar young face. Vincent stuck his head out, glancing between the two of them. "What are you guys doing out here?"

  "Nothing," Celia said. "Corrado was just walking me home."

  Vincent grimaced, waving his hand in front of his face. "Oh, gross. Why do you smell like a liquor bottle?"

  Celia rolled her eyes, ducking past her brother. "Shut up."

  Corrado started to leave when Vincent's voice called out again. "Corrado?"

  He hesitated. "Yes?"

  Vincent smirked. "You're a lot better than that last guy she went out with."

  "We're not dating," Corrado said. "We're just… friends."

  "I know," Vincent said. "I'm just saying, you know, she could do worse. She has done worse."

  "I heard that," Celia yelled from the house. She reappeared, grabbing Vincent and yanking him inside. Glancing over, she gave Corrado a small wave as he retreated.

  "Goodnight, Miss DeMarco."

  "This is the worst card in the history of cards," she declared. "If this card were a drink, it would be cheap back alley moonshine."

  "Like the stuff you drank last night?"

  "That vodka wasn't cheap. Gave me more tingles than your card did."

  Corrado's brow furrowed as he lounged on his couch. Early morning sunshine streamed through his open windows, a gentle breeze whisking in. The phone was tucked in the crook of his neck, pressed to his ear, as he shifted through the day's newspaper. "You know, I picked that card out myself."

  "Then I hereby revoke your card-giving privileges."

  "What was wrong with it?"

  Celia dramatically cleared her throat on the line. "In all the things you undertake, may you meet with real success. And may all the years that are ahead be filled with happiness."

  "Yeah?" He flipped the page of his newspaper. "What's wrong with that?"

  "Really?" she exclaimed. "First of all, it's a second-rate rhyme. Happiness? Success?"

  "They both end in –ess."

  "Secondly," she continued as if he hadn't spoken, "co
uld it be any more impersonal?"

  "It had a rainbow on it, didn't it?"

  "No, it had flowers," she said. "Sunflowers."

  "Flowers, then. You like flowers, don't you?"

  "Of course," she said. "I love flowers."

  "Okay, then."

  "You're missing the point."

  "I think I am." He closed the newspaper, unable to focus on it, and shifted the phone to the other ear. "I thought all cards were the same. Didn't realize one could be more exciting than another."

  "Well, had you written something in it, maybe it wouldn't have been so lame."

  "I did," he said. "I signed my name."

  "Yes, and that's it. It says 'Corrado' in tiny print. No 'congratulations'. No 'good luck'. Just 'Corrado'. I thought for sure you'd at least write something."

  Closing his eyes, he grasped onto the phone and lay his head back against the couch. "I'm not much of a writer, Celia."

  "I kind of figured that out back when I wrote you a letter and you never wrote back."

  "You didn't ask me to."

  "I shouldn't have had to."

  Corrado laughed dryly to himself. "Why are you complaining about the card, anyway? I thought the gift was what mattered."

  "Well, yes, sure… the money was nice… but that was a cop out, too. All you did was shove some cash in the envelope. Easy-peasy."

  There was nothing easy about it. If she knew what he'd done to get his hands on that kind of money, she might have sung a different tune.

  He started to say something, to joke around about how he accepted returns, when there was a slight commotion on the other end of the phone. He silenced when the Boss's voice rang out in the background. "Who are you talking to?"

  "Angela," Celia said at once. "You know, my friend Angie?"

  "Ah, yes," Antonio said. "Sure, I remember her. I need you to hang up, though. I need the phone."

  "Okay, Dad," she said. "Just one second."

  After a brief stint of silence, Celia blew out a long breath.

  "So Angie, huh?" Corrado asked.

  "Yeah, I just made that up. I drew a blank."

  "Nice cover."

  "Yeah." She sighed. "I guess I have to go."

  "Okay," he said. "Goodbye, Celia."

  "Bye, Angie."