Remy came out right away, flying off the porch and leaping over the fence before stealthily sliding into the passenger seat. The smell of marijuana lingered on his skin and clothes, the man’s eyes completely bloodshot.

“Man, this is crazy,” Remy said, relaxing into the seat as Carmine pulled away from the house. “Irish ‘hood? Shit’s about to get real.”

Carmine sighed. “Let’s hope not.”

The sun set as they drove to Sycamore Circle, meeting up with the other guys about a block away. They scoped it out, lounging in Carmine’s car with binoculars as music played from the speakers. Remy pulled out a blunt, lighting it and taking a long hit. He held it out and Carmine promptly grabbed it from him, dropping the binoculars. He couldn’t remember the last time he had smoked, the drug infiltrating his system and relaxing his taut muscles. Relaxing back into the seat, he closed his eyes, all of his worries leaving in a slow exhale of smoke.

The job was quick and easy, in and out in minutes. Not a single shot was fired, not a drop of blood spilled as the men surrendered the trucks without a fight. They had caught them off guard and completely unprepared. The last thing they had expected was for Sal to make a move in their territory.


Night had fallen long before, the air stifling from the late summer heat wave that had been tormenting Chicago for days. Corrado was sweating profusely, his back completely soaked, but he didn’t dare remove his suit coat until he was safely inside his residence. He let it drop to the floor right inside the door, exposing his white button-down that was splattered with fresh blood. He quickly unbuttoned it, wanting to dispose of the offensive material before anyone saw, but the light gasp from the stairs told him he was too late.

Busted.

“I thought you’d be in bed,” he said without even looking at her, more to explain than apologize.

“I was,” Celia said softly. “I couldn’t sleep.”

He removed his shirt before making his way to the living room. He lit the fireplace swiftly, tossing the garment in. Burning soiled clothing and disposing of incriminating evidence was something he did so often he could accomplish it in his sleep.

He could sense Celia behind him, following, watching. He could also sense her trepidation, and he didn’t like it. Celia always found a way to understand.

“Is something bothering you?” he asked. “You don’t usually wait up.”

“I was worried.” She paused. “Well, I am worried.”

“It’s ridiculous for you to lose sleep,” Corrado replied. “I’m fine.”

“I know,” she said. “It’s not you I’m worried about.”

Corrado watched as the flames consumed the shirt before turning to his wife. A frown tugged her lips, the subtle wrinkles forming on her face more noticeable tonight. He had just seen her a few hours before, but she appeared to have aged years within a single day.

His beautiful wife—he wanted to take her anxiety away.

“I’m hurt,” he teased, running the back of his large hand along her warm cheek. “My wife doesn’t worry about me? I must be doing something wrong.”

He leaned down for a kiss, hoping her soft lips would help erase the brutal memories of the day, but she pulled away with a dramatic sigh.

“I’m serious, Corrado. I know you can take care of yourself.”

Celia grew quiet, her frown only deepening. Corrado knew there was so much more she wanted to say.

“But?” he asked. “I know you’re not finished.”

“But Carmine’s a different story.”

Corrado exhaled exasperatedly. He should have known. “Not again, Celia. Please.”

“He’s new to all of this,” she said, ignoring his pleas. “I worry about him.”

“He’ll figure it out,” Corrado said. “He has no choice.”

“I know, but he’s hurting,” she continued. “You should’ve seen him tonight.”

Corrado shook his head. “It’s not my problem.”

“Not your problem? You’re his Capo!”

“And I make sure he does what he needs to in the business,” Corrado said. “His personal life is none of my concern.”

“But—”

“But nothing,” Corrado said, cutting her off. “I have my own issues to deal with right now. You know that.”

“I know, but he’s falling apart.”

“There’s nothing more I can do,” Corrado insisted. “And quite frankly, your meddling is only hurting him more.”

“He’s my nephew, Corrado. I’m asking you to help him.”

“I am.” He shook his head. Their definitions of help were vastly different. “I’m helping him the only way I know how.”

“By forsaking him?”

“By making him stand on his own two feet.”

“But he’s not.” She hesitated as if she weren’t sure what to say. “There’s something going on with him. I don’t know what it is, but it’s not right.”

“Becoming one of us,” Corrado said quietly.

“No, it’s more than that.” She sighed with frustration. “It’s hard to explain. I don’t like the people he’s involved with. Why can’t he work with you personally?”

Corrado let out an abrupt, bitter laugh. “Have you forgotten what I do, Celia? Do you need me to remind you?”

He could tell she tried to fight it, but a look of disgust briefly passed over her face. It twisted his stomach with guilt, having to strike her that way.

“The stealing is a lot safer than the rest,” Corrado continued. “And the kids he’s working with are harmless . . . relatively speaking. You don’t have to agree with me, or even like it, but I hope you’d at least respect it. Respect me.”

“I do.”

“Then drop it,” he said. “I’m doing all I can.”

Celia said nothing. Her lack of response told Corrado he had won that round, but he knew there would be more battles. More requests, more denials, more conflicts. His wife was just as determined as he was stubborn.

“I’m starving,” he said, hoping to change the subject as he headed for the kitchen. He had been busy all night and hadn’t had time to eat. “Can you make me something?”

Celia scoffed. “I’m going back to bed. If you want to eat, I’m sure you can help yourself. You’ve never relied on anyone else before, remember, so why start now?”

18

We have a problem.”

Corrado shook his head as he stood by the window of his lawyer’s office. “Don’t tell me that. I came here because you said you had good news.”

“I do,” Mr. Borza said. “Well, I did, but it seems petty now in comparison.”

Sighing, Corrado turned to him, not in the mood for guessing games. This case was proving to be harder than his others to shake. “Just be out with it.”

“We got your arrest record thrown out since it would bias the jury. All previous trials resulted in not guilty verdicts or dropped charges.”

“That’s good,” Corrado said. “It’s progress.”

“Yes,” Mr. Borza agreed. “The prosecution’s barred from mentioning any of it. Your criminal record, on the other hand, is still in, but it’s squeaky clean.”

“I know,” Corrado said. “What else?”

“The judge ruled the wiretaps at the club weren’t covered by the warrant, so those tapes are inadmissible. I’m still working on the ones from your home. The crime scene photographs were thrown out, since they would unfairly incite the jury. Being guilty under RICO is a far cry from being a cold-blooded murderer.”

Not as far of a cry as the man thought. “Anything else?”

“Tommy DiMica and Alfredo Millano are both off the witness list. Seems Tommy recanted his story and now says he doesn’t even know you, and Alfredo was assaulted a few days ago in his jail cell. He’s alive, but in no condition to testify.”

Corrado nodded. He knew those things already. Tommy and Alfredo were both former La Cosa Nostra, and men who turned against the oath had to pay the price.

“So what’s the problem?” Corrado asked. “Seems their case is falling apart.”

“The problem is there’s a new name on the list.”

Mr. Borza picked up a piece of paper and held it out to him. Corrado took it and scanned the list, the name at the bottom jumping off the page:

Vincenzo Roman DeMarco

Corrado said nothing as he stared at it, forcing himself not to react.

“It’s possible they’re planning to subpoena him and he’ll just plead the fifth,” Mr. Borza continued.

“Or he’s testifying against me to save his own ass.”

“A plea bargain,” Mr. Borza said. “I’m not certain, since I’m not on his case anymore. I’ll request a deposition, of course, but in the meantime I’ll see what I can do about getting this to go away permanently.”

Corrado looked away from the paper and handed it back to the lawyer. “No.”

“No?”

“Let me handle it,” Corrado said, turning to the window once more. “I’d rather you not breathe a word about it to anyone.”


The loud shrieking echoed through the room. Haven reached beside the bed, slapping the alarm clock to silence it. She was exhausted, her body weary, and entirely too comfortable wrapped in the comforter for her to even consider getting up. A strange buzzing noise met her ears but she did her best to block it out, not caring enough to investigate. She assumed it came from upstairs in Kelsey’s apartment, and if that was the case, she probably didn’t want to know what it was.

It stopped eventually and silence overtook the room. The moment she finally slipped back to sleep, a succession of bangs jolted her awake. Groaning, she hauled herself out of bed.

“Wake up!” The thick door muffled Kelsey’s voice. “I know you aren’t still in bed! Do you see the time? Up, up, up! Rise and shine!”