Redemption (Sempre 2)

She didn’t say a word but she also made no move to leave, so he wasn’t sure what she was thinking. He didn’t have time to stick around and figure it out, though, so he gave her one last look before grabbing his gun and bolting for the door. He stepped outside as a memory hit him, the last time he had said those words to her running through his mind.

She had refused to wait for him that day.

He glanced behind him at the house as he headed down the street, hoping like hell she would wait this time.

41

Carmine’s phone was ringing again by the time he reached Corrado’s, but he didn’t bother answering it since he was so close. Corrado’s car was parked along the curb, the headlights blacked out but engine running. Carmine climbed in the passenger side and gave his uncle a cautious glance, seeing the look of impatience on his face, and tensed in anticipation of him snapping. Corrado closed his phone and Carmine’s instantly stopped ringing, but he didn’t say a word.

Corrado pulled away and sped down the street, waiting until he was a block away before flipping on his headlights. Carmine surveyed his uncle, noticing he wore his black leather gloves, and instantly knew something serious was happening.

“I hope you had a nice time with Haven tonight,” Corrado said, shattering the tense silence.

“Uh, yeah, I did,” Carmine replied. “Thank you for everything you did for her. She told me about it all.”

“No reason to thank me,” he said coolly. “I was only doing the job that was given to me, Carmine. That’s what we do. Personal feelings are irrelevant. We follow orders and one thing you should know about me by now—one thing I hope you respect me for—is the fact that I don’t fail when I take on a task. Ever.”

Carmine nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Good. And I didn’t want to interrupt your evening, but it’s time.”

Carmine eyed him warily, wondering what time it was, but Corrado didn’t elaborate and Carmine knew better than to question him.

A bad feeling seeped into Carmine’s bones as Corrado drove without saying another word toward a rough area in the south side of Chicago. It was fairly deserted except for the occasional scraggly passersby, the street aligned on both sides with condemned buildings covered in graffiti. It was gang territory, the part of town where they battled for control of corners no one really wanted in the first place. They killed one another for the fuck of it, for the right to rule the forsaken streets.

The fact that they were there, moving deeper into the midst of gangland territory, didn’t sit well with Carmine. He reached under his shirt and felt his gun secured in his waistband, his thumb flicking the safety off just in case.

“Do the thugs in this neighborhood scare you?” Corrado asked, noticing his movement.

“No,” he replied. “I just know anyone who comes to this side of town is up to no good.”

“True,” Corrado responded, pausing before adding, “It’ll be over quick.”

His cryptic words sent Carmine’s heart pounding furiously. They neared the end of the main street and took a left onto another narrow road, stopping halfway down. Corrado cut the engine and opened his door, hesitating as he glanced at Carmine. “Leave your gun in the car. You seem to have an itchy trigger finger tonight.”

“Excuse me?” Something was off, Carmine could sense it, and being unprotected was as good as asking to be killed.

“You heard what I said,” Corrado said. “Don’t question me.”

Carmine grabbed the gun and shoved it in the glove box. He had to do it. Corrado would have taken it.

Carmine followed Corrado across the street to a run-down house. It looked like it hadn’t been inhabited in decades, the shutters barely hanging by their hinges and old wooden boards nailed up along the windowpanes, the glass long gone. They stepped on the porch and Corrado knocked twice on the large door. Before he could knock a third time, it opened. Corrado walked in and Carmine followed him cautiously, his eyes falling upon an Italian man right inside. He was about Corrado’s age and familiar, definitely a friend in the organization. He held a gun defensively, but he seemed to relax a bit when Corrado nodded at him.

Their silent exchange made Carmine feel queasy, the bad feeling nearly overpowering him.

He tried to sort through his thoughts to make sense of what was happening, briefly considering bolting back out the door while he still had the chance. He wondered how far he could get while unarmed, but such a train of thought was senseless. He would be caught before he even made it off the porch. He needed to stay calm, to play cool, and not let them see his fear, even if that was exactly what he felt.

He was fucking terrified.

Corrado grabbed his arm as he shut the front door, shoving Carmine toward the staircase that the man started up. No one said a word, no instructions given as Carmine begrudgingly climbed the creaky steps with Corrado on his trail. He felt like cattle being herded to the slaughterhouse as he followed the man down a long hallway.

They approached a room, and Carmine froze in horror as soon as he stepped in the doorway. Vision blurring, his knees went weak as fear slammed into him. He nearly collapsed but Corrado grabbed him, keeping him on his feet as he pushed him farther into the room.

The pieces of the puzzle clicked together in an instant. He should have sensed it earlier, should have known what was happening. The signs were all there. The look on Celia’s face . . . Corrado’s cryptic words . . . “You never know when you might only have a few hours left.” “I didn’t want to interrupt your evening, but it’s time . . .” “It’ll be over quick.”

The moment he told Carmine to leave the gun in the car, he should have known what he would find in the house: his demise.

As his green eyes met the pair of dark, cold muddy ones across the room, it made sense. Corrado told him not to worry about retaliation because the entire time he had planned to take him straight to Salvatore.