Redemption (Sempre 2)

“This place is infested,” Corrado said, his words strained as he fought to catch his breath. The rage had taken a toll on his composure. “If you listen carefully, you can hear them in the walls, scratching and scurrying around. It won’t take the rats long to catch a whiff of the blood. As soon as they realize there’s fresh meat, they’ll swarm. It’s a brutal way to go, being eaten alive.”

Carmine’s stomach churned ruthlessly and he resisted the urge to gag. What kind of monster would think to do such a thing?

Corrado turned to him as if he had heard Carmine’s silent question, the vacant expressionless mask enshrouding his face the only answer he needed. He seemed inhuman, the monster from the legends, the one he had heard about. The Kevlar Killer. No remorse, no emotion, and absolutely no conscience. “Sal knows this already. It’s why he chose this place. He just didn’t anticipate being the one to face the horror.”

Corrado slipped his gun back in his coat, ignoring Salvatore’s incessant yelling. He focused his attention on the pistol he had taken from the Boss, removing bullets from it one by one. He spun the chamber as he started toward the door, pausing in the doorway to lay the pistol on the floor. “I left a single bullet in your gun, Salamander. It’ll take you a while to drag yourself over here to it, but I’m sure you’ll manage if you want the suffering to end. The choice is yours.”

“You traitor!” Salvatore spat. “You’ll burn in Hell for this!”

Corrado laughed bitterly. “I’ll probably burn in Hell for most of what I’ve done in my life, but this is one of the few things I feel is actually worth it.”

He walked out without another word.

The moment Carmine heard his uncle’s footsteps on the stairs, he jumped to his feet and ran after him, tripping on a loose board and nearly falling in his haste. He could still hear Salvatore screaming as they exited the house but it didn’t seem to faze Corrado as he headed for the car.

Carmine opened the door to climb in the passenger seat when it all hit him. Hunching over, he dry heaved on the road.

Corrado waited patiently for Carmine to get himself together before starting the car to drive away.

“Won’t people hear him screaming?” Carmine asked as he wiped his watery eyes.

“Possibly, but it doesn’t matter,” he replied. “Like you said, anyone who comes to this neighborhood is up to no good.”

They drove in silence, the atmosphere suffocating. Carmine had reached the end of his rope, on the verge of a breakdown as he tentatively clung to the last shred of his sanity. It pressed upon Carmine, the memory of everything he had been through tearing through his system at once—the chaos, the destruction, the pain, the murder.

“Why’d you do it?” he choked out.

o;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.

The Boss stood in the corner of the empty room, near a shattered window with a single board nailed over it. Moonlight filtered inside, giving Carmine barely enough light to see. Salvatore appeared disheveled, his right arm bandaged sloppily in a blue sling. He took a few steps in their direction, his movements rigid like he could no longer bend his left knee.

“About time,” his raspy voice called, his eyes trained on Carmine as the other man strolled to the window to gaze out.

“I apologize for being late, but you know how he can be,” Corrado said behind Carmine, blocking the only exit.

“Yes, I know exactly how he can be.” Salvatore’s voice seethed with anger. “He doesn’t listen. You tell him to do something and he ignores it. He seems to think he knows better than everyone else, like he’s above us all and doesn’t have to fall in line.”