disappeared back inside, relocking his door. Charlie stepped off the porch, cheering as he counted the money... $200.
"Whoop!" he said, splitting it right down the middle and handing Corrado half. "This is yours."
Corrado grasped the stack of twenties in his hand. "How often do you see him?"
"Every Friday."
Four hundred dollars a month... a hell of a lot of money for a kid.
Family dinner was the last thing on Corrado's mind after that. He arrived home well after dark, well past dinnertime, on his brand new bright red Schwinn Stingray. He hopped off the bike in the front yard, leaving it there, and bounded up onto the porch. Before he even made it to the door, it swung open, his mother appearing. "Where the hell have you been?"
"With friends."
"He's lying," Katrina said, stepping around their mother and onto the porch. "He has no friends."
"I do, too!"
Katrina crossed her arms over her chest. "Name one."
"Michael Antonelli."
Instantly, Katrina paled.
"Antonelli?" Erika asked, raising her eyebrows. "You've been with Frankie's kid?"
"Yes."
" Mikey's a fool," Katrina declared. "Why would you ever hang out with him?"
"Now, now," Erika said, grasping her daughter's shoulder. "Michael comes from a good bloodline."
Katrina rolled her eyes. "I can't tell."
"Hush up, girl," Erika said. "His family's connected. You'd do well to befriend him."
Katrina cringed.
Corrado stood there, unsure of what else to say. He wanted to go inside, but he didn't dare move. His mother didn't appear angry anymore, but that could change as quickly as the flip of a light switch.
"Where'd you get that bike?" she asked.
"I stole it."
The words flowed from his lips so naturally. He hadn't intended to lie. What was the point? But it certainly sounded better than the truth.
What was the truth? He wasn't sure. He'd been paid for being a Moretti. Was that normal?
"Take it back," she said, waving her hand as she headed back inside. "Now."
"Yes, ma'am."
He had no intention of returning the bike. He had bought it, earned it fair and square, and no one would take what belonged to him.
The next few weeks found Corrado sinking deeper and deeper into a life he still knew little about. Just as Charlie had predicted, Corrado's last name alone propelled the Fillmore Crew to notorious heights in the streets. Mr. Barzetti wasn't the only one calling now… whenever anyone needed a petty job done, they went straight to them.
Michael and Shawn still did the brunt of the work for chump change while Charlie and Corrado collected the big bills. Every week the money increased, from $200 to $300, from $300 to $400.
Corrado never breathed a word of it to his father, despite their request every week to pass along their regards. How could he? He hadn't seen him. Vito hadn't been back since dropping them off.
"Here you go, boys," a young waitress said, sliding a steaming hot pizza onto the table in front of Corrado. "Enjoy."
"Thanks," Charlie said, shooting her a wink as he grabbed a slice. "What's your name, sweetheart?"
She just rolled her eyes and walked away.
"Girls love me," Charlie declared.
Corrado took a bite of his slice. Girls most certainly did not love Charlie. He was gangly, his head too big for his body, his teeth too big for his mouth. He had dirty blond hair, hazel eyes, and skin that constantly seemed to be burned.
Distracted, Charlie slipped away from the table, hauling pizza with him as he chased after the waitress. Corrado stuffed himself with half a pie before heading out through the arcade, strolling straight to the Duck Hunt game. It seemed like a lifetime ago that he'd watched his father earn a perfect score, and Corrado was determined to match it someday.
Popping a dime into the slot, Corrado grabbed the gun and aimed. He pulled the trigger as ducks flew past, hitting about half, the other half going unscathed.
When the game ended, he put in another dime.
And another.
And another.
And another.
He played over and over,
"Whoop!" he said, splitting it right down the middle and handing Corrado half. "This is yours."
Corrado grasped the stack of twenties in his hand. "How often do you see him?"
"Every Friday."
Four hundred dollars a month... a hell of a lot of money for a kid.
Family dinner was the last thing on Corrado's mind after that. He arrived home well after dark, well past dinnertime, on his brand new bright red Schwinn Stingray. He hopped off the bike in the front yard, leaving it there, and bounded up onto the porch. Before he even made it to the door, it swung open, his mother appearing. "Where the hell have you been?"
"With friends."
"He's lying," Katrina said, stepping around their mother and onto the porch. "He has no friends."
"I do, too!"
Katrina crossed her arms over her chest. "Name one."
"Michael Antonelli."
Instantly, Katrina paled.
"Antonelli?" Erika asked, raising her eyebrows. "You've been with Frankie's kid?"
"Yes."
" Mikey's a fool," Katrina declared. "Why would you ever hang out with him?"
"Now, now," Erika said, grasping her daughter's shoulder. "Michael comes from a good bloodline."
Katrina rolled her eyes. "I can't tell."
"Hush up, girl," Erika said. "His family's connected. You'd do well to befriend him."
Katrina cringed.
Corrado stood there, unsure of what else to say. He wanted to go inside, but he didn't dare move. His mother didn't appear angry anymore, but that could change as quickly as the flip of a light switch.
"Where'd you get that bike?" she asked.
"I stole it."
The words flowed from his lips so naturally. He hadn't intended to lie. What was the point? But it certainly sounded better than the truth.
What was the truth? He wasn't sure. He'd been paid for being a Moretti. Was that normal?
"Take it back," she said, waving her hand as she headed back inside. "Now."
"Yes, ma'am."
He had no intention of returning the bike. He had bought it, earned it fair and square, and no one would take what belonged to him.
The next few weeks found Corrado sinking deeper and deeper into a life he still knew little about. Just as Charlie had predicted, Corrado's last name alone propelled the Fillmore Crew to notorious heights in the streets. Mr. Barzetti wasn't the only one calling now… whenever anyone needed a petty job done, they went straight to them.
Michael and Shawn still did the brunt of the work for chump change while Charlie and Corrado collected the big bills. Every week the money increased, from $200 to $300, from $300 to $400.
Corrado never breathed a word of it to his father, despite their request every week to pass along their regards. How could he? He hadn't seen him. Vito hadn't been back since dropping them off.
"Here you go, boys," a young waitress said, sliding a steaming hot pizza onto the table in front of Corrado. "Enjoy."
"Thanks," Charlie said, shooting her a wink as he grabbed a slice. "What's your name, sweetheart?"
She just rolled her eyes and walked away.
"Girls love me," Charlie declared.
Corrado took a bite of his slice. Girls most certainly did not love Charlie. He was gangly, his head too big for his body, his teeth too big for his mouth. He had dirty blond hair, hazel eyes, and skin that constantly seemed to be burned.
Distracted, Charlie slipped away from the table, hauling pizza with him as he chased after the waitress. Corrado stuffed himself with half a pie before heading out through the arcade, strolling straight to the Duck Hunt game. It seemed like a lifetime ago that he'd watched his father earn a perfect score, and Corrado was determined to match it someday.
Popping a dime into the slot, Corrado grabbed the gun and aimed. He pulled the trigger as ducks flew past, hitting about half, the other half going unscathed.
When the game ended, he put in another dime.
And another.
And another.
And another.
He played over and over,
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