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  She was about their age, her long brown hair sloppily braided down her shoulder, like she’d done it herself in the dark. Wispy pieces stuck up everywhere. She wore a pair of cut off jean shorts, an oversized Chicago Cubs shirt tucked in the front of them. She smiled as she met Corrado’s eyes, revealing a set of clunky metal braces. "Hi! I'm Celia Marie."

  "Celia Marie?" Katrina asked, still wading in the water. "What kind of name is that?"

  Celia shrugged. "The kind my parents gave me."

  "Well, it's a stupid name," Katrina said. "I'm glad my parents didn't name me that."

  Celia seemed taken aback by the response, but it wasn't anything out of the ordinary. Katrina never had a nice thing to say about anything.

  "Well, what's your name?"

  "Katrina Sophia," she replied. "Just like Sophia Loren. She's the best actress ever. I was named after her."

  Lies. She'd been named after their grandmother.

  "I don't like her that much," Celia said, crossing her arms over her chest in defiance. "I like Faye Dunaway better."

  "You would," Katrina snapped, eyes narrowing as she turned her gaze toward the girl. "Faye Dunaway's stupid and stupid people like her!"

  "Takes one to know one," Celia retorted, not backing down. "Stupid."

  Katrina gaped at the girl, stunned someone would talk back to her. It took everything in Corrado not to laugh at his sister’s expression.

  "You… you… you… I hate you!" Katrina trudged up the bank of the creek and stormed past them, heading for the house, her shoes caked with thick mud. "I hope you get eaten by monsters and die!"

  "Ditto!" Celia shouted after her.

  Once Katrina was gone, Celia turned to Corrado cautiously. "Is she always like that?"

  He nodded.

  A boy approached them then, younger, less sure about Corrado's presence as he weaved through the brush. His expression was guarded, suspicious, when he appeared from behind a tree.

  "This is my little brother, Vincent," Celia said, motioning toward him.

  "I'm not that little," Vincent grumbled.

  "You're littler than me! You're only eight, but I'm almost eleven."

  Celia grabbed a hold of a tree and pulled herself up into it. She sat on a thick branch, swinging her stick-thin legs, not a trace of polish on her dirty toes.

  She was unlike any girl Corrado had ever seen before. Girls wore dresses and painted their fingernails. Girls didn't climb trees and know about baseball… even if she did like a terrible team like the Cubs.

  Vincent tried to climb the tree with his sister, too short to reach the branch. Celia jumped back down to help him, and Corrado took their distraction as a chance to slip away. He headed back toward the house and found Katrina alone on the back porch.

  Corrado sat down beside her.

  "I don't like that girl," Katrina declared.

  Corrado said nothing, but a small smile tugged at his lips. Katrina may not like her, but Corrado had to admit he kind of did.

  "Do you kids want some ice cream?"

  Katrina and the DeMarco kids nodded excitedly. Mrs. DeMarco laughed at their eagerness and got up from the table, disappearing into the kitchen.

  Corrado continued to pick at the food on his plate. Even though he hadn't eaten since leaving Las Vegas, he couldn't force anything down. It was too foreign to him in this old house. It was strange, being with these people who weren't yelling, who didn't throw anything. It was like those television families. They even prayed before they ate.

  "You're quiet."

  Celia's voice dropped low as she whispered across the table. Corrado knew it was directed at him, but he didn't bother saying anything.

  It wasn't as if she'd asked a question, anyway.

  "He's an idiot," Katrina said. "So it's better he doesn't talk. He'll just bore you to death."

  Katrina closed her eyes and threw her head back, dramatically snoring, pretending to be asleep.

  "That's not nice," Celia said. "He's your brother. You shouldn't talk about him like that."

  "Would you rather me talk about your brother?"

  Celia tensed. "You leave my brother alone."

  "Or what?"

  "Or… I'll smack you silly!"

  Mrs. DeMarco stepped into the room, gaping at her daughter. "Celia Marie! How dare you speak to our company that way!"

  "But Mom, she—"

  "No buts! It doesn't matter what she did. We don't threaten guests. No ice cream for you!"

  "She started it!" Vincent blurted out in defense of his sister. "She was mean first!"

  Mrs. DeMarco glared at him. "Did you not hear me, young man? I said it didn't matter! None for you, either. You kids are a serious disappointment."

  Vincent gasped at his mother's words, his face contorting as he began to cry. Mrs. DeMarco ignored him and dished out some ice cream for Katrina, who smiled to herself as she devoured it.

  "Corrado, would you like some?"

  He shook his head as Katrina interjected. "He doesn't like ice cream or anything good, really. He won't even eat chocolate."

  "Is that right?" Mrs. DeMarco glanced between them. "Why?"

  Katrina laughed. "I already said why. He's an idiot."

  Mrs. DeMarco looked at her with surprise when she insulted him, but shrugged, not bothering to scold Katrina. She retook her seat, the table remaining silent except for the soft cries from young Vincent. It was like she didn't care her children were upset, or that they'd been wronged.

  Corrado turned back to his plate of food.

  Maybe it wasn't so foreign, after all.

  For days, Corrado crept around the DeMarco house, staying out of the way and keeping to himself, as his sister tailored herself to the surroundings. Katrina followed Mrs. DeMarco around all day long, constantly offering to help, hanging on to the woman's every word. Nearly everything out of Katrina's mouth was laced with politeness as she batted her eyelashes, soaking up the attention.

  Corrado watched, more and more sure as time passed: Katrina was plotting something.

  He didn't know her end game, what she hoped to accomplish, but he knew his sister. He had been on the receiving end of her schemes more than once, and he still bore faint scars from some of them. Whatever brewed in that head of hers would be ugly, and Corrado suspected, this time, it wasn't him she conspired against.

  It was the girl. Celia.

  The DeMarco kids spent all day outside, from sun up to sun down. The only time Corrado encountered them was at meals, and he noticed it then, the looks his sister shot across the table at Celia.

  She had meant it—she didn't like her.

  Corrado lingered in the doorway to the kitchen one afternoon, watching as his sister stood on a stool, helping Mrs. DeMarco put away dishes. Katrina rattled on and on as they worked, telling the woman stories of things her and their mother used to do together, talking about Erika like she was the greatest woman to exist.

  "You must miss her," Mrs. DeMarco commented.

  "I do," Katrina said, her voice laced with genuine sadness.

  "I'm sure she misses you, too."

  "Of course she does."

  Again, her words were sincere. She truly believed it.

  Katrina grabbed the last glass and put it away before jumping down from the stool. "You know, my mom has people to do this kind of stuff for her."

  "You mean a maid?"

  "No."

  Mrs. DeMarco leaned against the counter and crossed her arms as she gazed at Katrina peculiarly. "Huh."

  "What?"

  "I didn't think your father was like that."

  "Like what?"

  "The kind to have those kind of people in his house."

  Katrina's eyes widened with alarm. "Is that wrong?"

  "Depends."

  "On what?"

  Mrs. DeMarco shook her head. "It's nothing for a little girl to concern herself with."

  "But—"

  Mrs. DeMarco smiled tersely, cutting her off. "How about we ba
ke a cake?"

  Katrina stared at her for a moment before shaking her head. "No, I think I'll go outside and play instead."

  "Great."

  Corrado moved out of the way as Katrina strode past, heading straight for the back door. His eyes followed her, something about the expression on her face urging him to shadow her. Quietly, he stepped out back, squinting from the sunshine as he followed his sister toward the creek. The DeMarco kids were sitting beneath some trees, forming a makeshift track for Vincent's toy cars. Corrado loitered a few feet away, leaning against a tree trunk and watching as Celia dug in the dirt with her bare hands, pulling up grass and tossing twigs aside. Smudges of dirt covered her flushed cheeks, her hair falling out of a ponytail as sweat beaded along her forehead.

  Katrina walked right past them without speaking and sat down on the bank of the creek. She grabbed some rocks from around her and tossed them in the water, the plop echoing out. Celia glanced behind her, eyes narrowed suspiciously as she studied Katrina, but she shrugged off her presence.

  She dug a bit more, extending the track so it weaved around a small tree in the shape of a cloud.

  "There," Celia said, climbing to her feet. She brushed the loose dirt from her knees. "All done."

  Excited, Vincent dumped out his bucket of cars and lined them up on the track. Celia turned then, and Corrado felt her gaze. His eyes shifted from Vincent to Celia, seeing the smile on her lips.

  "Hi," she said.

  Hello. The word was on the tip of his tongue when his sister shifted position in his peripheral. Before he could react, the loud whack sounded. Celia cringed, stumbling a few steps as she reached behind her to grab her back.

  "Ow!" she hollered, spinning around. Corrado looked over at Katrina, seeing the rock in her hand. Without even hesitating, she launched it at the girl, smacking Celia in the chest with it. Celia cried out, hardly having time to defend herself before Katrina grabbed another.

  "Hey!" Vincent shouted, jumping to his feet. "Stop that!"

  Katrina glared at him defiantly as she launched a third rock at Celia. This one struck her arm as she held her hands up to block herself.

  "I said stop it!" Vincent yelled.

  "Make me," Katrina sneered, throwing another, hitting Celia right in the knee, the blow making her stumble.

  Determination marred Vincent's young face. Growling, the boy picked up one of the rocks.

  "Don't do it, Vincent!" Celia hollered, but it was too late. Vincent launched it straight at Katrina with all his might, the rock hitting her in the face.

  Gasping, Katrina clutched her cheek as tears sprung to her eyes. Scampering to her feet, she let out a strangled sob. "I'm telling!"

  Katrina sprinted off through the trees, back toward the house, knocking into Corrado as she ran. He let out a frustrated sigh, closing his eyes. Vito's lectures about not being a rat never seemed to sink into Katrina's head.

  "You shouldn't have done that, Vincent," Celia said.

  "She was hurting you!"

  "I'm fine," Celia said. "You're going to get in trouble, though."

  "So?" Vincent said. "I don't care. She's mean, and she shouldn't hurt you!"

  Corrado opened his eyes, sparing them a glance, before following his sister to diffuse the situation. He scarcely made it out of the trees when Mrs. DeMarco's shrill voice rang out through the yard. "Vincenzo Roman!"

  Corrado's footsteps slowed, coming to a halt when the woman stormed out the back door, clutching a belt. Katrina stepped out behind her, still holding her cheek.

  His stomach sunk. He knew from experience what would happen next.

  Vincent didn't cry. His body was rigid, his shoulders squared as he marched through the back yard to face punishment. Celia ambled behind him, a troubled look on her face. Her breath painfully caught, a tear streaming down her cheek, when Mrs. DeMarco grabbed Vincent and raised the belt to strike him.

  It happened so fast, yet in utter slow motion, as Corrado opened his mouth, his commanding voice echoing through the yard. "You shouldn't hit him."

  All eyes shifted directly to him. Mrs. DeMarco hesitated. "Excuse me?"

  "People should never be punished for protecting family," he said, reciting words his father had once told him. "No matter what."

  Mrs. DeMarco stared at him, mouth agape. An eternity of strained silence passed before slowly, carefully, the woman lowered the belt and let go of Vincent. Mrs. DeMarco stood there, still staring at Corrado for a moment, before she pulled herself together. Her eyes surveyed the kids as she cleared her throat. "You all should learn to get along."

  Katrina gasped. "But—"

  "You heard me," Mrs. DeMarco said, silencing her as she headed back inside. Katrina shot Corrado a furious look before following the woman.

  Stunned, Vincent plopped down in the yard, staring straight ahead, as if the last few minutes had robbed him of every last drop of energy. Corrado's gaze met a pair of watery brown eyes, regarding him curiously. Corrado couldn't quite get a read on Celia. Happy? Sad? Mad?

  He smiled to ease the tension. "Hello."

  Celia's eyes widened as she parted her lips, as if to respond, but all that met Corrado's ears was captivating, exhilarated laughter.

  "Why don't you talk?"

  Corrado stood in the shade of the tree, his hands in his pockets as he watched Vincent push his cars around the dirt track. He said nothing before his gaze shifted up to Celia. She sat on a branch in the tree above him, her feet level with his head. "I can talk."

  "Well, obviously you can, but you don't do a lot of it."

  "I don't have a lot to say."

  "Your sister never shuts up."

  Corrado let out a laugh at that.

  Celia's expression brightened at the sound. "You laugh, too?"

  "When something's funny."

  "And you think your sister running her mouth is funny?"

  "No, but you talking about it is."

  Corrado turned his attention back to Vincent when the boy growled, making engine noises as he rammed his cars together, oblivious to anything outside of them. Strange, for someone who had nearly got beaten not long ago. He recovered quickly, trudging back out to the creek and picking up where he had left off. Celia had followed her brother, and curious, Corrado trailed right along.

  "Why did you help my brother?"

  The question caught Corrado off guard. "I said why."

  "You said he shouldn’t be punished for protecting family."

  He nodded.

  "Why?"

  Corrado looked back at the girl. "You ask a lot of questions."

  "Does that bother you?"

  "Yes."

  She jumped down from the tree and skidded as her foot slid on some leaves. Instinctively, Corrado grabbed her before she hit the ground, keeping her upright. She gaped at him as he clutched her arm but recovered from the shock. "Why does it bother you?"

  Shrugging, he let go of her. "It just does."

  "Well, I like asking questions." She took a step back from him as her hand grasped her arm where he had touched her. Had he hurt her? "How else will I know things?"

  "Do you always have to know things?"

  A smile lit up her face. "Was that a question?"

  He stared at her without responding. It felt as if she had tricked him some way. How did she do that?

  "Fine," she said, looking away from him. "Mom wouldn't listen to me if I spoke up, but she listened to you, so thank you for that."

  "You should thank your brother," Corrado said when Celia plopped down on the ground and grabbed a toy car. "He's the one who protected you."

  "How come we've never met before?"

  Corrado glanced up from his bed to the open doorway later that evening, seeing Celia lurking in the hallway. More questions.

  "It's just," she continued, stepping into the room uninvited. Corrado's hair bristled, and he shifted away as she casually sat down on the bed beside him. "I know your dad. I see Vito all the time in Chicago."

&
nbsp; "He works there."

  "He lives there, too."

  Corrado blinked a few times. "We live in Nevada."

  "So why don't you live with him?"

  "I do."

  Celia cocked her head to the side as she studied him. "You're kind of weird."

  Was she insulting him?

  Celia shifted her body, drawing her legs beneath her on the bed. "Can I ask you a question?"

  "You just did."

  A glint of amusement touched her eyes. "Can I ask another?"

  He nodded slowly.

  "Why didn't your mom come with you?"

  "She said she wouldn't be run out of her house."

  "Didn't your dad tell her it wasn't safe?"

  "Yes."

  "Isn't she scared?"

  "No."

  She blew out a deep breath. "Even Mom's scared, and she's not scared of anything. Daddy made us leave when things got bad. You know, because Sal's family died and stuff. I don't want to end up like them."

  Corrado stared at her. He didn't know who Sal was, but this girl was a treasure chest of information.

  "You don't have to be scared," Corrado said, sensing genuine fear in her voice. "My dad says it's safe here."

  Celia relaxed. "I like you, Corrado."

  Those words surprised him. "I thought I was weird."

  "You are," she said. "But I still like you."

  Corrado still kept an eye on his sister, shadowing her throughout the house, but he found his attention drifting more and more outside as the weeks passed.

  Celia and Vincent played together every day, rarely arguing. He watched them, wondering how they managed it. Corrado hardly tolerated his own sister from a distance. Katrina continued spending all of her time with Mrs. DeMarco, her looks of hatred at the dinner table now rationed between them.

  A month after arriving in North Carolina, Corrado stood at the window in the living room, staring out into the back yard, when Celia grabbed an old, worn baseball glove from an outside toy box and put it on. Vincent picked up the baseball, winding his arm dramatically, before hurling the ball at his sister. Celia ducked, the glove straight in the air, as the ball whizzed past her in the yard. Silent laughter twisted her features as sunshine poured down upon her. It was a cloudless day, mild for summer, but Celia's cheeks were flushed, her long, loose hair rustling in a breeze.