Sempre: Redemption

29

The moment Corrado stepped in his house later that night, the succulent aroma of marinara assaulted his senses. He took a deep breath, inhaling it as he strolled toward the kitchen. Celia stood in front of the stove, the sleeves of her blouse rolled up to her elbows and her usually pristine hair pulled back in a sloppy bun. A blue apron was tied around her, protecting her clothes from splatter as she stirred the homemade sauce.

Corrado silently watched her, a ghost of a smile tugging his lips. She hadn’t heard him come in and continued to concentrate on her cooking, oblivious to her husband’s presence. Corrado loved these moments, when Celia was in her element and the world around her faded away. She glowed radiantly, beaming like the sun as she floated along. It was what had drawn him to her in the first place—her ability to bring light into such a devastatingly dark world.

He would miss it. There was no doubt about it. His world would soon be a much colder place.

He let out a deep sigh, not wanting to think about what would come tomorrow, and Celia jumped at the noise. Dropping her spoon, she spun around and clutched her chest. “You scared me! I didn’t know you were home.”

Corrado’s smile grew, but he said nothing as he took a few steps toward her. Carefully, he untied the apron from around her waist, and Celia eyed him skeptically as he tossed it aside. He reached up and tugged on the band securing her hair, making it fall loose. It was messy, an unruly wave cascading past her shoulders.

“What are you doing?” Celia asked as he took her hand.

“Taking you upstairs,” he said, “and getting you out of those clothes.”

She tried to dig in her heels to make him stop, but he was much stronger than her. “Corrado, hold on! I’m cooking!”

“So?”

“So my sauce might burn!”

“You can make more later.”

“But the stove is on!”

“Who cares?”

“Who cares?” she asked incredulously as he pulled her toward the stairs. “What if it catches on fire?”

“Then I’ll buy you a new stove.”

“It could burn down the whole house!”

“Then I’ll build you a new house.”

She laughed with disbelief. “It’ll burn down with us in it, Corrado.”

He glanced at her, cocking an eyebrow. “Do you really think I’d let that happen?”

Her comeback was snappy. “Do you really think you could stop it?”

Corrado was momentarily silent, still clutching her wrist as they stood near the bottom of the stairs. He pondered her question. Did he think he could stop it?

“Bellissima, I’d stop time for you. I’d give you the moon and the stars; I’d learn to defy gravity. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do, nobody I wouldn’t kill, if you asked me to. If you needed me to. Saving you from a fire would be nothing, purely instinct.”

She stared at him for three beats, not budging, before her body relaxed and she gave in. It wasn’t as if it was a hard decision for her—as much as Corrado would do for her, they both knew she would never deny him anything. Whatever he needed, come hell or high water, Celia would be there every step of the way.

Their hands linked together, Corrado took her upstairs to the bedroom. He shut the door behind them, locking out the cruel world that would tomorrow tear them apart, but today—tonight—it would just be her and him.

Hours later, Corrado descended the stairs and made his way to the dark kitchen. He turned off the stove and dumped the scorched sauce down the garbage disposal before rinsing out the pot. He scrubbed it for a minute but when it refused to come clean, he tossed the entire thing in the trashcan.

He headed back upstairs and showered, standing under the spray of hot water until it started to grow cold. He shaved then, using a thin razor blade under the bright lights of the quiet bathroom to remove the stubble along his sharp jaw. Afterward, he slicked back his thick hair before dressing in his most expensive black Brioni suit. With his Rolex affixed to his wrist and his Italian leather shoes on his feet, he wandered into the bedroom and gazed at his wife under the moonlight.

Celia snored lightly, snuggled up to his pillow. Corrado leaned down and kissed her forehead. “Sleep well, bellissima.”

He made his way back downstairs, using his cell phone to call for a car service to pick him up. It only took the town car a few minutes to arrive, and another few minutes for them to make it through the city. He tipped the driver handily when they arrived and he climbed out, waiting for it to leave before he started to move.

He strolled into Metropolitan Correctional Center shortly before three o’clock in the morning, his head held high and a swagger in his step. He may have been there to surrender himself to a bright orange jumpsuit and confinement in a rat hole, but he saw no reason why he couldn’t at least do it in style.