Chapter 5

He was just about to lead a handful of the Family's newer soldiers through the clinic on his rounds.

I planted myself in front of him.

He must have caught something wrong in my face, because he waved the others off, telling them to go on ahead.

I stared straight at him. "My father is dead. Do you know that?"

He let out a slow breath, and there was actually a note of exasperation in it.

"This is the Family's clinic. Men die here. That's normal, isn't it?"

"Adriana, after all this time you still haven't come to terms with it? If I hadn't put our own physician on him, your father would have gone under long ago anyway."

"The way you're talking now, it's like I made some mistake keeping him breathing?"

"He died and you turn around and blame me? Ask yourself, honestly, isn't that ridiculous?"

His questions left me with nothing to say. One hand drifted to his lapel and smoothed it slow, the way it always did when the words came out too clean.

Forget it. When I really thought about it, there was no point wasting another word on him.

I turned and walked away.

My mother and I handled my father's funeral together.

But back in the old country there was a tradition. A man should be laid to rest in the village of his birth.

So I decided the two of us would take him home.

The day we left, the rain came down hard.

From beginning to end, Lorenzo never showed his face.

Word around the household was that Gloria Ricci had twisted her ankle a few days earlier at some celebration.

Lorenzo was busy at the clinic tending to her, too occupied to spare a thought for anything else.

My mother got up before dawn to make breakfast, the way she always did.

Before, she would never touch a bite until Lorenzo had eaten first. Today I pulled her down into a chair and made her eat with me.

She wiped her rough, calloused hands on her apron out of old habit, then sighed. But she didn't refuse.

Instead she tried to comfort me. "Lorenzo's a man with standing in the Family. It's normal for him to be busy. Adriana, married life has its ups and downs, its quarrels, that's normal too. Try to be a little more understanding."

"Now that your dad's gone, I have to take him home. From now on you look after yourself."

"If anything ever hurts you, come home and tell me. I'll make you the sticky rice cakes you love best."

I thought back to the times my mother made those cakes, how my father and I used to stand by the stove and split them the moment they came out of the pot.

He'd worked the land his whole life, his hands thick with callus, so heat never bothered him. The first piece he picked up always went to me.

I nodded, telling her not to worry about a thing.

She turned to go gather her own belongings.

There wasn't much. Just a few shirts and trousers washed pale from years of wear.

They didn't even fill half the woven bag she'd folded so neatly beforehand.

She looked once more around the household she'd kept so tidy for the Falcone name. "I'm off, sweetheart. Don't see me out."

"Lorenzo's had a long day. When he gets in tonight, warm up the food in the icebox for him. I've already got it all made."

I gripped my mother's aged, cold hands tight, a bitter ache surging up from somewhere deep inside, and said softly, "Mom, wait. Just wait for me a little while, that's all."

Then I turned and went upstairs.

I set the papers I'd already drawn up on Lorenzo's desk in his study. The ones that would sever the arrangement for good.

I gave up every asset that carried my name, of my own accord. I just couldn't be bothered to waste another word arguing with him.

After that I went back to the bedroom.

My luggage was already there, packed and waiting.

I wheeled the suitcase downstairs.

My mother's face filled with confusion when she saw it.

I walked over to her. "Mom, I'm coming home with you."

She looked at my luggage and asked, "A day or two is all it takes. You don't need to bring so much."

"I know how busy the two of you are. I can manage on my own."

"Your dad would understand."

I shook my head, the same answer as before. "It's fine, Mom. I'll go back with you."

When we reached the door she sighed all the same. Her hands, for once, went still at her sides.

"I know Lorenzo carries weight in the Family, that they can't do without him. But by rights, with your father gone, he should have shown his face."

"If he could have come to help carry the coffin, your dad could have rested easy."

I locked the door, then slipped the key under the mat.

I had no intention of ever crossing that threshold again.

I linked my arm through my mother's and said quietly, "Whether he shows his face doesn't matter anymore."

"Mom, from now on he doesn't even have the right to come back home with me."