One of the old man’s men had an overachiever finger. He pulled the trigger, barely missing me. The sound of the blast seemed to echo in the room like a war drum.
Adriano had shot him before the bullet even made it past me. It stuck in the wall. Giuseppe turned to stare at it, shaking his head.
I set the glass down, still keeping eye contact, waiting for the moment of truce or catastrophe. I was prepared for both outcomes—if we stepped over the line of business into personal, we would all die at thistavolo.It would no longer be old school anymore.
Finally, the old man lifted his hand. I gave a subtle nod. All men lowered their weapons. Nicodemo stopped grinning.
“Business,” the old man said in Sicilian. “What do you suggest?”
“Money,” I said. “An absurd amount. For your loss, of course.”
He grinned at me, and then we made the deal.
15
Alcina
“What is that noise?” I asked.
Mammaand Anna were sitting with me on my old bed, going through old photographs, drinkingchianti, and laughing at the amount of lace and silk I’d gotten from my female cousins at my party.
Mammaand Anna glanced at each other, and then they both smiled in unison.
“Go see,mia figlia.”Mammashooed me toward the window leading out to the balcony.
I recognized the sound, amandolino, but what I did not understand was why it was coming from below, right underneath my window.
I moved the curtains back, narrowing my eyes on the street. From the soft glow of the lamps, I could see a crowd had formed. At the center of it was Corrado Alessandro Capitani, accompanied by themandolinistaplaying a soft tune on the instrument.
My eyes narrowed even further when I noticedpapàstanding on the other side of him, moving his arms like a conductor would. I could smell alcohol on the breeze, and I wondered how much they all had to drink.
Corrado cleared his throat whenpapàsqueezed his shoulder, and then he started to…sing. To me. From beneath my balcony window.
A loud laugh escaped my lips.Mammapinched me on the arm, hard enough that it felt like a wasp sting.
“Do not laugh at him,mia figlia,” she said. “He is doing this for you.”
“I am not laughingathim,” I said, rubbing the spot, but still a smile lit up my face. I imagined it was brighter than any moon, any flame, in the world. “I am laughing because my heart is happy,mamma.”
“Shh,” Anna shushed us both, closing her eyes.
The man could not sing, but still, his voice was the most beautiful thing I had ever heard. My favorite sound. I opened the windows and stepped out onto the balcony, needing to be closer. I leaned against the iron, placing my hand underneath my chin, closing my eyes, getting lost in the melody of the traditional song, “Serenata.”
I knewil mio amantewould rather take a bullet for me than to sing me this love song. He trulyloved me.
I had a suspicion then on the termpapàhad set that neither the bull nor Eraldo would agree to. Corrado had.
The traditional song merged into another. I remembered, from my time in New York, my aunt’s old records, that this song had been sung by a man with a throat made of velvet. I opened my eyes to see better, like it could help me seehimbetter. The man my heart had known forever, but was so new to my eyes.
I swayed to the melody, keeping my eyes on his, and when thecanzonecame to an end, I applauded softly. I wiped a tear from my cheek and then bowed to him, as if the dance was ending.
Come tomorrow, our dance, a permanent one, was just beginning.
16
Alcina
Ihad dreamed of wearing this dress many times.
