“Famiglia e lealtà,” I said, holding out my hand for his. It took him a second, but finally, he took it. “This thing of ours…that is my oath—familyand loyalty. My code. I won’t fail you or thefamiglia.”
He squeezed my hand and then let go. “This is going to be a problem with Silvio,” he said. “He is seeking justice for what happened to his son.”
We had had a talk about that the night he arrived. I told him everything I knew. It fucking pissed me off that Junior had come to the old country threatening innocent women and their families with the Capitani name to get what he wanted. My grandfather and hisfamigliawere known in Sicily, and most people were aware of the empire he’d built in America. He was respected.
What made me thirst for blood, more than anything ever had before, was the picture Anna had showed me of my wife after Junior had beat her when she told him no.
Alcina had downplayed the situation—omitting two black eyes, five stitches in one eyebrow, a busted lip, and head to toe bruises—but there was no denying that she was a smart woman. She knew if he beat her that badly once, just for saying, “I’m not ready,”he’d beat her for the rest of her life. So she chopped his balls off and then ran away, valuing her life too much to stay.
“Junior lies to us,” I said. “Silvio covers for him.”
“Your wife tells her story one way,” he said, and I could tell he was rubbing his chin, his pinky ring glinting in the light. “Junior tells it another.”
He became quiet for a while and then made a noise that told me his mind was made up. “I will talk to him. We will come to terms on this situation.” Silence settled between us once more before he cleared his throat. “The Scarpones are dead.”
Four words.
The Scarpones are dead.
I didn’t even turn to look at him.
“You didn’t involve me,” I said.
“You are in enough trouble,” he said. “Both situations are being taken care of. Once they are, you will return home to take my spot. You don’t need anything else standing in your way.”
“I should’ve been there,” I said.
“None of us were there,” he said, his voice so calm it was like he was talking about the weather. “It happened a month or two after you left for Sicily. Someone acted before we had the chance. All signs point to the Pretty Boy Prince, Vittorio Scarpone. I knew it was only a matter of a time. My hunches are rarely wrong. The Irish—Cash Kelly, Ronan Kelly’s son—helped, to a certain degree.”
“He’s a walking dead man,” I said. “Vittorio Scarpone.”
“You must really enjoy the scenery here,” he said.
That was easy to translate: the more I pushed the issue, the longer he would keep me here, even after the smoke had cleared at home.
I didn’t turn to look at him, keeping my eyes on my wife, who was talking to a man. Ezio, my sister-in-law had called him earlier, when she’d introduced us. Word going around was that he had just returned from Greece after his wife left him. Before he built up the courage to talk to my wife, he’d been watching the way the lace moved against her body when she danced. The way her hair fell down her back and swayed. The way her mouth moved but no words came out. The way her eyes brightened when she laughed.
“Corrado Palermo,” my grandfather said, barely breaking through my concentration. “Your biological father. He got a taste of powerful blood when he came close to killing Arturo Scarpone, when he was this close to slitting his throat. After, it did something to him. It clouded his judgment. He lost it all because he couldn’t see past his own arrogance. He became blinded by it. A blind man doesn’t go far in war, especially on an old battlefield, where he’s up against ghosts who died there.”
I leaned forward some, watching her eyes when she looked up into the man’s.
My grandfather made a noise in his throat. He was put off by my lack of focus, but not surprised by it. But if he thought I wouldn’t recover at some point, he would have said so. “I am proud of the man you’ve become, Corrado,” he said. “That is why I give you the gift of this woman, of clearing her debt with one of my closest men.”
“Is that my wedding gift?” It was the closest thing to a wish from a genie in our world. Whatever his children or grandchildren asked for on their wedding days, he gave it to them.
“No.” He sighed. “You still get your choice of a gift.”
“I want Junior dead. There’s no room for the both of us in this world.” I would have done it myself, but I had no idea when my exile to Italy would be over. I couldn’t risk defying my grandfather, and I refused to risk Alcina’s safety. No one could protect her like I could.
“It’s her word against his,” my grandfather said.
“She tells the truth.”
“You would put your balls on a chopping block for her word?”
“Both of them,” I said. “Even my heart.”
He became quiet for a minute or two, stroking his chin. Finally, he cleared his throat. “It will be my pleasure to bestow this gift upon you on your wedding day.”
