“Game over,” she said, laughing some. “The house wins. You are going to be apapà.”
21
Alcina
The doors to the plane opened. Corrado stepped out first, giving me a hand down the stairs.
I was thankful that I had chosen to wear one of the designer dresses we had bought in Milan. It was a classic long-sleeved dress with a red rose print set against black velvet fabric. It ended above my knees, and I wore a pair of black knee-high boots with it. My hair was done in a center-part chignon, and I wore a pair of dangling cross earrings to match the dress.
I wore the dress because it had some stretch around the waist. Even though I wasn’t showing, I wanted to be comfortable. In this instance, though, I was thankful for comfort and style. The dress matched the color of Corrado’s suit. Black with a blood red tie. He said it was his grandfather’s favorite color.
It was fitting for a dark king about to return to his bloody throne.
The men who waited for Corrado all wore suits. They judged me behind dark sunglasses that they thought hid their eyes as we made our way closer. I did not need to see their eyes to feel the weight of their stares. Like his grandfather, they were all sizing me up to see if I was worth the title.
The new Don’s wife.
It had nothing to do with attraction. It seemed to have more to do with this life, how I would withstand it next to my husband.
Also like Corrado’s grandfather, it did not seem like these men were expecting me.
I lifted my chin, my eyes appraising them from behind the over-sized designer glasses I wore. I could size them up, too.
“Don Corrado,” one of the men said, stepping up.
Corrado released my hand as the man offered his and they shook. The man kissed each of his cheeks and offered condolences for the loss of his grandfather. Corrado nodded and thanked him. As we made our way to a waiting car, each man did the same.
Another man stepped out of a waiting black Cadillac, leaving the door open. He was older, perhaps around Uncle Tito’s age, with the same pure silver hair, but this man had ice-blue eyes.
He greeted Corrado by squeezing his shoulder. They both turned to look at me.
“Uncle Carmine,” Corrado said, pulling me closer to his side. “This is my wife, Alcina Capitani. Alcina, this is Uncle Carmine.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you finally,” he said, taking my hand in a gentle way. “The family will be thrilled, since we didn’t attend the wedding.”
“The pleasure is all mine,” I said.
He nodded and then released my hand. He gestured toward the waiting car. “We will talk on the way.”
The conversation was general on the way to Corrado’s grandfather’s house. We would be attending the funeral the next day, even though it was reported to be the day after. The family did not want the press coverage.
“Tito arranged the—” Uncle Carmine looked at me and then cleared his throat “—meeting with Silvio on the day the funeral is supposed to be held.”
Corrado squeezed my hand at this. I had not realized that my palms had gone cold until he did.
Uncle Carmine pulled something out of his suit pocket. A smallish box. He handed it to Corrado from across the car. Corrado opened it. It was a ring made for the little finger, with a “C” stamped into the gold.
Corrado stared at it, not removing it from the box.
“Your grandfather was going to give you that,” he said. “As you know, it was his. Something special to him.”
Uncle Carmine watched as Corrado slipped it on. Something about it satisfied the old man. He did not say the words, maybe because I was in the car, but I could hear them as if he had spoken them out loud.
“Welcome home, Don Capitani.”
It was the only official act I’d probably ever see.
Corrado took my hand, and none of us spoke again as we made our way deeper into the city that never sleeps.
