I squeezed the paper in my hand, crumpling it into a ball, and stuck it in my pocket. I rolled my shoulders, the fabric giving too much. The suit I wore didn’t feel snug enough. “If the men in Sicily can’t find one woman, you either need to find new men or let her go on principal.”
He hesitated beside me for a minute. His eyes were hard on my face. “Junior needs to divorce her so he can remarry. We can’t find her to do it.”
I looked at him then, refusing to respond to a lie. “Let it go.”
He shook his head. “Can’t. We won’t kill her, but she’ll pay. We’re owed that. And if you go to Sicily to ease Don Emilio’s mind for a while, you can find her while you’re there. I’ll pay you with the information you want.”
“He’s been keeping things from me,” I said, turning to face the grave again.
“For your own safety. After he found out who your father—”
Chaos erupted from different sides of the cemetery. Some of the men placed around the perimeter were running toward us. Others were running toward my grandfather’s car, which waited for me with him in it.
A bullet whizzed past my head, and at the same time, the bouquet of yellow roses on top of the casket exploded in a shower of petals as it was hit over and over again.
“This way!” One of the men used his gun to point in the direction of my grandfather’s armored car. It was getting hit with bullets, but it wasn’t moving. They were waiting for me.
I had my gun out as we took cover from stone to stone. Every once in a while a bullet would make contact, sending shards flying in different directions. Silvio had been hit on the last run, and he was holding a hand to his arm, shaking his head.
“Bum motherfuckers!” he shouted to no one in particular, raising his gun and shooting in a direction where most of the shots were coming from.
The line of cars was close, and there was no use in waiting any longer. The longer we sat, the better the chance of them picking us off.
“Move,” I said.
“Are you fucking—”
“There are more of our men around,” I said. “They’ll hold ’em off long enough for us to make it to the cars.”
I stood and ran toward the waiting car with one man ahead of me, one behind, and two beside me. Gunfire was heavier the closer we came to the car, and the man to the right of me took a bullet in his right arm. He fell back, leaving me somewhat exposed. I shot in the direction, seeing a man duck behind a stone as I did. The man in front of me yanked the car door open and I ducked inside, the door slamming closed behind me.
My grandfather nodded once—the driver honked his horn twice—and then, like a carefully coordinated motorcade, the line of our cars started to leave the cemetery.
My grandfather looked out of the window, the gray light falling on his face like a dark cloud. It was hard not to see him in this place instead of Emilia. She had more life to her face in the casket than he did in this car.
I turned to look out of the opposite window, heavy droplets of water rushing down the pane with the speed we were going. The interior was as cool as the funeral home. It smelled like death—like the roses on the casket.
“Tell me about Vittorio Scarpone,” I said.
“Enough!” he shouted. It echoed inside of the car. It was the first time I’d ever heard him raise his voice. He could order a man’s life to be taken with a nod of his head. “I forbid you to go near the Scarpones. They will be taken care of. But you.” He lifted his pointer finger and then let it fall. “You will be taken to the airport. Now.”
“Or?”
“Or.” He cleared his throat. “Or nothing.” He lifted his arm, letting the jacket fall back, and looked at his watch. “Your plane leaves in an hour.”
The paper in my pocket felt like money burning a hole, and nothing would stop me from earning it. The men called me Scorpio. They would soon call me Mercenary, because the information would be mine, no matter what.
4
Alcina
The light inchiesa della Santissima Annunziatafelt amber in spirit, even though it was dreary and cold outside. I closed my eyes to it, wondering if it was a warning or something more healing. It snuck in through the black lacemantelloI wore, either accenting the morose piece, and why I was wearing it, or defying it.
I brought my rosary to my forehead, letting it dangle in front of my face. The gold from the beads seemed to ward off the dreariness and emptiness and fill me with the warmth from the sun. I hoped this time it would stay with me.
Stay with me during the uncertain times I faced. Cling to me like a shield that would protect me from the cold wind howling outside.
Mymammasat next to me on the pew and chanted a whispered prayer, “Dio…”
