“Let's go outside,” the one I assume is Cormac replies. “I'll show you all the respect I can, right in the teeth.”
“There will be no fighting tonight,” says a soft female voice. A redheaded woman pushes past Finch to stand in front of him, and for a moment I'm shocked, because I think it's his sister, Maggie Donovan. But when she turns to look around the gathering men, she's younger than Maggie. It must be one of the other sisters. I met them all at the wedding, but the three looked so similar I found it difficult to tell them apart: pale skin, freckles, bright red hair. Each of them had the same deep blue eyes, the same lilting voices.
“What's a wake without a fight?” Gus booms.
“We do things a little different in America, Uncle Gus,” she tells him. “And these men should know better than to speak that way to my brother.” She glares at them.
“Who the hell invited the Italian fairies in the first place?” Cormac demands.
“I did,” the woman says. “They aremyguests, and they’ll be treated with respect and as part of the family, because that’s what they are.”
The whole room is quiet now, listening. Waiting. From overhead, up on the balcony that looks into the green room, another voice floats down. “Oh, but they’renotfamily, Tara, and you shouldn't have invited them. You disrespected me when you did.”
We all look up, and this time there’s no mistaking Maggie Donovan as she stands up on the balcony glaring down at us. The black silk shift she wears only emphasizes her coloring, her skin paler than ever, her hair like a scarlet cape curling around her shoulders.
This time I really do take my gun out. My men have circled the wagons, and the Irish step away from us, so there's a little group of us Italians standing there like cornered animals.
To be fair,thiswas much more the reception I expected.
“But they’re here now,” Maggie continues slowly, mockingly. “And I suppose what the half-breed says is true. Hewasraised with us. So I'll allow him to pay his respects to our father. The rest of you thugs, though, can get out. I won't have my father's memory sullied by criminals.”
“Your father was a business associate,” I call back. “I'm here to pay my respects on behalf of the Morelli Family, and these men are as well.”
“I'm surprised to seeyouhere, D’Amato,” she says with a sniff. “Aren't you supposed to be in Chicago?” She raises one whip-shaped eyebrow, a smirk twisting her mouth.
She shouldn't know about that meeting. I guess she still has her connections to Fuscone and New York.
“This seemed more important,” I reply with a shrug.
“They’re my guests,” Tara says stubbornly. “You're not the only one who gets a say here,Margaret.”
If Maggie hates Finch, she doesn't think much more of her sister, either, judging by the look she sends.
“No fighting,” the elder Donovan sister says at last, sounding bored. “And those weapons get lodged in the games room with all the others.”
Tara sends me a quick smile and a nod of encouragement, and the atmosphere chills ever so slightly.
“Thank you, Maggie,” I say politely.
“But don't stay long, will you?” she replies. “No one likes a guest who overstays their welcome.” She whirls around, hair sweeping out dramatically, and stalks off. I’ll give her this: the woman knows how to make an exit.
Around us, the crowd begin to murmur again, and within moments we’re forgotten. Tara takes Finch’s hand and gives him a genuine smile. “It’s so good to see you, Howie,” she says. “Despite the circumstances. I’m so sorry about Maggie. You know how she is. Anyway, you come with me. Luca—” She looks to me, and it’s almost strange to hear my name come out of her mouth. “You and your, uh, friends, should go put your coats and stuff in the games room. Uncle Gus, will you show them the way?”
“Anything for you, love,” Gus says. He looks Frank up and down. “Pity about the no fighting rule. Woulda loved to have a workout with you, big fella. Alrighty then, come wi’ me.”
He takes a few steps, but my men stay right where they are, looking at me. I hand my gun over to Marco. “Go on,” I say. “I’ll stick with Finch and Tara. You too, Angelo,” I add, but as he gives me a look, I relent. “Alright. With me, but hand the weapon over first.”
Angelo is just as deadly without a gun as he iswithone. He just prefers to keep his hands clean when he kills. He surrenders his firearm to Gus, and Finch, Angelo and I follow Tara through the house.
Finch has been very quiet since Maggie’s appearance. The last time he saw her, she was trying to kill him.
“Okay?” I ask, giving his hand a squeeze.
“Sure.”
It’s not very convincing.
Wherever Tara is taking us, the mood changes as we go. People are quieter at this end of the house, more somber, less drunk. There are older people, and occasionally Tara will stop and introduce Auntie Dearna or Cousin Eileen, who all hug Finch and tell him how sorry they are, and what a wonderful man his father was.
