Chapter 10: The Warehouse

The Brandolini warehouse on Calumet had been rebuilt in brick after the fire, and the plaque by the loading door was still there.

I stopped in front of it at ten that night with Declan beside me and the engine of his car ticking in the dark.

In memory of the night watchman, it said.

Forty-one years of service.

"I rode a pony on this lot when I was six," I said. "He held the rope. He taught me to canter on the gravel behind the office."

Declan said nothing.

"The week of my wedding, someone set this building on fire," I said. "My father said it was Renato's old rivals. I never believed that."

"No."

"I always knew it was somebody in Boston."

"Giulia."

"Was it you?"

He turned his face to me in the light from the loading dock.

I watched his answer arrive before he spoke it.

"Yes," he said.

I hit him.

I put everything into it, an open hand across his face, and the sound went off the brick wall.

He did not lift his hands.

"Say it again."

"I lit it. I paid the men and I gave the order." His jaw was already reddening. "I wanted your father to cancel the wedding."

"A man died."

"I thought the building was empty."

"A man who taught me to ride died on this lot!"

I hit him again, and this time he caught my wrist and held it gently.

"I'm not going to say it didn't happen," he said.

"I meant to burn the wall and the stock. I didn't mean him."

"Why?"

"Because I'd asked your father for you, and he said no."

The cold went straight through my coat.

"And he gave me to Renato anyway, in a white dress."

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