Chapter 12: Who Paid the Rent

Our Lady of Sorrows was a small stone church on the South Side with a side chapel nobody used on weekdays.

Paola had told me to come alone.

Declan sat in the car across the street with two of his men, and he did not like it.

"Ten minutes," I told him. "If I'm not out, you can come in and ruin her afternoon."

"I'll be counting."

I pushed through the heavy door and let it close behind me.

She was kneeling in the last pew of the side chapel, in her cream cardigan, with her hands pressed to her mouth.

A candle burned in front of the statue of Mary.

Nobody else was inside.

I sat down in the pew in front of her and turned around to face her.

"You have ten minutes," I said. "Not eight weeks of apologies. Ten minutes."

Paola lowered her hands.

Her eyes were swollen and red, and for the first time since the hospital I saw something in her that was not smooth.

"I didn't plan the baby," she said.

"You planned the rest."

"Giulia."

"You sat with me at his table for two years and watched me count his money."

"You held my hand at my son's funeral."

"And all that time you were sleeping with my husband."

She flinched.

"Say it, Paola. I want to hear you say it."

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