Chapter 7: My Name

I stood in the middle of the Falzone dining room and waited for my father to look at me.

He lifted his wine glass and looked at the candles.

So I said it to the room.

"My name is Giulia Brandolini."

Nobody at the table made a sound.

"I was born in the house that built the cup on that mantel. For eight years I kept the books of this family, and not one of you ever asked why."

"Sit down, Giulia," my father said, without turning his head.

"No, Papa."

It was the first time I had said that to him since I was nineteen.

Renato's chair scraped back.

"Security," he said.

At the far end of the long room, three old men stood up from the Brandolini table.

They were Papa's oldest capos, grey and heavy in tuxedos that did not fit, and they had sat through my whole marriage without a word to me.

One of them set down his napkin and buttoned his jacket.

"Miss Brandolini," he said. "My car is downstairs."

"Sit," my father told him.

"No, Don Emilio," the old man said. "Not tonight."

The three of them walked down the length of the table to me.

Declan's men closed in behind us in a square, and we went out through the double doors with Renato shouting at our backs.

I did not look at my father.

I knew what his face would be doing, and I did not want to see it.

The hotel suite was on the twenty-second floor, and Declan's men took the rooms on either side and the stairwell.

He locked the door behind us.

I stood at the window with the whole lit city under my hands and my ears ringing.

"Say something," I said.

"You stood up to your father."

"I did."

"You said your name in that room and three men followed you out," Declan said.

He was behind me, not touching, with his jacket already off.

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