Chapter 23: The Vote

Cassio's cook had made enough food for twenty, and there were five of us.

My mother sat at his right hand in her good gray dress.

She kept looking down the long dining room and counting the empty chairs.

Fabio sat across from her, eating bread.

Carlo sat at the far end with a black eye and an untouched glass of wine.

"This is a lot of lamb," Carlo said.

"There are a lot of Lanzettas," my mother said.

"There are four of us."

"Plus Cassio. Eat, Carlo."

He ate.

Cassio watched him for a moment with a very straight face.

"Your oldest son stood in front of eleven trucks last week," he said to my mother. "I'd like to feed him until Christmas."

"He tore up a lease," Fabio said. "And stole a tug."

"Borrowed," Carlo said.

"Stole."

"The foreman has a spare key."

My mother pressed her napkin to her mouth, and I saw her shoulders shake.

I hadn't heard her laugh in a very long time.

I put my fork down so no one would see my hand shake.

When the plates were cleared, Cassio stood.

He didn't tap a glass or clear his throat.

He just stood at the head of the table with his hand resting against his side, and the room quieted.

"Before the cook brings dessert," he said, "I have a question for the family."

Carlo stopped chewing.

"I took five years of your votes," Cassio said. "I want to hear one that isn't for sale."

He put a plain white envelope on the cloth beside my plate.

I looked at it.

My mother looked at it.

Fabio said, very quietly, "Oh, no."

"Open it," Cassio said.

"If that's money, I'm leaving."

"It isn't."

I slid a finger under the flap.

A ring dropped out into my palm, a narrow gold band with a small dark stone.

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