Chapter 13: Her Mother's Handbag

My mother did not deny it.

She stood with her hand on her pearls and looked at the Don.

I watched her decide that a lie would not work here.

"It was a card," she said. "One card. She was going to ruin it for her sister."

"Who was?" the Don asked.

"Renata. She wanted school. She wanted Manhattan."

"And my son?"

"Your son was going to take her away from us."

"So you typed her a refusal."

"I typed what she should have said."

Nobody at the table breathed.

Gianluca's hand closed on the back of a chair.

I saw the knuckles go white.

"You signed my name," I said.

"Lucrezia signed it," my mother said. "She copies your loop better than you do."

Lucrezia made a sound and covered her mouth.

My father had not moved.

His right hand lay on the white cloth, close to his gold watch.

"Silvio," the Don said. "Did you know?"

"No, Don."

His fingers went to the watch and turned it a quarter turn on his wrist.

The Don looked at that hand for a long moment.

He said nothing about it.

"Bring me her bag," he said instead.

One of his men lifted my mother's black handbag from the floor beside her chair.

"That is mine," my mother said.

"You struck a guest at my table," the Don said. "Tonight nothing of yours is yours."

The man tipped the bag out onto the cloth.

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