Chapter 20: Five Photographs on the Wall

The Brookline ballroom held two hundred people, and not one of them was eating.

The long table ran down the center of the floor where our wedding cake had stood.

The Vannozzis sat on the north side, in black.

The Lupos sat on the south, with Rocco in the middle in a gray suit.

His captains were packed in on either hand.

The big gray-haired captain sat at the end, and he would not look at his boss.

Aurelio sat at the head of the table with his rosary ring and his eyes half closed.

Bianca was at his right, in her good dress, and she had put on lipstick for the occasion.

Molly stood at the back by the door, between two guards.

I sat beside my husband with his hand in mine under the tablecloth.

His ribs were taped under his shirt, and his lip had scabbed.

Nobody had touched the plates of gnocchi.

"We came here for peace," Rocco said, rising. "So let us be honest, as a gift."

He had brought a screen.

Two of his men had carried it in and set it against the wall behind him.

A projector hummed on a stand.

"Aurelio. You received a photograph yesterday," he said. "A man's hand, a ring. I sent it. I send you the rest."

The lights went down.

The first photograph came up on the wall, as tall as a door.

A woman in a black dress stood at a bar, handing a glass across.

It was me, at twenty-four.

I did not look away from it.

The second came up, the dead man smiling.

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