Chapter 13: No Trigger

Gemma stood up, and her chair scraped the floor.

Eleven men turned to look at her.

"No," she said.

Vittorio lowered his spoon.

"I'm sorry, my dear?"

"I won't do it, Don Vittorio. I won't put a gun to anyone's head so this table can watch."

Rosanna sobbed once, out of relief, and Gemma ignored her.

"Then you're weak," Vittorio said, pleasantly. "I did say so."

"Your son's men locked me out on a terrace on my wedding night," Gemma said.

"In my dress, in November, while he watched from behind the glass."

Raffaele's jaw tightened, but he did not look away from her.

"I knocked for an hour," she went on. "My hands went white. I know what it is to be put out in the cold for someone else's pleasure."

"I won't do that to a woman, even that one."

The man at the far end of the table coughed into his napkin.

"I'll see Rosanna answer," Gemma said. "I'll see her answer in front of you, with every lie laid out. But I will not be your executioner."

"Executioners are useful," said Vittorio.

"Useful people get thrown away."

It was out before she could stop it.

The smile on his face did not move, but one of his rings clicked against the tureen.

"Sit down, Gemma," Raffaele said quietly.

She sat.

Under the cloth, his hand closed around hers and held on.

"The sentence stands," Vittorio said. "Saturday. If my daughter-in-law won't do it, my son will."

"No," said Raffaele.

"Then someone will. Take them back to Hanover Street, and keep a man on every door."

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