Chapter 14: Sunday Supper

Aldo Corvino lived in a big pale house in Summerlin, with a table in the dining room that sat thirty.

Twenty-six people were already seated when we walked in.

Aunts, cousins, old men with thick wrists, and children eating bread under the table.

Every head turned to look at my uniform.

I had not changed.

I had told Dario I would not change, and he had said nothing and held the door.

"There she is," said Aldo.

He rose from the head of the table with both hands out.

He was sixty-one, with heavy shoulders and white hair combed straight back, and a gold ring that clicked on the chair as he stood.

His voice was warm and soft.

"Callie. Sit by me, please. You must be starving."

I sat.

Dario took the chair across from me, and Rocco sat at his father's right hand, grinning, with a cut on his lip from the guards.

I looked at Rocco until he stopped.

Aldo served me himself.

He put a spoon of pasta on my plate and then another, with great care.

"You've made my nephew very happy," he said. "I haven't seen him look alive since his father died."

"Thank you," I said.

"Eat."

I ate, because the baby wanted it, and because I was not going to let him see me refuse.

Down the table a woman asked when I was due.

"In five months," I said.

"A boy?"

"I don't know yet."

"It will be a boy," Aldo said, and tapped his ring on the wood. "The Corvinos always have boys. You'll want to be near the family when he comes."

The talk around us dropped.

Everybody had noticed the change in his voice.

"I'd like to talk about that," Aldo said. "Between family. Rocco was foolish. He's apologized to me. Boys are hot-headed."

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