Chapter 22: Taylor Street

We did not eat.

Aldo let the first course go cold.

Then he opened a leather folder beside his plate and laid two papers on the cloth.

"My daughters," he said, "will sign, in front of witnesses. And then we will all be one family."

Sixty people watched in silence.

"No," Bianca said.

She said it in a clear voice, standing at my shoulder.

"I won't consent to anything of yours, Papa. I never will."

Aldo did not raise his voice.

"The doors are locked, my dear. No one leaves until it's done."

A murmur began down the right-hand side.

The heavy man pushed his chair back.

"You locked forty heads of families in your dining room?" he said.

"A short evening, for a long peace."

"Open the door, Aldo."

"After the signatures."

I looked across the table at Rocco.

He sat very still with his eyes on mine, and he moved his chin a quarter of an inch.

Not yet.

"I'll sign nothing," I said to Aldo. "But I'll tell these people why."

"Livia."

"You arranged my marriage so your blood would sit at the Brandolini table."

"Then you arranged for my husband to need a son from someone else."

"You're upset," Aldo said.

"Bianca," I said.

Bianca took a black leather book out of her bag.

I had seen it in the car, and in my lap, and in Rocco's jacket.

She laid it on the cloth, opened it, and found a page near the back.

"This is my father's ledger," Bianca said.

Her voice shook, and she did not stop.

"It's in his own hand. I'll read one line."

"Bianca," Aldo said.

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