Chapter 15: The Tribunal

At nine o'clock that night the back room at Gallo's held thirteen chairs in a half circle and one empty seat in the middle.

It was mine.

Cesare had held my hand in the car and said nothing.

Now he stood beside the chair and didn't let go.

"You don't have to sit," he said quietly.

"Yes, I do."

I sat.

My lip had swollen overnight, and the whole table could see the mark of Bianca's ring on my cheek.

Nobody mentioned it.

Bianca sat at her father's elbow with her hair pinned up and her face gone smooth and blank.

Tommaso stood.

He was in his gray suit, and he looked sorrowful.

"Signori," he said. "It gives me no joy."

He went on in Italian, softly, for a long time.

I sat in the empty chair with Cesare's hand on my shoulder, and I listened with everything I had.

*Registrazione.* Recording.

*Polizia.* Police.

*Infame.* A word I didn't know, said twice, heavily, while every captain looked at the floor.

Then Tommaso turned to Cesare and spoke in English.

"Cesare, my friend, I'll tell you plainly what I have told them."

"Go on."

"Your wife recorded our table on the night of the toast. My daughter saw her do it."

He let it hang a moment.

"We believe she sent it to the police."

"Interesting," Cesare said.

"The captains ask only that she be sent away from the family."

"Away where?"

"To her mother's, to rest, for her own safety. It is a gentle thing. A kindness."

Sent away.

I kept my face still.

I drew Cesare down by the sleeve, as a wife would, and whispered the words I had caught.

"He said *morte*," I breathed. "In Italian, to them. Not sent away. Death."

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