Chapter 6: Peace Dinner

The peace dinner had thirty-two chairs, and every chair was filled.

Gattuso capos sat on one side of the long table in dark suits.

Four Varenna men sat on the other, with their hands where everyone could see them.

My father sat at the head with Mom at his right.

I sat at his left, and Rocco sat beside me with one hand resting on the tablecloth very close to mine.

"Remember," he'd murmured on the stairs. "Eat nothing unless I've seen it made."

"I'm not that stupid."

"I never said you were stupid."

Fiora had asked to serve the first course.

She said it with her eyes lowered, in a white dress with a high collar, her ankle suddenly much better.

"It's the least I can do," she told the table. "After everything I've put the family through this week."

A few of the capos made sympathetic noises.

One of them patted her hand.

She went around with a silver tureen and a ladle, bowl after bowl, wedding soup with little meatballs and greens.

She served the capos first.

She served the Varenna men second, and she smiled at each one.

Then she came to me.

She set my bowl down so gently that the soup didn't tremble.

"Chef's recipe," she whispered. "I stirred it myself."

I didn't pick up my spoon.

Thirty-one people were eating, and the room filled with the clink of silver and the low drone of men talking business.

I took the chem pen from the inside of my jacket.

The talking went on.

Then I held the pen over my bowl and dipped the tip.

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