Chapter 23: Your Terms

"Yes, Don," Giacomo said.

He said it flat, to the far wall, as he had said it to my father for twenty years.

He turned and walked out of the dining room.

I heard the front door close behind him.

Forty-nine people at the table went on looking at their plates, and I stood up so fast my chair fell over.

"Nina," said my father.

"Not now, Papa."

"Sit down."

"I'm a Castellane," I said, "and I'll sit when I choose."

I found Giacomo on the porch.

He stood at the rail with his back to me and his hands on the wood.

"Don't," he said.

"Don't what?"

"Don't make it harder."

"I made your father a promise when you left. If I ever touched you, I'd go."

"Out of the city. Out of the family."

"You touched me."

"I touched you. I've been waiting for him to say it."

"And you'll go."

"I'll go."

His voice was steady, and his knuckles were white.

"I'll go to Chicago, or Naples, or the bottom of the harbor if he wants it. You're free, Nina. You have your name."

"You don't need a man who sat in a car for an hour and ten minutes."

"Look at me."

He turned.

His eyes were wet, and he was not hiding it.

"Those are your terms," I said. "Leave. Let me go. Don't touch me."

"They're the right ones."

"They're the same ones I made in a safehouse kitchen, and I took them back in a shower."

I walked up until my chest touched his.

"I'm making new ones."

"Nina."

"My apartment's on Carroll Street. The key is in my pocket."

"You can come with me tonight, or you can go and be noble in Naples."

"Your father..."

"Is not in my bed," I said. "You can tell him I said so."

He stared at me.

Then, very slowly, he started to smile.

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