Chapter 21: Eat It, Uncle

Dario looked at the plate and did not sit.

"This is a childish game," he said. "Take it away."

"It's your cake," I said. "You carried it in."

"I'm not hungry."

"You were hungry in the cellar. You ate two cannoli while you told me where you buried her."

The table went still.

Dario's mouth tightened.

"That's a story the Don's wife tells."

"Then eat the slice, and I'll apologize to you in front of everyone."

He did not move.

"Uncle, a minute ago you said the Don eats first."

"Tonight you want to be second, and you can't say why."

"I have a weak stomach."

"You had a cannoli at the parish hall."

Someone at the table coughed.

I turned toward the wife of Dario's son, who had not looked up from her plate since we sat down.

"Who baked this cake?" I asked her.

She went white.

"Mara," Dario said. "Leave her out of it."

"You told me to pour the wine once," I said to her, gently. "In this room. You called me a stand-in."

"I know," she whispered.

"I'm not asking for an apology. I'm asking where the cake came from."

Her fingers twisted in the tablecloth.

She looked at her father-in-law, and then at the seven grey men.

Last she looked at Allegra's mother, who was watching her with a stony face.

"He sent me to the harbor yesterday," she said.

"A man in a white coat handed me a little bottle. I was to put it in the frosting this morning."

"Dario said it was only medicine."

"Be quiet," said Dario.

"He said the Don had a heart condition and it would help him relax."

"Be quiet!"

Her husband, who had been standing behind her chair, put his hand on her shoulder.

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