Chapter 12: The Result

Nobody in that bedroom said a word after Nadia screamed.

Santo stood in the doorway with his hand on the frame.

I watched him try to hear it and refuse to.

"Ottavio," he said at last, very flat. "You're telling me Ottavio gave you a pill and took your son."

"I'm telling you to ask him."

"He's been at my side since I was nine years old."

"I know that," Nadia said, and sobbed.

"He stood in front of my father when a man pulled a knife."

"I know."

"Then why would he do this?"

"Ask him," I said quietly.

He looked at me.

It was the look he had given the dining table two years ago, searching for someone to tell him what to think.

This time he looked only at me.

He took out his phone and called Ottavio's number.

It rang eight times and went to a recording of that warm, steady voice.

"You've reached Ottavio Grasso. Leave a message and I'll call you back."

Santo hung up without leaving one.

"Check his house," he said to the men by the door. "His office, his car, his place on the lake."

He kept his voice level.

"Nobody touches anything. Nobody says a word to him."

Two of them left at a run.

Then Santo's phone rang in his hand, and the number on it was not Ottavio's.

He listened for a long time.

"Read it again," he said.

I saw his face go through three things in a row, and I could not name any of them.

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