Chapter 17: Make It Quiet

Alessio's POV

I drove to Kingston alone before it was light.

The Commission's black envelope lay on the seat beside me. Bring the underboss alive, it said, and I knew why they wanted him breathing.

Albany was Saturday. I had four days to say it to the people it was owed to, before I said it to the families.

The cemetery gate was open, and nobody had mowed the grass since spring.

It took me a long time to find the stones. I had never once come here.

There were three of them in a row, small and gray, with the dates cut shallow.

The one on the end was shorter than the others.

Someone had laid fresh marigolds in front of it. Beside them sat a tin toy truck, rusted at the wheels.

I knew who had put them there.

I knelt on the wet grass and my knees went through to the skin.

I had the chain in my pocket, the one with the empty setting. I took it out and held it in my fist.

"I was thirty," I said to the stones.

My voice sounded wrong out loud, and I kept going.

"I went down on the tile of your father's shop, and I thought, good, it will be quick."

I stopped and breathed.

"Tullio's men carried me out between them. I could see the street over somebody's shoulder."

"The drum was by the door. They had already poured the fuel."

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