Chapter 19: Gianni's Table

Thirty of us sat down to Sunday dinner again, and nobody touched the bread.

My father took the head of the table.

Renzo sat on his right with a swollen lip from the fountain and a cousin on each side of him, not looking at his face.

Gemma sat beside me. She had her coat folded over the chair and the brown folder flat in her lap.

Nonna Pia took the chair at the foot, and the Date Book lay closed in front of her.

"Nico," Gianni said, warmly. "You said Sunday. Before we eat."

"Before we eat."

I stood up.

The keys of the Villa were in my pocket. I took them out and laid them on the white cloth, between the salt and the butter dish.

"Here's my answer," I said. "No."

An aunt put her hand to her chest.

"I don't want the Villa on those terms," I said. "I'll build my own."

"You're making a scene," Gianni said, quietly.

"I'm making a point."

I opened the folder and laid the first page in front of my father.

"Fifty-seven months. Camilla Hayes. Four thousand two hundred dollars, from Tessaro Provisions, on the first."

"You've seen that."

"Everyone has seen that." I laid the second page next to it. "This one hasn't been seen."

It was the yellow note, in Gemma's hand.

I read it out so the room could hear.

"*Nov 9. G.T. at the Sunday dinner. Says N. will stay home and run the Villa forever if nobody lets him leave.*"

"*Nobody laughs but R.*"

Renzo shifted in his chair.

"That was a joke," my father said.

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