Chapter 11: Vincent's Fear

Vincent's POV

I went down the stairs alone, because I would not let her walk out into that street first.

Carmine's car sat at the curb with the engine running.

The back window slid down as I reached it.

My wife's uncle looked up at me out of the dark with his ringed hand on the sill.

"Vincent," he said. "My girl's upstairs."

"She's talking to friends."

"I'm worried about her. I'd like to take her home."

"She's home."

He smiled.

It was a good smile.

I had watched it work on judges, on priests, on the widow of a man he'd had killed.

For two years I had sat across from it at Sunday dinner and passed him the bread.

"She doesn't know what you are, son," Carmine said, soft and friendly. "Does she?

"You've been feeding her poison. A wife of the Strozzi house, drugged by her own husband.

"There's a way the Table handles that."

"I know the way."

"As her blood family, I can call a hearing.

"I'll have the other four bosses in a room by Friday, and I'll tell them what I know."

"And what do you know?"

"That you took a girl's choice away."

I stood on the pavement in the cold.

I felt what I'd felt every morning for two years, with a white tablet in my palm and her eyes on me.

He was right.

He could stand in front of the Table and say the truest thing anyone would ever say about me.

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