Chapter 22: Rossi's Back Room

Rossi's back room had a dozen men in it and nine of their wives, and my grandmother was in the best chair.

She was eighty, five feet tall, in a black coat and orthopedic shoes.

She had been there before the doors were unlocked.

My father sat at the head of the long table with his hands flat on the cloth.

Behind him the register stood open, with the Don's accountant beside it.

I came in with Gianluca on my left and Tommy on my right.

Nobody said hello.

My mother stood against the wall, in her good cardigan, holding her purse in front of her.

Lucrezia stood beside her.

Two of the Don's men had brought her up on the plane that morning, and they stayed within reach.

"This is a family matter," my father said.

"It's a crew matter," the older of his two men said. "That's why we're here."

"Then let's vote."

"Not yet," my grandmother said.

Everyone turned.

She did not stand.

"Silvio," she said. "I raised you. You owe me three years of rent on this room."

"Ma."

"You also owe me three birthday cards. Where is my granddaughter's mail?"

My father's hand went to his watch.

This time he made himself take it away, and it shook in the air.

I put the laundry basket on the table.

It was heavy and it made a soft, ugly sound against the wood.

"This is what my mother kept from me," I said.

"Renata," my mother said.

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