Chapter 6: Carlo Kneels

The phone rang again in Gianna's hand.

Daddy, the screen said.

She sent it to voicemail.

It rang again.

She turned it face down on the filing cabinet.

"He's getting old," she told the drivers. "He mixes people up."

The oldest driver and the kid had let go of my arms.

They were looking at me differently now.

The big one had his hat in his hands.

"Keep it for now," I said to Gianna.

"Keep what?"

"The rosary. Keep it warm for me."

I walked out.

Santino was leaning on the SUV with his arms folded.

He took one look at my face.

"You didn't get it."

"Not yet."

"Want me to go in?"

"No. I want her to wear it a little longer," I said. "So more people see her give it back."

He opened my door.

"Carlo just called me six times," he said.

"What did you tell him?"

"Nothing. I let it ring."

Carlo Ferro came to Short Hills at seven that night.

He came alone, without his driver.

He left his camel coat at the door and walked into the dining room with his hat in both hands.

My father was upstairs asleep.

I sat at the head of the long table with Rosa asleep in a basket by my chair.

Santino stood behind me.

Carlo stopped at the far end of the table.

He looked at me, then at Santino, then at the basket.

"Mara," he said. "Madonna. Look at you. You were this high."

"I was seventeen, Carlo. I was taller than you."

He tried to smile.

It didn't work.

"I didn't know," he said. "I swear on my mother. I thought you were in Ireland. Everybody said Ireland."

"You thought the don's daughter was in Ireland, so your daughter burned my house."

"Nate did that. Not Gianna. I asked her."

"Gianna was in the car with the engine running," I said. "Eating fries. She waved at me."

Carlo's face went gray.

He pulled out a chair to sit down.

Santino cleared his throat.

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