Chapter 6: The Fish Market

Three days to the banquet.

I walked into the fish market at five minutes to noon in a plain brown dress and a headscarf Nella had bought from a stall.

The noise hit me first.

Men shouted prices over crates of tuna, and ice melted in long wet streaks across the stone.

My father's trucks stood along the east wall with the Bonfiglio name painted on the doors.

I kept my head down and my right hand in my pocket, on the grip of the pistol.

Nella trailed behind me, pretending to haggle over sardines.

I had told her to stay away.

She had pretended not to hear.

At the end of the last row stood a black van with its side door open.

Nobody was near it.

A boy of about twelve leaned against the wheel, picking at a scab on his knee.

He looked up, saw my scarf, and pointed into the van with his chin.

"Signora? This way."

I stopped walking.

The inside of the van was dark and smelled of rope.

I stepped back and went around the ice stall to stand where I could see everything.

Ten minutes passed.

I watched the van, and the van did not move.

Then a man in a grey coat came out of the crowd, walking fast.

He wore a newspaper folded under his arm.

He glanced at the van, looked down the row of stalls, and checked his watch.

He had expected me to be inside it by now.

He turned abruptly and went toward the stairs at the back of the market.

I knew those stairs.

They led to my father's office.

My father opened the door at the top before the man reached it.

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