Chapter 15: The Kitchen Floor

Luca's POV

"Yes, Ma," I said. "I knew."

My mother set the tray down on the nearest table, very carefully.

Dante picked up his coffee and drank, and watched us over the rim.

Willa didn't look at me.

She left the envelope where it lay, picked up her bag and walked to the front door.

Nobody stopped her.

At the door she turned to my mother.

"He told me last night," she said, and her voice shook only a little. "He didn't hide it, Rosa. Whatever you do to him, remember that."

Then she was gone, and the bell rang over the door.

I would have given the restaurant for her to have said something worse.

"You're a good brother," Dante said to me. "Really. You told her the second it counted."

"Shut your mouth," my mother said.

She said it in English.

She had never once in my life used that tone on him.

"Mamma."

"You sit in my kitchen and let me cook for a girl you were laughing at. You take her mother's money. You bring that one to my table."

She pointed at Gianna without looking at her.

"And your brother should be ashamed. Yes. But not only him."

She picked up her tray again.

"Luca. The car."

I drove her to Salem Street without a word.

She sat with the tray on her lap, and the foil crackled every time we hit a bump.

Ferraro's was still dark.

We went in through the back, past the walk-in and the hanging pans.

My mother put the tray on the steel counter.

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