He Took His Childhood Friend Away, So I Came Back a Mafia Heiress novel · Chapter 3 of 24

Chapter 3: The Old Captains

Five of her father's old captains test her in a back room on Ferry Street and agree to swear her in at midnight on her birthday; then Rocco texts her to stop being dramatic.

The back room of the restaurant on Ferry Street smelled of garlic, old wood and cigars nobody was allowed to smoke anymore.

I had spent the cab ride with one name in my head, S. Costa, and a hand that kept patting mine.

Eleven years of two thousand a month, and she had still turned the soup toward me.

I put it away, because the room in front of me needed all of my face.

Five men sat around a table meant for twelve.

None of them was under sixty-five.

Aurelio stood beside me with his hat in his hands, and he didn't say a word.

"Show us," the oldest one said.

He was a big man with one hand missing three fingers, and he spoke as if every word cost him money.

I took the chain over my head and laid the key on the cloth.

He picked it up in his good hand and turned it over.

"My old friend's," he said. "Anyone can steal a key."

"Yes," I said.

"So tell me something a thief wouldn't know."

My mouth had gone dry.

I was twelve in the last memory I had of my father's house, and most of it was smoke.

But I had one clear morning.

"The day before the fire, he put the chain on me at breakfast," I said. "I said it was ugly. He laughed and said it was the only door in the world that nobody could lock me out of."

The room didn't move.

"Then he told me to eat my egg," I said.

The old man's jaw worked.

One of the others looked down at his hands, and another one took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes.

"He said that to my daughter, too," the oldest one said. "About the egg."

He set the key down in front of me.

"All right. You are his daughter." He leaned back. "Now the harder question. Your husband is a Santoro."

"I signed the divorce papers last night."

"Papers get torn up."

"Not these," I said. "He signed them three weeks ago, before he ever had a reason. He's in Italy with his friend, and he has been told nothing."

One of the men barked a short laugh.

"Then he's a fool."

"He's been a fool for three years," I said. "I only found out Sunday."

That earned me a grunt from the one who'd taken off his glasses.

The oldest captain tapped the table with his bad hand.

"Here is what we have, Signora. Sixteen years ago the Santoros said your father left a mess. They cut our pensions by a third and called it cleanup. They gave the port to their own accountant, a man who has never been on a dock. When a man of ours dies, his widow gets a card instead of money."

"A card?"

"A sympathy card. Signed by Nunzio."

I looked at the five faces around the table.

"I haven't touched a dime yet," I said. "I'm not going to promise you what I haven't got. But I read the ledger this morning."

I took the green book out of my bag and set it on the cloth.

"There's a line in it for each one of you," I said. "Pensions. Your names, your amounts, year by year. And next to each one, a smaller figure than the one that left the account."

The one with the glasses put them back on and leaned over the page.

He read for a long time.

"That's my brother's widow," he said. "They told her it was all there was."

"It wasn't."

"How much did they take?"

"I'll tell you when I've added it up. But I'll tell you now, it's more than a card."

The oldest captain looked at me for a while.

"Your father said the same thing when he was angry," he said. "He would say, I'll tell you when I've added it up."

Something happened in the room then.

It wasn't a vote.

It was five old men sitting a little straighter.

"Friday," the captain said. "Midnight, here, the table in the back. We swear you before all of us, and Aurelio witnesses. Nobody else is told. The accountant doesn't hear. The Santoros don't hear."

"Thank you."

"Don't thank me." He pushed the key back across the cloth. "Thank me when you've paid the widows."

I fastened the chain around my neck again.

My phone buzzed against the table.

I took it out under the edge of the cloth and read the text on the screen.

It was from Rocco, the first words he had sent me in four days.

Stop being dramatic. The ring on the pillow is childish. Come home Sunday and sign my uncle's form, and we'll forget it.

I read it twice.

I thought of the divorce papers in the left drawer.

I thought of the date at the top.

I put the phone face down on the table, the way Sabrina did, and I did not answer it.

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