Chapter 6: The Docks Are Gone

"Stop what, Dario?" I said.

He looked at me for a long moment, in the hallway with the old Dons watching us.

"Mirella is more fragile than she looks," he said. "She has no family. If you turn this house against her, you'll be the one who breaks her."

"I made a toast to her."

"You made an accusation in front of my men."

"I made a joke, and she explained it, and everybody laughed."

His hand left my wrist.

For a moment I thought he would say the rest of it.

Then the door opened and the cousin leaned in, grinning, to ask whether the Don and the Donna had finished their little talk.

"We have," Dario said, and walked out past him.

I stood alone beneath his father's portrait for a minute.

The painted eyes were grey, like his.

On Monday I told the housekeeper I had a dentist appointment and went to the garage again.

Ettore was at his desk with a ledger open and a cup of coffee going cold at his elbow.

He looked up when I came in, and his eyes went straight to my ear.

"Take that off," he said.

"It's a gift."

"It's his way of telling you what's wrong with you." He rose and came around the desk. "You'll wear it at the house. You won't wear it here."

I reached up and took the pearl out.

My fingers were clumsy, and the back caught on my hair.

"Let me," Ettore said.

He stood very close and I could smell cold air and engine oil on his sleeve.

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