Chapter 30: Sunday in Miami

The old Albano don's driver answered on the second ring, and Luca put the phone on speaker in the middle of the church steps.

"The girl got into the car by herself," the driver said. "She said she was going with him."

"Did he ask her to?"

"He was in the back with his wrist in a towel. He didn't say a word."

"Put her on," I said.

There was a rustle, and then my sister's voice, small and flat, over the sound of an engine.

"Gemma."

"Carla. Get out of the car."

"No."

"He's finished. He's going to a farm in Sullivan County with no ring and no name."

"I know."

"Then why?"

She took a while.

"Because I started it," she said. "I wrote the letter, and I did the year. Everyone else gets to walk away clean. I'd like to see what it costs me."

"That's not penance. That's stupidity."

"Probably." She laughed, and it broke. "Don't come after me. I'll call you."

The line went dead.

I stood there with the cold coming up through my shoes.

Luca put his arm around me, and I leaned my whole weight against it.

"She'll call," he said.

"You don't know that."

"I know she sent you a lamp."

Eleven days later, the sun came up on Miami and nobody I loved was hurt.

I woke in Luca's bed, in the room that was now mine too, with the window open and a salt breeze lifting the curtain.

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