Chapter 21: The Knife on the Table

Sandro's POV

My father asked the question, and two hundred people waited for my answer.

I had practiced it for three years in the dark, and none of the versions had worked.

"He sold Bianca," I said.

The old man's face did not move.

"He sold her to Rocco Lupo for the docks," I said.

"The wedding was set for Easter, and she was to be told after the vows."

"That's a lie," said Rocco.

"I have it in his hand," I said.

I reached inside my jacket, past the tape on my ribs, and took out a cream envelope.

I had carried it down from the safe that morning, and I had not let go of it since.

The seal was broken.

I laid it on the white cloth in front of my father, between the gnocchi and the wine.

Nobody at the table breathed.

"Read it, Papa," I said.

He took out the letter.

He did not put on his glasses, and he did not need them.

He read it once, slowly, with his lips moving.

I watched his big hand begin to shake, and I wanted to put my own over it.

I couldn't.

"Bianca," the Don said.

My sister stood up.

She was five feet tall in her heels, and she had a lipstick smear on her teeth.

"Read it to the room," he said.

"Papa."

"Read it so they hear it from your mouth."

Bianca took the page.

She read it in a clear, flat voice, to the Lupo captains and the Vannozzi uncles, to Rocco in his gray suit.

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