Chapter 11: Forty Thousand, Not a Hundred

I crossed the courtyard in the dark and knocked on Gemma's window with one knuckle.

She lowered the phone.

She looked at me through the glass, and she didn't look afraid.

She looked ready, sharp and calculating.

"Open it," I said.

She slid the window up.

"Ilaria. I was only checking the garden. I heard a noise."

"You were filming."

"I was filming the noise."

"Then you have the best footage of my husband's hands you'll ever make." I held out my palm. "Give it to me."

"It's my phone. You gave it back at breakfast."

"I'm not taking the phone."

I leaned in, and I said it softly, so only she could hear.

"Send it. Send it to whoever's waiting for it. Tell him I'm coming to Philadelphia, and I'm bringing the book."

Her pale eyes flickered.

"Good night, Gemma."

I walked back to the fountain.

Dominic was waiting with his arms folded and his jaw set.

"Did she send it?"

"Not yet. She will."

"Ila, whatever she's planning..."

"Dominic. You called him a liar in your head and then you called yourself a fool. You aren't ready to say it. I'll wait."

He stared at me.

"Go to bed," I said.

The captains landed at nine the next morning.

They came up the villa drive in four black cars, twenty Ferraro men in dark coats, with the underboss at the head of them.

I stood on the top step with Nico on my left and Aurelio on my right.

Two hundred Sorrentino men lined the drive behind us.

The underboss stopped at the foot of the stairs and took off his sunglasses.

"Mrs. Ferraro."

"Donna Sorrentino."

"Your husband's called us here to witness a theft."

"My husband called nobody." I turned to Dominic, who stood a step behind me with his arm in a sling. "Did you?"

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