Chapter 15: The Gate

Raffaele called the recording a forgery at breakfast, in front of his father and four captains.

Vittorio listened to the whole thing on a speaker, buttering his toast.

"It sounds like her," he said.

"It was cut together from her voicemails. I'll bring a man who can show you the seams."

"Bring him on Friday." Vittorio smiled. "Saturday stands."

The Orsatti had four berths of Albertini Freight now, and the Don spoke about the harbor as though it were weather.

Raffaele pushed his plate away and stood.

"We're going to Hanover Street," he said, to Gemma.

She was already standing.

They took the car, and he drove it himself.

She sat with the brass key in her fist, and she watched the North End go past the window.

Halfway there, his hands began to hurt on the wheel.

He knew why before the road bent.

The Albertini gate came up on the right, black iron between two stone posts.

He braked in front of it, and the car rolled to a stop.

"What are you doing?" Gemma said.

"Give me a minute."

He had not been past this gate in eight months.

His men sat in a second car behind them, waiting.

"A driver died here," he said.

"Whose?"

"The man who drove me for fifteen years. I never told you."

He kept his eyes on the iron bars.

"Fifteen years he drove me. He taught me to shoot a rifle when I was seventeen. He had three daughters."

"After a dinner at your father's house, I came out to this gate, and the Orsatti opened up on us from the hedge."

"He took the first round through the windshield. I took the second in the shoulder."

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