Chapter 20: Saturday at the Warehouse

The old warehouse had a long wooden table in it, set for eleven captains and a Don.

Rosanna stood at the far end with her wrists tied, in the same cream coat she had worn to the wedding.

The Orsatti had turned her boat around at dawn, as they had promised.

Next to her stood Bruno, gray and unshaven, and Fiammetta, crying without a sound.

The bought captain knelt on the floor between two guards.

Gemma walked in on her husband's arm, and Vittorio's whisper from the pier still sat in her ribs.

One of the three Albertinis in this room knew what her mother had written.

She would ask, but not before the table had its due.

Raffaele handed her a heavy black pistol across his palm.

"It's loaded," he said quietly. "It's yours."

She took it, and the whole table watched her.

"Well, my dear," said Vittorio, from his chair. "Choose your target."

Gemma went down the length of the room and stopped in front of her stepmother.

Rosanna looked up, and for the first time she did not smile.

"Gemma. Sweetheart. You don't want to do this."

"Tell them what you did."

"You're confused. You're a child."

"Tell them, Rosanna, or I will."

Rosanna looked at the faces around the table.

She did not find a friend.

"I wanted what any mother would want," she said, in a thin voice. "My daughter safe."

"By sending mine to a firing squad," Gemma said.

She turned to Fiammetta.

"You tell it. You're the only one who was in all the rooms."

"I can't."

"Then I'll put the gun on you instead."

Fiammetta flinched, and then she broke.

"It was Mama's plan," she said, wildly. "She said Raffaele would be a monster, and I'd never survive him. She said there was a way out for me."

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