Chapter 18: Place Cards

I baked the cake on Saturday night and wrote the place cards by hand.

Thirty names, in blue ink, on little folded squares of white card.

My hand shook on the very first one, and I had to start over.

I knew exactly what my handwriting looked like.

I had never looked at it as a weapon before.

On Sunday I set the table myself.

Corrado sat on my father's left, where he had always sat.

I put the widow of the dead capo beside him, with her black veil and her terrible face.

I put the other eight capos where each could see Corrado's hands, and Paolo behind my father's chair, where he always stood.

Teo went across from me.

At two o'clock my uncle carried my father in from the study in his arms.

It shocked the whole room.

The Don of Bridgeport weighed no more than a child.

Corrado settled him into the carved chair at the head of the table, tucked a napkin into his collar, and set a bowl of broth in front of him.

"Eat, Ignazio."

"Yes, brother."

My father lifted the spoon.

His hand trembled, and the soup slopped over the rim.

Corrado wiped his chin with a gentle thumb.

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