Chapter 7: The Price of Her Eyes

I had asked Lorenzo about the harbor at dawn.

His men had lost the car in the dockyard lanes, and Paolo had not been home all night.

So I wore the black dress to dinner, because I had promised my mother I would.

It was soft and plain and a little loose at the waist.

I wanted her to see me in it, and I wanted to see who she had brought.

The Santoros arrived at seven in two cars, with my brother's good shirt buttoned wrong.

My mother came up the front steps in her black cardigan, with her pearls in and her arms open.

"My Livia," she cried, and clung to me in front of the guards.

I held still.

Her perfume was the same.

Fiorella came behind her in a pale blue dress, red-eyed, holding a handkerchief.

Paolo said nothing and would not look at Lorenzo.

The dining room was set for seven.

Ilaria sat at the end with her white band on, and a nurse behind her chair.

Lorenzo took the head of the table, and I sat at his right, where he put me.

The cook brought soup, then a roast with potatoes, then a bottle of red wine that Lorenzo uncorked himself.

He poured for everyone.

My family lifted their glasses and did not drink.

Nobody touched the soup either.

"Your family isn't hungry," Lorenzo observed.

"We ate before we came," my mother said, too quickly. "The nerves, you understand."

"Of course."

He smiled at her.

I had not seen him smile before.

It was thin and polite and it did not reach his eyes at all.

"Donata," he said. "I asked you here to settle a debt. My sister can't see because of your daughter's hands."

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