Chapter 11: Second Night

Ettore Sarto walked down the salon, trailing his fingers along the backs of the chairs.

He stopped behind his wife and looked at her in the mirror.

"Your hair looks lovely, cara."

"Thank you," Fabrizia said, in a voice with nothing in it.

"Is the girl good with scissors?"

"She's very good."

"I hear she's good with everything."

He smiled at me, and the smile did not touch his eyes.

"Gwen's fever, I was told by the front desk. Such a shame. And look who covers."

I held the scissors in my fist, point down.

"Mr. Sarto," I said, "you're standing in my work space."

"And you're holding my wife's hair."

"I'm done."

I unsnapped her cape and shook it out.

The bell rang again, and Nunzio came in with his green parka and his paper bag of mints, filling the doorway.

"Good afternoon," he said, to nobody.

Ettore's jaw ticked.

"Orazio keeps a long leash on his people," he murmured. "Doesn't he?"

"Mr. Sarto's driver is waiting," said Nunzio.

"So he is."

Ettore took his wife's arm just above the elbow, hard enough to wrinkle her sleeve.

"Come, cara. We have a feast to plan. There's a great deal to announce."

She rose.

She did not look at me.

But in the mirror, on her way out, I saw her mouth move, one word, no sound.

Sorry.

Orazio found me in the study that night, standing in front of the fire with my arms wrapped around myself.

"Nunzio told me," he said.

"He grabbed her arm."

"I know."

"Orazio, you were going to go after him. I can see it in your face."

He didn't deny it.

"There is a house in Elmwood Park with a dozen men in it," he said. "I can have it quiet by morning."

"And what happens to the woman asleep upstairs?"

"I can keep her out of it."

"Can you? You can't promise me a bullet won't cross a room."

"I can try."

"That's my baby in there," I said, and my voice cracked on it.

"It's the only one I'm ever going to have."

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