Chapter 14: The Veil

The surgeon said no four times, and the fifth time he said two hours.

He taped a line to the back of my hand, hung a bag of saline from a pole in the car, and gave Ciro a list of what to watch for.

"If she goes gray," he said, "you bring her back here. I don't care what's happening."

"Understood," Ciro said.

"I mean it, Mr. Landi. I'm not losing her twice."

They put me in a wheelchair at the east entrance.

The bench under the lamp was empty, because it was Friday morning and my mother had gone to bury me.

Ciro tucked a black veil over my hair and down to my chin.

It was thick lace, and I could see through it.

"It's my mother's," he said. "She wore it to the christening."

I looked up.

"The Landi christening?"

"She didn't wear it again."

He held the car door, and I got in.

We drove up through the city with two cars of his men ahead of us and one behind.

I had never seen them before.

They were quiet, square-shouldered men in dark coats who looked at Ciro.

"There are more of you than I thought," I said.

"Eleven. There were more." He looked out the window. "The others died at the christening."

The gates of Saint Agnes stood open.

Black cars lined both sides of the road, parked bumper to bumper up the whole slope of the hill.

Ciro stopped us at the bend, behind a mausoleum, where the road curved out of sight.

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