Chapter 24: The Last Cannoli

On the first Sunday of spring, there were fourteen of us at the long table again.

It was the same room, with the same cloth and the same men and wives.

Only the seat by the kitchen door was empty.

Nobody sat there.

I came in through the front door, with Matteo behind me.

Fiorenza followed him, carrying two covered dishes she had refused to leave at home.

The man at the head of the table stood up.

Salvatore wore his dark suit, with no ring on his hand and no seat on any Commission.

The underboss pulled out a chair for me.

It wasn't mine.

"No," Salvatore said, before I could reach it. "Not that one. Here."

He pulled out the chair on his right.

It was the one beside him, at the head of the table, where the wives had always sat to be seen.

I looked at it, and I looked at him.

"You'll bump my elbow," I said.

"I know."

"I'm left-handed."

"So am I," my father said. "I'd like to be bumped."

Somebody laughed down the table, and then the rest of them did.

I sat down.

Matteo took the seat on my other side, and Fiorenza took the one beside him, and she looked over the table and counted the heads.

Salvatore tapped his glass.

The fourteen of them went quiet. I knew that quiet. I had heard it once before, from the other end of this table.

"Family," he said. "I have something to say, and I'll say it once, with everyone here to hear it."

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