Chapter 8: Rule Two

Corrado and Teo had come in one car, and my father's men took it.

They slashed nothing and broke nothing.

They simply drove it away, with the keys in Corrado's pocket and a spare in theirs.

Corrado stood in the empty street and watched the taillights go.

"That's the end of the car," he said.

"It's the end of your job," Teo said.

"Probably."

"Are you scared?"

"A little," Corrado said, and for the first time in five years I nearly liked him.

Tancredi came out of the warehouse with his keys.

"I'll take her to the house," he said.

"I can walk," I said.

"It's nine miles."

"I've walked farther."

"I'm aware," he said. "Get in the truck."

Corrado and Teo took the bus.

I watched them climb on, two big men in good coats, paying the fare with coins.

It was the first time I'd seen my brothers do anything ordinary.

Tancredi's truck was old and clean, and the heater smelled of dust.

He drove with one hand and didn't turn on the radio.

I put my head back and shut my eyes.

My left eyebrow had split open in the second round.

I hadn't felt it until the adrenaline wore off, and now it throbbed.

"You're bleeding on your jacket," he said.

"It's an old jacket."

"It's a good jacket."

He pulled the truck over a block from the Montanari gate, under a dead streetlight, and put it in park.

He reached behind the seat and came back with a first-aid tin.

"Turn your face."

"I can do it myself."

"You can't see it."

"I've been cut before."

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