Chapter 23: The Kneeling

The banquet hall was empty the next evening, and someone had mopped the marble.

I came in by the front doors alone, in the gray coat I had worn off the plane from Lisbon.

I had put it on without deciding to.

The long tables were stacked against the walls.

The chairs stood in rows, upside down on their legs.

On the stage at the far end, where the microphone had been, my four sons stood in a line in dark suits.

They had not been told I was coming at this hour.

Cesare had only asked me to come.

I walked the length of the hall, and my heels rang on the stone.

Nobody spoke until I reached the foot of the steps.

"The Table met this morning," Cesare said.

His voice was hoarse.

"The police took her from us at four, for the shooting. The doctor goes to them on Monday with the bottle."

"And the house?"

"Every capo in the city has sworn it's yours. It's the Donna's house."

He stopped.

"It was always supposed to be."

"I don't want the house."

"Mom."

"I want my sons."

He took a long breath.

Then my eldest son came down the three steps.

He was the one who had stood on this stage and told three hundred people that Bianca raised him.

He stood in front of me and took off his jacket and folded it over the rail.

He went down on one knee.

Then on both.

I did not move.

I heard a step behind him on the stage, heavy and slow, and the second son came down and knelt beside him.