Chapter 21: Everything He Said

Marta's POV

I went in at twenty to ten, because I wanted to be there first.

The front hall of the old house on Prospect Street was black and cold.

I had my phone in my coat pocket, open on a call to the gray-haired captain, and I had the word ready in my mouth.

Two of Ettore's men were waiting at the foot of the stairs.

One of them took my coat off my shoulders before I had my arms free, and dropped it on the floor.

I watched it fall with the phone in the pocket and the word still in my mouth.

"Walk," the other man said.

They took me out through the kitchen and across a yard of frozen weeds to a low stone building at the back.

My grandfather's mother had cooked for forty neighbors in that room, and he used to tell me about it.

It had a black iron stove, a long table scarred with knives, and a bare bulb.

Nunzio sat tied to a chair beside the stove with his shirt torn and a swollen eye.

"Marta," he said. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, he found my phone."

"You're all right," I said, though I could not see what was wrong with his ribs.

Ettore leaned against the stove with his arms crossed and a pistol in his right hand.

He wore the camel coat and a clean white shirt, and he looked pleased with himself.

"You came," he said. "I told them you would. You always do what's polite."

"You said you'd tell me about my grandfather."

"I did. Sit."

I sat at the long table.

I put my hands on the scarred wood, letting the silence hang, and it began to work on him.

"Go on," I said.

"No. You first. Ask me." He smiled. "You always ask the question and wait. Ask."