Chapter 15: Her Place at the Table

The punch never reached his father's face.

Eli caught Rocco's arm at the wrist and held it.

"Not like this," Eli said.

"Let go."

"He wants you to. He'll call it proof you're a boy."

Rocco was shaking from his shoulders to his knuckles.

Carmine had not flinched.

He straightened his cuff and looked at his younger son with something almost like patience.

"You see," he said, to nobody. "He has his mother's temper."

"Don't talk about her," Eli said.

Rocco pulled his arm free, but he did not swing again.

He turned his back on his father and put both hands over his face, and for a moment I thought he might be sick over the rail.

Then his hands came down, and he looked up the harbor road.

"The car," he said.

"What?"

"Papa, there's someone in the car."

I looked.

The rear window of the long black car was tinted, but the far door had come open an inch.

A hand with painted nails held it there.

Carmine's face did not change.

That was how I knew he had meant it to happen.

"Come out," he said, without turning. "It's all right."

The door opened the rest of the way.

Bianca got out in white linen with her sunglasses on her head and her curls perfect.

She had left on the ferry the morning before, in front of the whole line.

"Rocco," she said, warm and breathless. "Thank God. I came as fast as I could. I knew you'd need someone."

Nobody on the pier answered her.

She came down the planks with her hands out.

"Stop there," Rocco said.

She stopped.

"Papa's driver said you were still in the city."

"His other driver brought me back around the point. Rocco, I was scared for you."

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