Chapter 24: The Ring

Nobody in the dining room breathed.

Four guards held Raffaele by the arms, and his father held a gun at his wife's head.

"Last time, girl," said Vittorio.

"Father," Raffaele said.

"Quiet."

"I'm not your son."

The Don's eyes flicked toward him.

"What did you say?"

"You heard me. I'm not your son, and I'm not your heir. Tell your men to let go."

"Raffaele."

"Tell them."

Vittorio said nothing.

At the table, the captain with the scarred knuckles pushed back his chair and stood.

"Let him speak, Don."

"Sit down, old friend."

"I have eaten at this table for twenty years," said the captain, in an even voice. "I'll hear the heir."

Another man stood, and then a third.

Vittorio's gun did not move, but his mouth had gone thin.

"Let him go," he said at last.

The guards released Raffaele.

He rubbed his wrists once.

He walked down the length of the table, past the captains and the empty bought man's chair, to the silver tray with the signet ring on it.

He picked up the gold ring.

It was heavy, old, stamped with the Sandrelli crest.

His grandfather had worn it, and his father after him.

"I swore at nineteen I would never give this up," he said. "I put my hand on a bible and a knife. I told my mother's grave."

"I've killed for it. I've let an innocent girl stand in the cold for it. I thought it was the only thing I was."

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