Chapter 22: On the Steps

The next Sunday my brother stood on the steps of San Domenico at the end of ten o'clock Mass.

He had sent word to every family in the city, and to the parish kitchen, and to a man he knew at the newspaper.

By the time the congregation came out, the whole square was full.

The same four hundred people stood there with the same phones in their hands.

I was at the top of the steps in my mother's ivory dress, with Nerina on my right and Santo on my left.

His arm was out of the strap, and he held it stiffly against his coat.

Gaspare was at the bottom of the steps in a clean apron.

He had a loaf under his arm, and he had refused to put it down.

"Is he going to do it?" Nerina whispered.

"I don't know."

"If he doesn't, I'll push him."

"You'll do no such thing."

"I might trip."

My brother climbed to the third step and turned to face the square.

He wore the navy suit, and the signet ring, and nothing else that was his father's.

"I am Massimo Ardizzone," he said.

His voice carried farther than I had expected.

"Three weeks ago, at my sister's engagement banquet, I stood in front of everyone in this square and I laughed at her."

The phones went up.

I watched them rise, one after another, and I felt Santo's hand move under my elbow.

I did not pull away.

"I gave my sister's fiancé to my other sister, to please her, and to keep a man useful to me."