Chapter 27: The Aisle

Ten years ago, in this aisle, I would have looked at the floor.

I didn't.

I looked at him, and I made sure the pews could hear me too.

"I was never yours, Renato. I was your bookkeeper."

His mouth twitched.

"You thought I was too grateful to read what I was copying," I said.

The church was so quiet I could hear the agent's cuffs click as Renato's hands moved.

"I wrote down every one of those payments," I said. "In my handwriting. With your initials."

I nodded at the capos in the front pews.

"And theirs."

The man from Florida closed his eyes.

"You never once came into the room where I kept them," I said. "You said numbers gave you a headache."

I stepped back to let him pass.

"Go on. They're waiting for you."

For a second, Renato didn't move.

His face did something I had never seen in ten years of breakfasts.

It didn't know what to do.

Then the agents walked him on down the aisle, and he went, because there was nowhere else for him to go.

The doors at the back closed behind him.

Nobody in the church moved.

Then the consigliere stood up at the end of the fourth row.

He put on his hat.

He walked out the side door without looking at the altar, or at the men in handcuffs, or at me.

That was when the wives started talking, all at once, and it filled the whole church.

Gia was still standing at the altar step, alone in her white dress.

She lifted her left hand.

She worked the sugar-cube diamond off her finger. It stuck at the knuckle, and she twisted it until it came free.

She held it out to the old priest.

"For the poor box, Father," she said.

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