Chapter 11: Every Account in This Room

Mara's POV

The Commission met at noon in the back room of a social club in Brooklyn, behind a door with no sign.

Five long tables had been pushed into a square.

Five Dons sat at it, and the old chair sat at the head with a glass of water he never touched.

Teo walked in beside me.

He had not said a word in the car. He had not looked at me once.

His face was gray.

Fausto came in behind us and took the chair at my left.

Across the table sat Benny, in a black suit, with Sheridan in a navy dress at his elbow.

Next to them sat an old man in a brown coat, turning his hat in his hands.

"We are here," the chair said, "because Mr. Tosca has raised a matter of honor."

Benny stood.

"Gentlemen, I regret this. I'd have preferred to speak to the boss first. But the boss has been unwell."

He did not look at Teo when he said it.

"Eight years ago, Aldo Bellandi was shot outside a restaurant on Mulberry Street."

Two of the Dons shifted in their seats.

"He left a daughter," Benny said. "Twenty years old. She came to his funeral and went into hiding. Nobody saw her again."

He turned to the old man in the brown coat.

"Tell them what you saw."

The old man's voice shook.

"I was at the burial," he said. "There was a young woman at the back in a gray coat."

"And?"

"She didn't cry. She looked at every man in the graveyard, one at a time."

"Would you know her?"

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