Chapter 24: We'll Wait for You

At 8:14 on the next Sunday night I came up the street to the garage at a run, with a tray of tiramisu against my chest.

I had worked a double.

The head chef had asked me to stay and learn to break down a whole lamb.

I had said yes before he finished the sentence.

At 6:52 on the train, my phone had buzzed.

Dino had written: Take your time. We'll wait for you.

I had read it three times.

The last time I had gotten that text, it had meant nothing.

This time I knew the man who sent it.

The side door stood open, and yellow light fell across the wet pavement.

I stopped on the step.

The long oak table stood in the middle of the floor under the hanging lamp, with a white cloth over it.

There were six chairs around it, and five people in them.

Every plate was full, and every plate was cold.

Not one fork had been lifted.

The candles had burned down to stubs.

Marco sat with his chain tucked into his collar and his hands folded in his lap, looking longingly at the bread.

Aunt Lucia sat beside him, in her black cardigan, with her own plate from home.

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