Chapter 17: The Cook

Alessio's POV

She woke me at six with her hand on my shoulder.

She had a dish in her other hand, and a face I had not seen on her before.

"The oil," Lenora said. "It's in the oil."

I sat up.

My head was clear for the first time in a month.

"The new cook."

"I don't know that. I know what he brought."

"I know what he is."

I dressed in the dark, and she watched me do it.

"Alessio. You promised me Gregory."

"I know what I promised."

"This isn't him."

"This is the man who carries the oil he sends." I buttoned my cuffs. "Stay with Nonna. Eat nothing in the kitchen."

She opened her mouth to argue, and then she did not.

My grandmother was already awake, standing at the foot of the stairs in her cardigan with the shotgun.

"He's in the cold room," Concetta said. "I locked him in at five. I did not like his shoes."

"His shoes."

"Clean. A cook with clean shoes has not stood at a stove."

I kissed her forehead.

Rocco was waiting at the cold room with two men.

The cook sat on an upturned crate among the hanging hams.

He was young, soft around the jaw, and he had gone a bad color in the cold.

"Mr. Carbone," he said. "Sir, I think there's been a mistake."

"The mistake was the oil."

"I only carried it."

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