Page 121 of Promised to the Don of Naples
I kissed the scar on his eyebrow.
The study door opened without a knock. It was Adelina.
"Luca."
"Sì, nonna."
"Tonio won't understand when he finds out. You tell him, don't send word."
"Va bene, nonna."
She looked at me, resting her free hand on my shoulder.
"Brava, signora."
He left.
The day dragged. I played piano. The nonna read Petrarch in the green room. Donna Beatrice cleaned the same marble table three times. The whole house pretended it was a normal day.
It wasn't.
LUCA MORETTI
Carlo arrived at eight on the dot.
I shook his hand at the entrance. His hand was the same as always—thin, cold, the widower's band on his left ring finger.
"Padrone."
"Carlo."
"Bagnoli."
"Yes. Bagnoli."
I sat down in my father's chair and gestured him to the armchair.
"Padrone, about the shipment. The Rossis are already moving." He opened the folder. He took out three photos of the hotel in Pozzuoli, of the three men going in. "Just as you predicted."
"Capisco."
"Thursday night, I'd suggest an ambush at the Bagnoli roundabout. Four of our men."
Forty years.
The man who held me in his lap at my uncle's funeral. The man who read the letters to Lorena. The man who called me capo at nineteen in my mother's cemetery.
"Carlo."
"Sì, padrone."
"Before Bagnoli, I want you to talk to Matteo in the cellar. Today."
He hesitated a little.
"Sì, padrone."
"Come."
