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Alfredo’s heart sank. The vendors on the piazza must have gotten to him, too. “Please, I’ll pay you triple. No one has to know.”
“I said, no.”
“But my girls need to—”
“Put my produce back or I’llmakeyou put it back.”
“You know this is wrong.” Alfredo put the produce back in the correct bins.
“Go,” Guido Onion said, pointing away.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Gaetano sat opposite the large desk of Don Attilio, the majority owner of the shipping company in which Don Ugo owned a minority interest. The well-appointed office had the best view of La Cala, and Don Attilio was a dapper businessman with oiled black hair and sharp blue eyes behind spectacles with gold rims. His lips flattened into a frown, and the interview wasn’t going well.
“Gaetano, I have questions.” Don Attilio looked up from the curriculum vitae. “You have no experience in maritime law or the law of international waters, is that correct?”
“Yes, but I’ve been studying at the law library. I memorized the major cases and I learn quickly.”
“You do seem willing.” Don Attilio hesitated. “And you’re the son of Judge Catalano.”
“Yes, I am.” Gaetano hated to think what his father would say about the state of his legal career. He had been applying for jobs all over town, but he had received rejection after rejection.
“Judge Catalano’s reputation was impeccable.”
“Yes, it was.” Gaetano warmed to the praise. “He was a wonderful judge and a wonderful father.”
“And a man of absolute integrity.” Don Attilio slid the curriculum vitae back across the desk. “Thank you for your time. I’m afraid I won’t be hiring you.”
Gaetano’s mouth went dry. “May I ask why? My credentials—”
“Your reputation.”
“My reputation is excellent. Don Ugo vouched for me, didn’t he?”
“Yes, but you didn’t work for him. His recommendation is entitled to less weight than your employer’s. I checked your reference, and Don Matteo’s law firm declined to vouch for your honesty.”
Gaetano felt his face aflame. “Don Matteo and I had a disagreement, that’s all—”
“To clarify, he wasn’t there when I stopped in. I didn’t speak to him. I spoke to Bartolomeo, who gave me an earful.”
Bartolomeo. Gaetano shifted forward. “Don Attilio, if you were to speak to Don Matteo directly, I know he wouldn’t speak that ill of me.”
“Gaetano, my standard is high. I want a lawyer who represents my company with the utmost professional integrity.” Don Attilio slid the curriculum vitae farther away from him, as if it were malodorous. “Best of luck in your future endeavors.”
“Thank you, sir,” Gaetano said, rising.
Gaetano walked away from theharbor, downcast. It was a beautiful day, with a salty breeze off the sea, and he had imagined working in this nautical setting. But he put that fantasy behind him. He found himself walking toward Don Matteo’s to confront Bartolomeo, but Saint Paul prevailed.
Gaetano turned in the opposite direction, gathering his thoughts. He resolved to buy himself a coffee and start knocking on doors again to interview families. At least unemployment gave him more time to investigate.
Gaetano prayed he would find the boyanda job.
Be strong, Saint Paul had written.
Gaetano held his head high.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
