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“Goodbye.”
Gaetano watched Carmine being taken away, then leaned against the grimy wall, closing his eyes. He swallowed hard, sick at heart. His head pounded, and his body ached with each breath.
He knew what lay ahead for him, and it was grim. He would be going to prison for a decade or more. He wouldn’t hold Maria in his arms or raise his sons. He wouldn’t find the kidnapped boys and restore them to their families. He had failed, and the courts would jailhiminstead of the kidnapper. He wanted to pray, but his soul felt torn.
Tears came to his eyes, but he didn’t cry. He let his thoughts run free, and soon he found a glimmer of faith, like light through a crack in a door.
He realized that faith was easy on the sunny days.
Faith was easy in the happy times.
Faith was easy at Mass, with Maria and his sons.
But faith was always there for him, whether in sun or in shadow.
Faith was at her best in darkness.
Then, faith shone.
Gaetano got down on his knees.
And prayed.
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
Franco surveyed the scene with a critical eye. The dining room was dominated by a long table of polished walnut with carved legs, surrounded by matching chairs. The place settings boasted china painted with a verdant forest, the silverware gleamed, and the crystal glassware twinkled in the candlelight. Majolica vases held bouquets of fragrant flowers. A bottle of red wine sat at each place setting.
The walls were covered with dark green silk, its sheen like the leaves on a lemon tree. Matching curtains flanked floor-to-ceiling doors, and paintings of the Conca d’Oro adorned the walls between brass sconces with glowing candles. A cool breeze wafted through the doors, each with a balcony.
Franco decided that everything was ready. Since the last meeting, all thegabellottihad paid the price increase. A few had persuaded their bosses on their own, and he had persuaded the rest, meeting with barons, counts, and a destitute duke. He had been very convincing, and tonight was the finale.
Roberto entered the dining room, grinning. “Well, are you happy?”
“Yes.”
“Will you smile, so I know?”
Franco burst into laughter, looking him up and down. They were both shaved, showered, and dressed in stiff white shirts, fine black waistcoats, and new pants from tailors in Palermo. “We look good.”
“I look better.” Roberto glanced at Franco’s boots. “You didn’t get new boots. You disobeyed Mother Superior.”
Franco chuckled at Roberto’s nickname for Signora Esposito. “I hate to admit when she’s right.”
“She’s always right, like Mamma.”
“I know, I love her.”
“I hate her.”
Franco chuckled. “Why?”
“She favors you.”
“You’re right. So hire a Papa. Then we’ll be even.”
Roberto rolled his eyes. “She wants me to find a good girl, whatever that is. Iknewshe would be a nightmare.”
“Or a dream.” Franco smiled. “How are the men doing downstairs?”
