“I never asked for it.”
“Too late, I provided it.”
“I owe you nothing. And if I see your men stalking me again, I’ll knock their heads together like melons.” She stood before his desk looking down at him and poking her finger into the yellow space between them while he looked up, amused.
“Get this straight,” she said, her voice low. “You owe me for the fire you started. Your flames destroyed our apothecary shop, over two centuries turned to ash in a few hours while the police looked on and did nothing because you paid them off. And you call that protection.” She took a breath. “If I ever catch you or your men following me again, I swear I’ll pluck out your eyes, one at a time. You’ll cry for the mother you think we share.”
He smiled. “Your tongue will be the death of you one day. My spies tell me you’re leaving. Don’t worry. For now, consider it a loan. But you’ll pay up. The new world beckons us both, and I’ll see you there.”
She spun on her heels and strode out, blood pounding in her ears, her corset moist from sweat, her head held high. She felt her curls tear at her scalp. She had no doubt that Don Tigro was laughing at her, but the burden of her wrath was lightened.
Her stomach began to growl and she realized she hadn’t eaten since their arrival, except for the olives. But before the family gathered for supper, she must read Busacca’s letter. She climbed to her mother’s room on the third floor and sat in the overstuffed chair gazing at her mother’s bed.
In the envelope was another banknote, this one for twenty thousand lire, a gift to show his gratitude for a difficult job, Busacca said in the accompanying letter. Carmela had told him about the fire in the apothecary shop. Enclosed were twenty one-way tickets to Paris for Saturday.
I need your family in Paris for Carmela’s happiness as well as for my business. She tells me your son is an accountant. Remember, Paris doesn’t have to be forever. During your stay, please use Elena’s apartment. Should you decide to make your residence permanent, we will negotiate a good price for the building.
Serafina wiped her forehead with a sleeve. She thought of most of Oltramari families forced to leave their homes forever. They’d endure steerage for ten days, their bellies full of dreams and little else. When they arrived in a strange land, they’d live in airless rooms where illness thrived. They’d work sixteen hours a day for low wages. Who waited for them on the pier to fleece them? Don Tigro and his ilk. Without this commission, that’s what Serafina and her family would have faced. But for Busacca, they would have lost everything. Now their funds were fat, their passage assured, and a luxurious apartment waited for them in Paris. Not only that, she’d married the man she loved, Loffredo, who’d beaten the odds and survived a serious wound. She wondered when her luck would evaporate.
Chapter 37: Pasta con le Sarde
“We can’t afford first class,” Vicenzu said.
“I knew you’d say that. Pack your abacus, we’re going to Paris Saturday.” She held up the envelope with the tickets and cheque.
Just then Tessa and Rosa arrived and she told them about Busacca’s tickets.
“Help your sister with the supper,” Serafina said to Maria.
“But what if the stove burns my fingers? I’m a prodigy.”
Loffredo laughed. After they were seated, he poured the wine.
Maria sat as far away as she could from the kitchen and Serafina, her arms crossed, her face pinched.
They sat around the table not saying much, Serafina wondering what was keeping Carlo. She twisted the thick noodles and sauce onto her fork, savored the delicious flavors of Renata’s pasta con le sarde. “Nothing like real food.”
“It’s a small supper,” Renata blushed.
“How long will we be in Paris?” Teo wanted to know and looked at Maria.
Serafina shrugged. “Not forever. The caretakers and Rosa’s guards will manage the property.”
Maria said they absolutely must take her piano.
Serafina shook her head. “There’s a grand piano where we’re going and if it pleases you, we’ll bring it home with us.” A stupid remark, she knew. Part of her had already left, she realized, and anyway, where was home? They talked of returning, but she doubted it.
Rosa was unusually quiet. Other than wondering what they were having for dessert, she spoke little.
Tessa stared at Teo.
“I must have the piano in my room, and we must see to my lessons as soon as we arrive. Wait until my friends hear.” She scowled at Teo.
Loffredo’s brows arched. “Not lessons. We must find you a teacher who will prepare you for admission to the Paris Conservatory.”
Maria raised her shoulders. “Will the boat have a piano I can use for practice?”
Loffredo laughed and poured more wine.
“And once more, we don’t tell anyone where we’re going,” Serafina said.
“Why?” Toto asked.
“It’s our business, that’s why. The more we talk, the more gossip we invite.”
“What about school?” he asked.
“How many more days do you have?”
He counted them on his fingers. “Three. Until Tuesday.”
“So you’ll miss a few days. I’ll write a note to your teachers. I’ll think of what to say.”
The door opened and banged shut. Footsteps stumbled in the hall.
Loffredo got up to see who it was, and Carlo swaggered in. Serafina hugged him.
He nodded to everyone, shook hands with Loffredo.
“No dinner. Eaten. Sweet marsala would be nice.”
She watched him bluster, her oldest son, Carmela’s twin. Perhaps her daughter had been right: she had spoiled him. He’d been with friends and smelled of wine and tobacco. He straddled a chair, resting his arm on the back and tilting it toward the table. Blowing a thin line of smoke, he announced he wasn’t going to wherever it was they’d decided to go. A lock of hair fell on his forehead as he dipped the end of his cigar in the brandy. He wanted to finish his schooling in Palermo, and besides, he knew how to handle the don even if some people didn’t. He narrowed his gaze at Serafina.
She waved away his smoke. “And how should a mafia capo be handled?” She felt her cheeks burn.
His speech was labored. “Nothing I can teach you at this point. Why is it that you’ve got to beat Don Tigro, just like you had to beat Colonna and every other man who got in your way? Papa, too if you want to know the truth. Died too young having to deal with you, but you’ve replaced him, I see. As far as the don goes, why don’t you capitulate? Everyone else has.” He dropped an ash into his untouched plate of pasta.
Serafina felt her blood coming to the boil.
“Enable him, you mean. Is that what you’ve done, Carlo?” Loffredo asked.
Serafina wanted to slap her son; she wanted to hug him. Instead she got up and removed his plate and grabbed the glass of marsala from his hand. “You’ve had too much to drink.”
No one spoke for a moment. Rosa smiled at Loffredo.
Loffredo asked about Carlo’s studies.
“What about them?” Carlo asked.
Loffredo said nothing.
Carlo shrugged. “Fine, I guess.”
There was a silence.
“Where’s Carmela, sleeping with a Frenchman?”
Serafina took Loffredo’s hand. A bolt of fire seared her head. “Best not to goad him when he’s like this. Probably the pressure of finals,” she said under her breath. She told him about Carmela’s work with Busacca.
Carlo said nothing. He went around the table and shook hands with Teo and Arcangelo, kissed Renata, Maria, and Tessa.
Halfway down the hall, he turned to them. “Prophet’s not welcome in his own land.” He blew a blurred kiss to Serafina and left.
For her part, Serafina pretended Carlo hadn’t happened. “Well, that’s that. Vicenzu, you and Teo fetch the trunks and luggage from the cellar.”
Renata brought out a cassata she’d made that afternoon, apologizing that it wasn’t what they were used to in Paris.