Chapter 2
The backyard party ended within ten minutes.
No announcements.
No explanations.
Domenico simply said:
“Family day is over.”
Nobody argued.
Cars disappeared through the gate.
Capos left in silence.
Staff cleared tables beneath the eyes of bodyguards.
Conrad and Miriam remained.
Domenico took Eli upstairs first.
That choice surprised Conrad.
He had expected interrogation.
Threats.
Maybe blood.
Instead Domenico sat on the floor of his son’s bedroom and checked both legs himself.
No wound.
A red mark from where Eli hit the grass.
Nothing more.
The rod had struck beside him.
Not on him.
That fact did not save Conrad.
Intent could be debated later.
The child’s fear could not.
“Does Uncle Conrad do that a lot?”
Eli looked at his father.
“Get mad?”
“Yes.”
Eli nodded.
Domenico’s breathing changed.
“How often?”
The boy shrugged.
“Ball.”
“What about it?”
“He says bad ball.”
“Why?”
“His baby.”
Julian.
Domenico sat quietly.
“How long have you had the ball?”
Eli held up three fingers.
“Three days?”
He nodded.
Domenico frowned.
He had seen Eli carrying a different football earlier in the week.
“Where did you get it?”
“Garden man.”
“The old man?”
“Yes.”
“Did anybody see him?”
Eli shook his head.
“What did he look like?”
“Old.”
Domenico almost smiled despite himself.
“That doesn’t help Daddy much.”
Eli touched Domenico’s face.
“He has Daddy eyes.”
The smile disappeared.
“What?”
“Like Daddy.”
“Same color?”
Eli nodded.
“Did he tell you his name?”
The boy thought.
Then whispered something that made Domenico freeze.
“Uncle Nico.”
Domenico had no uncle Nico.
Not one alive.
But his father had.
Nicola Ravello.
Domenico’s great-uncle.
A man who supposedly died fifty years earlier.
Domenico did not ask again.
Children could mishear names.
Stories could infect memory.
He kissed Eli’s forehead.
“You stay with Maria.”
The boy’s hands tightened.
“You go?”
“Yes.”
“Conrad mad.”
“He is.”
“Daddy mad?”
Domenico paused.
“Yes.”
Eli looked frightened.
Not of Conrad now.
Of him.
Domenico saw it.
He lowered his voice.
“But Daddy being angry does not mean you get hurt.”
Eli studied him.
“No rod?”
“No rod.”
The boy relaxed slightly.
Domenico felt shame.
His reputation had entered his son’s understanding before he realized it.
Downstairs, Conrad stood near the windows.
Miriam sat.
The football rested on the table.
Domenico entered.
He picked it up.
“Start with Julian.”
Conrad looked away.
“No.”
Domenico almost laughed.
“You nearly put a steel bar through the ground beside my son over this ball.”
“It was not supposed to hit him.”
“That is not the defense you think it is.”
Conrad’s jaw tightened.
Miriam spoke:
“The boy should never have had it.”
“Why?”
“Because it belonged to Julian.”
“Julian is dead.”
Conrad’s eyes flashed.
“Don’t.”
Domenico noticed.
“You don’t believe that.”
Silence.
“Conrad.”
His cousin looked at the ball.
“I stopped believing three years ago.”
Domenico stared.
“What happened three years ago?”
“A birthday card.”
“For who?”
“Me.”
“From Julian?”
Conrad swallowed.
“No name.”
“Then?”
“It said something only Julian knew.”
Miriam closed her eyes.
Domenico turned toward her.
“You knew.”
She said nothing.
Conrad continued:
“When he was four, Julian broke a blue vase in my study. I blamed the maid. He never told anyone.”
“What did the card say?”
Conrad’s voice cracked.
“Tell Mrs. Green I’m sorry about the blue vase.”
Domenico went still.
“Mrs. Green?”
“The maid.”
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
“Could she have sent it?”
“I asked.”
“And?”
“She started crying.”
“Why?”
Conrad looked at Miriam.
“My mother visited her before the card arrived.”
Domenico slowly turned.
Miriam’s face became cold.
“You went to her.”
“She was an old employee.”
“Why?”
“No reason.”
Domenico picked up the football.
“Everything today is apparently no reason.”
He examined the fresh seam.
Then cut one stitch with a small knife.
Miriam stood.
“Don’t.”
Too late.
Domenico pulled the panel apart.
Inside the football was a narrow wooden cylinder.
Black.
Old.
A Ravello wolf carved around it.
Conrad stared.
Miriam stopped breathing.
Domenico removed the cylinder.
“Know it?”
Conrad whispered:
“Julian had one.”
“When?”
“The night he died.”
Domenico looked at him.
“Where did he get it?”
Conrad’s eyes moved toward Miriam.
“My grandmother gave it to him.”
Domenico stared at the sixty-six-year-old woman.
“Miriam.”
May you like
She finally spoke.
“It was not supposed to come back.”
