Lorenzo hesitated for a few seconds before answering, his voice full of apology. "I'm sorry, Vittoria. Tonight is the holiday, when every famiglia sits at the same table. I already gave my parents my word I'd bring Elena to spend it with them."
"All right. Buon Natale to you all, then."
There was such a deep loneliness in Vittoria's voice that something in Lorenzo's eyes softened with pain.
"Vittoria," he said gently, "I give you my word. Next year I'll be at your side for your birthday."
"And our daughter will be right there beside you too, by then."
Watching the happiness spread across his face, I felt my eyes sting, and my brow twitched before I could stop it.
Then a cry came through the earpiece, followed by the sound of something heavy hitting the ground.
Lorenzo went tense. "Vittoria, what happened?"
"I slipped in the snow. I'm hurt."
"Is it bad?"
"It's... it's not too bad."
"Tell me where you are. I'm coming right now."
Vittoria made a show of refusing. "There's no need, Lorenzo. I can have one of my men take me to a doctor myself."
"I won't ruin the holiday over something this small."
His brow furrowed, and his voice left no room for argument, the same flat command a Don uses when an order has already been given. "Tell me where you are."
Once he had the answer he wanted, he ended the call, pulled the car onto the shoulder of the road, and woke me.
"Elena, my consigliere just called. There's a sit-down. Urgent."
"Sorry. I have to head back."
"Can you arrange a ride for yourself?"
"Or I can have one of the soldiers come for you."
I lifted my head and looked out the window. Everything beyond the glass was pitch black, snow coming down in thick, heavy flakes.
We were far past the edge of the District, and it was the night of the holiday. Forget a car for hire, there wasn't another set of headlights anywhere on the road.
I didn't want to agree, but I was pushed out of the car anyway.
Lorenzo hit the gas, and the car shot off into the distance.
Quick. Final.
He was so worried about Vittoria he couldn't even be bothered to explain.
I took out my phone and found the signal almost gone. None of the apps would even open.
There was nothing to do but pull my coat tighter, lower my head against the wind and snow, and start walking, one uneven step after another.
More than two hours later, shaking with cold, I finally reached the gates of the Marchetti estate.
Through the iron railings I could see the lights blazing inside, laughter drifting out into the night.
A soldier on the gate spotted me and hurried to open it.
"Signora, why are you so late?"
I didn't explain. I just asked, "Lorenzo. Is he already here?"
"The young Don arrived a long while ago. With Miss Volpe."
The man chose the words carefully.
He knew the old story, from years back. How Marco Rosso had shattered the betrothal-pact between our bloodlines to take Vittoria instead, how the shame of it had driven my father to his grave. The whole Harbor District had whispered of it at the time, soldier to soldier, table to table.
He was afraid of cutting me open again.
A bitter taste rose in me.
Even a soldier on the gate knew enough to tread lightly around it. Lorenzo hadn't spared a single thought for how I felt.
In the front room, Vittoria sat on the sofa pressed close against Lorenzo, the two of them talking and laughing low. The moment they saw me, they pulled apart.
"Elena, you finally made it."
"I was worried sick."
"Why was your phone dead every time the soldier called?"
I said it flatly. "It died."
In cold more than ten below, a phone's battery didn't last long out on an open road.
"I'm sorry, Elena. This is all my fault."
Seeing me covered in snow, Lorenzo put on a guilty face. He smoothed the lapel of his jacket with a single downward stroke, took my hand, and sat me down on the sofa.
Salvatore and Carmela Marchetti came over too, fussing over me, scolding their son. How could he leave his wife alone out on a road like that, on a night like this?
