Todos los capítulos de After Death, I Chose The Mafia Don: Capítulo 81 - Capítulo 90

They stayed in the car until after nine. Alessandro found a notebook in the glovebox, the kind he used for shipping manifests, and wrote in it with a pen that was almost out of ink, pressing hard so the words would come through.Blair told it in the order it came to her, which wasn't the order it had happened. Andrew always got to a place early. He took the chair with its back to the wall, even at his own mother's table. He didn't drink at anything that mattered to him. He'd tell you he hated being watched, and then he'd arrange things so that people were watching."He needs to see it," she said. "Whatever it is. He doesn't do things in the dark. Farro can be as quiet as he likes, but Andrew will want to be somewhere he can see my face when it happens.""Inside the chapel.""Or close enough to walk in afterward. He won't sit in a car listening to a radio."Alessandro turned a page. "What does he do when something goes wrong for him?"She took longer over that one. The heater ticked. "

Sofia called at seven the next morning, and she had written it down first, because Blair could hear her reading."He gave me a message for you. He made me say it back to him twice so I'd have it right." Paper rustled. "Tell B: the place on the water, where she wore the green dress. Thursday, eight o'clock. Alone. I'll tell her how it ends, and how to stop it."Blair had been buttering toast. She set the knife down on the plate."Do you know what he means?" Sofia asked. "I looked up every restaurant on the harbor. Which green dress?""It doesn't matter. Thank you for writing it down." Her voice sounded fine, which surprised her. "Are you safe? Where are you?""At my mother's. She's been lighting candles about the flowers. He rang here yesterday, too, to ask if they'd come. She said yes, and he said good, and hung up." Sofia stopped. "He was so pleasant, Blair.""I know."Across the table Alessandro had put down his coffee. He'd heard her side and read the rest off her face. She hung up

They listened from the back of a bakery van parked two streets behind the harbor. Lorenzo had chosen it because nobody looks twice at a bread van at seven in the evening. It smelled of yeast and diesel. Blair sat on an upturned crate with the earpiece pressed to her head, and Alessandro sat next to her on the floor, one knee up, not touching her, close enough that she could feel him breathing.The two men who followed her everywhere were outside, one at each end of the street. Lorenzo had a laptop on his knees with a map on it and a little green dot for Marco.At ten to seven the bar across from the restaurant filled up. At seven exactly, Marco said in her ear, very flat, "Table against the wall. Dark jacket. He's here."Nobody in the van moved. Blair found she was holding the edge of the crate with both hands."Ordering," Marco said. "Something in a tall glass. He hasn't touched it.""He won't," Blair said, so quietly that only Alessandro heard.* * *Sofia went in at ten to eight. T

Alessandro called at twenty past ten. She caught it on the first ring."Nobody came." His voice was low, and behind it she could hear wind. "We've been here since nine. Marco's got two men on the roof of the next shed and two on the road. Not a car, not a light. And the table's gone.""Gone.""The table, the chair, the roses, the cloth. Someone took all of it out this afternoon after Marco left, and swept the floor. There's broom marks in the salt." A pause. "They watched him leave, Blair. Whoever it was, they were near enough to see his car go, and then they came in and cleaned up.""So he never meant me to come.""He meant you to think about it. I don't like it. I'm coming back." She heard a car door. "Twenty minutes. Stay away from the windows."She said she would. She put the phone down on the quilt and sat there.* * *She went out to the landing at ten to eleven, to look in on her parents. The house was quiet. Fiorella had fallen asleep with the bedside lamp on, and Stefano was

The service went the way these services always went, which was to say slowly, and Blair found that the slowness itself was a kind of mercy. A reading. A hymn nobody quite finished together.The priest talking about a man he had clearly never met, using words that could have belonged to anyone's father. She had rehearsed this hour so many times in an empty garden that the real one felt almost familiar, almost survivable, and she let that familiarity carry her through the first readings the way a current carries a boat that isn't rowing.Alessandro stood to speak a little after the half hour. He did it without notes, one hand resting on the edge of the pew, and he talked about a boat, and a lost shoe, and three days spent looking for it, and the room laughed in the soft, grateful way rooms laugh at funerals when someone finally gives them permission to.Blair watched him and thought that whatever else was happening within a mile of this chapel, this part, at least, was true and only his