Faith tried to hide her shock at the revelation. Leo’s priestly ambitions hadn’t been on the questionnaire. She knew he was religious. She’d asked one of the household servants where he’d gone one Sunday, and the answer had been “Mass, of course”, as if it were ludicrous for her to ask what the man might be doing on a Sunday morning. But the priesthood? Never would she have guessed he’d once had such saintly ambitions. It made her feel safer—even if she knew that was ridiculous.

A man’s goodness or badness could not be measured by whether or not he was a member of the clergy. Scandal after scandal in the news had proven that. Nevertheless—like many people—she couldn’t resist the desire to trust those who were closely entwined with the Church.

Angelo and Davide sat at the far end of the table trying not to look like black sheep and sinners. No, they would never have grandchildren for Gina. And Leo’s mom would hate Faith when she realized Leo may as well have followed his original plan.

What else didn’t she know about him? As she glanced around the table, she wondered if everyone knew the family business or if the women were kept out of it. Did all the men know or only some of them? Not every man at the table looked like a thug, but some fit the stereotype to a T. Were they all involved in crime, or had some opted out like Leo? What was with the iciness between Leo and his sister, and why had Leo almost become a priest? More importantly, what had motivated him to abandon his calling?

Faith wondered if Sal was the boss, or if Angelo was. Angelo had seemed pretty powerful to her when he’d kept her at his house, as if he were the one who gave all the orders for how the mob universe should run. But something about the power that emanated off Sal told her different. But then, what about Leo’s grandfather, Carmine? He was old, certainly, but he could still be the boss. He clung to the back of the room like a fading cologne, observing everything in silence. Maybe he was the one to be afraid of.

Before she could avert her gaze, he smiled at her—a smile with too many layers to untangle that sent a chill running down her spine.

Leo spent most of dinner talking to Fabrizio. From the bits of conversation Faith could pick out, his cousin wanted to open a sandwich shop near Carroll Gardens. He needed start-up help, which Leo was happy to offer.

Most of Faith’s attention was taken up by Leo’s grandmother, Alba. Her Sicilian accent was still strong, even after so many years in America. While most of the family had an accent straight out of Brooklyn, Alba was a first-generation immigrant, and proud of it, since every other sentence started with: “In the old country…”

The matriarch of the family was a touchy-feely sort who couldn’t speak a word to someone without putting a hand on their arm. But Faith didn’t mind. It was unusual but comforting, a sharp contrast to Alba’s cold, silent husband.