At the beginning of August, they set out: Antonia’s mamma crammed into the tiny backseat with Sofia, Antonia, and the luggage, the other grown-ups in front. They join the throngs of New Yorkers crowding the Long Island Motor Parkway and proceed to inch along, a couple of miles per hour, for the whole afternoon.

The sun beats down on top of the car and inside they sweat into their clothes and seats and try their best not to touch each other. The traffic moves like a full and languid snake across Long Island.

Sofia quickly grows tired of watching the occupants of other cars and falls to counting the spots on her new skirt, but Antonia leans forward around Sofia and watches as a man in a suit picks his nose; as a woman with a white blouse taps her manicured finger idly on the windowsill; as two children push each other in a backseat that looks roomy and clean compared to the one Antonia is stuffed into like an oiled sardine.

Outside, the scenery is increasingly marshy. The trees shrink and curl, bent by a lifetime of Atlantic wind. It is desolate and calm.

Antonia’s papa, Carlo, looks at the browning, windblown grasses. He knows the exact moment his life turned in this direction instead of another.

It was the summer of 1908, ten days before his ocean liner docked at Ellis Island. He was sixteen years old, and he was hungry. His mother had stuffed his trunk with sausages and cheese; thick black bread; oranges from the orchard. She had also folded his grandmother’s rosary into his fist and held him tightly and sobbed.

Carlo ate like a king for the first two days of his trip. He spent the following week curled in a fetal position around a sloshing, putrid bucket.

It was on that ship that he met Tommy Fianzo, who had crossed the ocean five times. Tommy dragged Carlo out of his seasick stupor and fed him warm water, biscuit crumbs, weak broth. Tommy told Carlo to avoid coughing in the Ellis Island immigration line. Tommy offered Carlo a job.

It started as inexplicable errands. Stand here on this corner, Tommy might say, and watch that man—that one, with the red shirt, sitting at that café. Follow him if he leaves. I’ll catch up with you later. Or, when a tall man comes out of this door, tell him Mr. Fianzo says hello. He arrived when he was told and stayed until he was told to leave. He picked up packages and dropped them off. Eventually, he began accompanying Tommy’s brother Billy on overnight expeditions to pick up shipments of top-shelf bootleg liquor upstate. For his compliance and for all of the questions he did not ask, Carlo was paid—and handsomely. He sent his mamma packages stuffed with cash.