Saul has never been to a meeting like this: unplanned, unannounced, not condoned by Joey or any other high-ranking boss. It is so forbidden it has never been expressly forbidden; so inconceivable no one has conceived of warning Saul against it. It is treachery, treason. Saul knows this. But curiosity races through him as he sits and sips his drink. He excuses himself to call Antonia’s and tell his family he got caught up with work. Back before dinner, I think, he says.

Saul compliments the view; the drink; the subsequent meal: pickled beets and brisket, new potatoes immortalized in caramel schmaltz—he feels dizzy, but the room around him is in sharp focus. He is a child in flashes; each bite transports him and he can smell woodsmoke, bitter Berlin air, the musty inside of his school knapsack. His mother’s skirt, unfolding around him. He feels the transition from Fianzo hostility to Leibovich hospitality like whiplash. His head spins.

After lunch, Eli brandishes two thick and fragrant cigars and he and Saul retire to a study at the end of the hall. The walls are lined with books; the desk stacked with papers.

“Thank you for coming,” says Eli. His face is impossible to parse. Saul nods. “I’ve been interested in you for a while.”

“Oh?” says Saul.

“Of course. A man of your—history. A man of my—cultural background. We’ve been working on opposite sides of this thing, haven’t we? And I just can’t make sense of that.”

“Begging your pardon,” says Saul, tiptoeing through a field of land mines, “but have we been opposed?” If he remains neutral, there is a way out of this trap: he can always tell Joey he was gathering information. It was unplanned, boss, he will say, but I thought I might learn something useful. His hands are sweating.

“If we aren’t united,” says Eli, “what are we?” Saul opens his mouth to answer and Eli stops him with a wave of his hand. “As much as I love to argue semantics, Saul, that isn’t why I asked you here today. I wanted to offer you a job.”

“I have a job,” says Saul. Deep in his chest, some small hope or want begins to stir. Some unmentionable dissatisfaction yawns open.

“I’m offering you your culture back,” says Eli. “Do you have a job and a full heart? A job and a sense of connection to where you come from? We take vacations, here. We have a summer house in the Hudson Valley. We come together for food, for birth, for death.” Eli puffs at his cigar and blows two perfect smoke rings into the air of the study. “I’m offering you a fresh start,” he says. “I’m offering you a family.”

“I appreciate that,” says Saul. “I know my situation isn’t—traditional. But I have a job, and I have a family now.”