And, ignoring his mother’s entreaties and his father’s stunned silence, and the rumors that as the organizations grew bigger, so did the acts of violence they were compelled to commit, and the jail sentences they were compelled to serve, Giuseppe Colicchio strode chest first, eyes blazing, into the new world on his own.

—

Maybe the difference between Joey and Carlo can be explained like this: When Antonia was born, Carlo wept, and apologized to the silky down on top of her head, for not being able to escape his job before she arrived. When Sofia was born, Joey kissed Rosa, donned his hat, took a car to the Lower East Side, and bought a gun.

—

In the front seat, next to Joey, Rosa Colicchio is imagining what she will name their next baby, even though she worries it is bad luck. She is thinking of the name Francesca, which was her grandmother’s name. Her grandmother, whom Rosa never met, sent each of her children to America with one jar full of tears and another of olive pits, for luck. Rosa Colicchio is in need of some luck. When Sofia was a baby, Rosa imagined surrounding herself with children. Now that Sofia has lengthened—suddenly!—into a little girl, with big hands and feet and fierce eyes and a sharp tongue, Rosa has narrowed her wishes down to just one. One more child. She thinks of Sofia, growing up without siblings. There is Antonia, for whom Rosa is immeasurably grateful. But Rosa’s childhood was suffused with an inimitable sense of belonging, and she wants to give that to Sofia. To be surrounded by other people who were made like you. Together, to be a river, rather than a solitary puddle.

Rosa does not have the vocabulary to be disappointed in her body’s function, or lack thereof. But something unnameable would feel more full, more complete, better, if she had another child. She would feel good—a good mother, a good wife. Rosa has always wanted to be good. She turns her face away from the window and blinks to clear her eyes and breathes away quick clenching panic.

“The air is starting to smell like ocean,” says Joey. They are driving alongside sand and sparse grasses now. Small birds dart riotously across the road.

There is a collective sniff and sigh of appreciation, and then everyone in the car falls back into their own thoughts. By the time they get to the inn, everyone is exhausted and on edge.

Dinner is served on the porch, and the wind blows lazily at napkins and shirtsleeves. It is the first time Antonia or Sofia has had lobster, and they try to pinch each other with the claws until they dissolve in a fit of hysterical laughter and Rosa has to say basta! in a sharp whisper. But Sofia sees her smile a little, when she looks away.