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“It’s in your interest, Ms. Baratta. If we can prove that Mr. Gugliotti was in some way tied to the accounts, the money may be freed up. Ms. Baratta can claim the funds, pay the taxes, and be done with this enterprise entirely. You have been cooperative, and the paper trail indicates you told us the truth. What’s left is the matter of the disbursement of the funds.”

“May I speak with my brother alone?”

“Absolutely.”

Campovilla stands and goes outside the door to wait.

“I like the deal. You should get something out of this after all you’ve been through,” Joe says.

“I need to think about it,” I tell him. “Let him know I’ll be in touch. There’s one more thing I need to do before I close the books on the Elegant Gangster.”

The entirety ofthe Saint Catharine’s Church Sodality membership encircles Angelo like he’s the homecoming bonfire at Pope John High School. All it takes to turn these Italian American women into a pack of sex pistols is hearing the accent of their motherland coming from a fine-looking man with a full head of hair.

“Ladies, may I borrow Signore Strazza?” I take Angelo by the arm.

“We’re in love with him,” Patti Ciliberti says, twisting a lock of her hair like a bread tie on a loaf from Del Ponte’s in Bradley Beach.

I lead Angelo through the dining room to the kitchen, which is packed with more women. We squeeze through them to the cellar door. I take Angelo down to my old apartment. My father hasparked two window air-conditioning units and a leaf-sucker bag where my bed used to be.

I put my arms around Angelo. “Why did you come to New Jersey?”

“I know you don’t need me, Giuseppina.”

“I do need you. You’re a good friend.”

“I hate that word in English or Italian,” he says. “I don’t like it at all when it comes from a woman.”

“It’s a word of honor.”

“It is a word without romance,” Angelo says.

“Then I will never call you my friend again.”

“You promise?”

I kiss Angelo Strazza. His lips caress my cheek until he finds my mouth once more. We can hear the footfalls overhead, and the occasional peal of laughter from the ladies in the kitchen.

“Can we go?” he asks, looking around the room. “What is this place?”

“I used to live down here.”

“It’s horrible.”

“Not to worry,” I tell him. “Mom is putting you up down the street at Aunt Lil’s. It’s the best house on the block. All the accoutrements of gracious living.”

“Whatever you say.” Angelo pulls me close and buries his face in my neck. I hope he likes the scent of mothballs.

“And where will you be?” he asks.

“Not in the basement.”

I release him. I go to my old dresser and open the small drawer at the top. I feel around for the sock where I hid my engagement ring. I place it in the pocket of my dress. “We can go,” I tell him.

“Not until you tell me where I stand with you.”

I take Angelo’s face into my hands and kiss him again. This timewith more urgency. “Now do you understand? Or do you need Google Translate? Come on. Let’s find Cousin Mauro and get you settled.”

“I want to stay with you.”