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“What are your plans, Giuseppina?” Mom asks.

“I’m afraid I have to skip the local tour. I’ve got some business I need to take care of,” I tell her.

“That’s fine. We’ll take Mauro and Angelo around,” Dad says.

“I appreciate it,” I tell him.

“I thought we’d do dinner here tonight. With our guests. The kids. Does that sound good?” Mom asks.

“Perfetto,” Mauro says.

I get up to remove the dishes. Connie and Katie get up to help me.

“No, Katie. You rest. Connie and I have got this.”

Joe joins Connie and me in the kitchen. “Need help?” he offers.

Connie clutches her chest. “No way! Is this real or am I having a heart attack? My brother never picked up a dish in his life.”

“All right, Con, knock it off. I need a word with Jess.”

Connie puts down themopeen. “Fine. Call the scullery maid back in when you’re done.”

“No. Stay,” I tell her. “I made a decision about the Elegant Gangster. I’m not going to wear a wire. I don’t want the money.”

“Are you sure?” Joe asks.

“They gave me an option to pursue a lawsuit to get the money in the accounts, or I could sign off on the accounts and be cleared of all liability. I signed off. It was a big day for Caesar.”

“The money could have changed your life.”

“I wish that were true. But it turns out, the only thing that can change my life is me.”

“But money helps,” Joe insists.

I don’t know about that. It seems to me that any time a family member got sent to the Island, it was over money. More families have lost their way in pursuit of a windfall, and we were no different. My hope for the new generation is that they lose the address of the Island altogether and work things out when there’s a problem. The Caps and Barattas hold on to secrets, but never cash. But even with all our flaws, if I need something, the first place I will turn is to my family. They’re my judge and jury and I accept their verdict because they’re all I’ve got. I used to think when someone in my family said, “It’s about the money,” it wasn’t. But itis. It’s about taking care of one another by any means necessary. And if we can do that, surely we can hold this fragile band of insane people together with the love that made us family in the first place.

The Elegant Gangster

The sky overhead is a peachy pink, which means rain is coming in from the sea, an insider’s weather tip from the Jersey Shore. When I was a kid, I constantly checked the colors of the sky in hope of a sunny day. When I went to Italy, I looked to the sky to connect me to home.

The walk to the entrance of the federal prison in Fairton, New Jersey, is a neat configuration of bluestone pavers hemmed with square separators of sandstone and brick. The walk could be aesthetically pleasing, but I don’t imagine that beauty is a priority in the federal penal system. Fairton is a minimum-security prison, with the brick facade of a community center. Except for the guards and the metal detector and the purse search, you would never know it was a jail.

“Giuseppina Baratta,” I tell the guard, handing over my driver’s license. “The officer at the front desk sent me. I’m here to see Rolando Gugliotti.”

“Family?”

“A friend. Googs is my uncle’s friend, actually. I signed up to visit online.”

“Wait here.”

The visitors’ room reminds me of a school cafeteria. There are round pressboard tables centered around the same orange and turquoise bucket chairs we had in our lunchroom at Pope John High School. There must have been a truck with faux Eames chairs that dumped a surplus on the turnpike. Every school, church hall, and civic club in New Jersey has the same bucket chairs, it seems.

Googs enters the room. I wave. He stands up a little straighter as he walks toward me. His khaki pants are fitted, except the pant-leg portion, which is rolled to break over his shoes. He wears black Merrell loafers and an untucked blue button-down shirt. He invites me to sit at the table by the window.

“You look good, Googs.”

His thick white hair is cut short; his eyebrows are as black as licorice. “I’m glad you came to see me. Thank you.”