Chapter 9 - The Requiem on Tenth Street
Salvatore Bruno died on the second Tuesday of March, just as the first pale green shoots of the crocuses were breaking through the frozen dirt along Passyunk Avenue.
The funeral was the largest the neighborhood had seen since 1998. Four blocks of Tenth Street were closed off by the police department, the sidewalks lined with three thousand people—longshoremen in flannel shirts, old women with rosaries, and every store owner from the Italian market who had ever received a favor from the old man when the winter utility bills were high.
Dominic walked behind the silver casket, his black wool coat buttoned to the chin, his face a carved slate of granite that gave the local newspaper photographers nothing but a portrait of traditional, Sicilian silence.
Beside him walked his mother, Maria, her hand resting heavily on his arm.
And on his other side, her small hand tucked firmly into the crook of his elbow, walked Elena Vance. She was wearing a simple, high-necked black wool dress that had been bought for her by the family’s old tailor on Broad Street, her hair pulled back into a neat, dark twist that revealed the calm, unblinking dignity of her face.
In the front row of the church, sitting between Rocco and his mother, sat five-year-old Leo. He was wearing a small black suit with a white shirt, his legs swinging back and forth against the oak pew, his small hand holding onto a brand-new, silver-plated metal dinosaur that Dominic had bought for him from the hobby shop downtown.
When the service was finished, the crowd moved out into the bright, cold sunlight of the churchyard.
A black Lincoln Town Car pulled up to the curb, its rear door swinging open to reveal Lou Rossi, his silver hair shining under the spring sun. He didn't step out of the car; he simply leaned toward the window, his old eyes fixed on Dominic’s face as the new boss of South Philadelphia stopped on the top step of the church.
“Dominic,” Rossi said, his voice carrying over the sound of the church bells. “My condolences about the old man. He was a straight shooter.”
“Thank you, Lou,” Dominic said, his voice flat and level as his long fingers tightened around Elena’s arm, pulling her slightly closer to his side.
Rossi looked at Elena, then at the boy with the silver dinosaur, a slow, appreciative nod passing through his old jaw. “The territory is quiet, Dominic. The Chester board sent their respects. We’re keeping the trucks on the northern route from now on.”
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“That’s good for business, Lou,” Dominic said. “Because my kitchen is closed to strangers from now on.”
The Lincoln pulled away from the curb with a smooth, silent surge of power, vanishing into the stream of traffic down Broad Street like a shadow that had finally run out of night.
