For a few minutes after the descent from the archive neither of us spoke.
The air outside had changed. The sun had moved lower, and the long shadows of the hollowed trunks stretched across the field like dark fingers reaching toward the palace.
Joseph seemed entirely unconcerned with what had just happened.
He brushed a faint trace of dust from the front of his jacket and glanced toward the soldiers nearby.
Then he turned to me with sudden cheerfulness.
"What would you like to drink, Signor Silvio?"
I blinked.
"Drink?"
"Yes," he said lightly. "Let's have dinner, shall we? I'm starved."
It was one of the strangest sentences I had ever heard.
The field behind us still held the quiet evidence of what had taken place only moments earlier. The insects had returned. The air buzzed gently in the heat.
Joseph lifted a hand.
"Colombo!"
One of the soldiers began jogging toward us immediately.
Joseph sighed before the man even reached us.
"Colombo," he said calmly, "before you say anything, let me just tell you something already."
The man stopped a few steps away.
"I don't want to hear it," Joseph continued. "I'm in no mood to listen to whatever complaint you've brought with you."
He gestured casually toward me.
"I'm here with my guest. We are about to have dinner."
Colombo hesitated.
Joseph continued speaking before he could open his mouth.
"Now I have given you several options already," Joseph said patiently. "You may choose wisely among them."
The soldier looked increasingly uncomfortable.
"In the meantime," Joseph added, waving his hand lazily, "why don't you make yourself useful for once instead of moaning like a priest at a funeral."
Joseph leaned back slightly in the chair.
"Bring me a bottle of Veuve Clicquot Ponsardin Brut," he said. "And some shellfish."
Colombo nodded quickly.
"I wasn't going to say anything, Don Joseph."
Joseph smiled.
"Really? Because that is exactly what people say when they are about to say something you don't want to hear."
The man shifted his weight.
"Signor… all I was going to say is that your uncle will not be happy about this."
Joseph tilted his head.
"Really?"
He looked genuinely amused.
"Here I was thinking I had just finished with the last enemies of the family."
The soldier swallowed.
"We had orders from Don Vitelli not to kill him."
Joseph's expression hardened slightly.
"You may have just started a war."
Joseph leaned forward slowly.
"Colombo," he said quietly, "I am beginning to lose my patience with you."
The soldier said nothing.
Joseph gestured toward the field behind us.
"I thought La Stiddas were supposed to be men," he continued. "But lately you all behave like frightened schoolchildren whenever the Americani are mentioned."
He stood up.
"DeSantino will not be intimidated."
His voice remained calm.
"Mark my words, Colombo. Every enemy of this family will disappear eventually."
He looked toward the palace.
"Resistance against our business will not be tolerated."
Joseph turned back toward him with mild irritation.
"And what are you still doing here?"
The soldier hesitated.
Joseph raised his eyebrows.
"I believe I asked you for champagne."
"Yes, signor."
"And shellfish."
Colombo frowned slightly.
"You said shell food earlier."
Joseph stared at him.
"Shellfish."
"Yes," Colombo said quickly. "That's what I meant."
Joseph waved his hand dismissively.
"Yes, Colombo. Shellfish."
He sat back down again.
"Now go."
Colombo glanced briefly toward me before walking away across the field.
For a moment neither Joseph nor I spoke.
The insects hummed quietly around the trees.
Eventually Joseph leaned back in his chair and exhaled.
"People think power is violence," he said.
I looked at him.
"But violence is only the noise."
He gestured lazily toward the clearing.
"The noise stops eventually."
The wind moved slowly through the grass.
Joseph's voice softened.
"That's when power begins."
A few minutes later the soldiers returned carrying a small table and a tray.
The bottle of champagne rested in a silver bucket filled with ice. Beside it were plates arranged with lobster, oysters, and a small mound of black caviar.
Joseph looked pleased.
"Ah."
He lifted the bottle carefully and inspected the label.
"Veuve Clicquot."
He poured two glasses.
The cork rolled quietly across the table.
Joseph handed one to me.
"To the end of unpleasant work," he said.
We sat in silence for a moment, drinking while the field slowly returned to its natural rhythm.
It was almost peaceful.
Joseph studied me over the rim of his glass.
For the first time since I had entered the palace, he seemed less interested in explaining things.
Instead he appeared curious.
"You have been very calm today, Silvio," he said eventually.
I shrugged.
"Have I?"
"Yes."
He nodded slightly.
"Most men do not observe violence the way you do."
He placed the glass on the table.
"They react."
He tapped his fingers lightly against the wood.
"You watch."
The late afternoon sun had begun sliding toward the horizon.
Joseph leaned forward.
"Tell me something," he said quietly.
I waited.
"Where did you learn to observe like that?"
The insects hummed softly across the field.
The palace stood silent behind us.
For a long moment I did not answer.
Joseph waited patiently.
And for the first time since arriving at the palace, I realised something strange.
Joseph had finished speaking.
The story was no longer his.
He was waiting for mine.
And for reasons I did not yet understand, I knew that once I began telling it, there would be no way to stop.