Gianni makes his decision with the speed and discretion of a man who has spent decades managing situations that cannot be explained to anyone outside the family. His enormous fist closes around the butterscotch. One measured movement — barely a shoulder-shift — and the sweet disappears into his breast pocket, tucked behind the pocket square. He smooths his jacket. He straightens. He gazes forward at the altar with the serene expression of a man who has done absolutely nothing unusual. Flavio watches this manoeuvre with round eyes. He looks at where the butterscotch was. He looks at the pocket. He looks at Gianni. Gianni does not look at Flavio. Flavio considers this, then nods once, filing it under adult mysteries, resolved. Aurora, however, has fixed the pocket with a small, proprietary stare. The priest says something lovely about love and keeping. In the last pew, a girl with uneven pigtails is quietly deciding whether this matter is, in fact, closed.