Angelo picked up his martini and drained the glass before answering. “Marco and I have had a number of disagreements since last spring. And no, he is not moving in with you, Father. He needs to learn to confront his mistakes instead of running away. I was not happy with his performance nor with his behaviour when we were up north, nor since, and he should resolve these things with me.” Not hide out with you, he finished silently.
The Colonel smacked his lips. “I’ll take the vitello tonnato.” He shut his menu and beckoned to the waiter before turning to Angelo. He wore a capitulating expression, but Angelo was not fooled.
“From what my men tell me, Marco’s a decent worker,” the Colonel said. “Luigi Barbarasso… By the way, I’m putting him in charge.”
Angelo groaned inwardly. “Barbarasso?”
“I’m getting on a bit, Angelo,” his father said. “It’s time to put someone else on the front. And don’t look at me that way. Marco could learn a lot from him. Your son is also quite well respected by the pioneers he leads, and I want him to have a leadership role. Maybe even”—the Colonel gazed at Angelo—“up in the Reschen Valley.”
Angelo stiffened. “I see.”
“The apprenticeship will shape my grandson up soon enough, give him character, just like I’d hoped the military would do with you.” He wiped his monocle with the linen napkin, lifted it to the ceiling, peered through, and then put it back into his breast pocket. “He just needs time. But if you want him to stay at home, then there is nothing I will do to stand in your way.”
Since the Colonel’s arrival, traffic had increased to and from the kitchen nearby, and Angelo glanced around the restaurant to see that more customers had arrived. The waiters were at least hustling with purpose now.
He unfolded his napkin and laid it in his lap. “My mother doesn’t need another grandchild underfoot, even if he’s older than the others. Besides, Chiara—”
“Yes, yes, Angelo. It’s clear. She won’t hear of it. I’d like to order now.” He snagged the waiter’s attention again and was telling the man what he wanted before he’d even reached the table. “The vitello tonnato to start, then give me the orecchiette, followed by the mussels in white wine. And bring us a bottle of soda water.” He looked across the table. “You?”
Angelo ordered the rabbit, and when the waiter left, changed the subject to business. “I know why you called.”
The Colonel raised his martini. “Here’s to Article Two of the concession.”
When Angelo did not raise his glass, indicating that his was empty, the Colonel shrugged, tipped the drink to his mouth, then set it down again. “When the government receives—and accepts—our bid, we can begin with the first phases as soon as next summer.”
Angelo smirked and waited for his father to proceed, but the waiter appeared with the first course. He took advantage of the interruption. “You know that I am going to insist on conducting ground tests again, right? It’s necessary that we keep the people pacified and on our side, show them some goodwill.”
“There’s no need for further tests, Angelo. You know as well as I do that it will only provoke them.” The Colonel moved for the plate of veal. He wrapped a thin slice on his fork and lifted it to his mouth, his eyes on Angelo. “Besides, the longer we keep this under wraps, the better. I need bread.” The Colonel waved an arm towards the waiter. “Try this, Angelo. It’s quite good, but wait for some bread.”
Angelo recalled what Stefano had said about the information having reached Verona already. Somebody was not keeping this under wraps at all.
When the waiter brought bread, Angelo declined the veal. “Don’t you even want to review the water usage and impacts list?” he asked instead. “We have to communicate with the population, including your plans for restitution. Keep the process transparent.”
“I’m getting to that,” the Colonel said, teasing another layer of thin meat onto a slice of white bread. “Angelo, we’ll do it like we do everywhere else. Build temporary barracks and begin moving people to higher ground. That is, if they want to stay. Then we detonate the buildings and clear out the trash.”
“Just as you do anywhere else. Don’t you understand that’s exactly what they’re afraid of?”
“I suppose you have other ideas.” The Colonel smiled and popped the bread and veal into his mouth, looking as if he had made an obvious point.
The waiter returned and cleared the emptied platter of veal and set down a neat bowl of pasta and tomato sauce.
Holding his fork over the bowl, the Colonel smacked his lips again. “Now, this is not as good as your mother’s, I can see that already, but my, how this hotel can cook.”
Angelo was thinking of Katharina, the farm she had taken over from her grandfather, the property her daughter—damn it, his daughter—lived on. He pushed at his empty plate. The gold had flaked off in places along the rim.
“My department has to oversee a man-made Armageddon,” he said. “Flooding, fluctuation of water levels that will leave the economy there reeling, even for—Father, are you listening? Even for the owners of the reservoir. In other words, your company, Monte Fulmini Electrical.”
“Farmers and fishermen,” the Colonel spat.
A drop of spittle landed on the back of Angelo’s hand, and he wiped it off with the napkin in his lap.
“That’s not a foundation for a strong economy,” his father continued. “It’s archaic.”
Angelo lifted the newspaper. “Tolomei says our economy is a disaster—”
“That is
