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be a bloodbath across the streets of Boston and beyond that would dwarf the mob wars of the sixties.
    At one minute past eleven o’clock. Mr. Devlin rose out of his chair. He looked — and I’d never thought of this word in connection with him — defeated.
    â€œThank you, Matt. It’s in God’s hands now.”
    â€œIt always was, Lex.”
    We reached the office door, when the phone rang. Monsignor Ryan picked it up, said “Hello,” and handed the receiver across to Mr. Devlin.
    Mr. Devlin listened for a minute and simply said, “We’ll wait.”
    We sat again without saying anything further. In about five minutes, the door opened and Mr. Santangelo came in. His complexion was gray, and there were no smiles. He stood just inside the door opposite Mr. Devlin.
    â€œSo, Lex. I’m here to listen.”
    â€œI’m glad you’re here, Dom. I wasn’t sure you’d give my way a chance.”
    â€œHe didn’t. I did.”
    The voice that came from the door behind Mr. Santangelo startled us all. There was a slender, dark-haired younger man looking intently at Mr. Devlin. Their eyes were locked, and when the young man approached, they came together with their arms around each other for a long moment. I couldn’t hear the words that were whispered between them, but they were soft and seemed to express an affection that had aged roots.
    When he turned back to me, Mr. Devlin said, “Michael, I’d like you to meet my godson. This is Peter Santangelo.”

CHAPTER TEN
    I looked at Mr. Devlin. It was hard to hide my sense of lack of trust in not being let in on the game plan.
    Mr. Devlin understood.
    â€œIt was an oath, Michael. Last night, when we met the car outside the lockup, only Dominic and a young man who looked like Peter were in the car. That was the first I knew of it. It was a reasonable precaution. Nobody there knew what Peter looked like. Dominic made me swear to tell no one, absolutely no one. In a few days, if all went well, Peter would take his place in the cell.”
    It made sense, but it needed to sink in deeper to fully dissolve my initial reaction. If nothing else, the remains of the edge that I felt made me less subdued in the awesome presence of Don Dominic Santangelo. In my unfounded confidence, I put the question. “Who was it that actually died in that cell, Mr. Santangelo?”
    â€œA young man who worked for me. A very brave, very loyal young man. I’ll miss him very much. I’ll see that his family is taken care of, but the loss is very deep.”
    Mr. Devlin spoke softly. “They’ve begun an investigation, Dom. I’ll let you know what they find.”
    Mr. Santangelo waved his hand as if dismissing the idea. “I don’t need their investigation. It’s being taken care of.”
    My imagination filled in the vagueness of that statement and sent a chill through my nervous system.
    â€œDom, what you’re thinking about is going to play very badly in Peter’s case.”
    â€œPeter’s case may be going no further than this. In any event,this other matter involves treachery in my own family. It can’t be tolerated. There are doors to be closed.”
    I could see the lines deepen on Mr. Devlin’s face. I could read the disgust he felt for Santangelo’s world where violence was an instant substitute for the law. If Peter had not been his primary concern, he might well have walked clear of the whole situation. I could see him narrowing his focus.
    â€œThen at least listen to me about Peter. He’s under indictment for murder. He’ll have no life in hiding. We can get him into safe custody. I told you. I have an alternative. Will you listen?”
    â€œI always listen, Lex. But I’ll decide for myself what’s in the best interest of my son.”
    â€œI’ll stake my life on Billy Coyne. His word is like mine, and yours. I just talked to him on