“It was a gift,” Angelo said. “From a friend.” “A friend does not give a gun as a gift.” Angelo walked into the room and sat down next to his father. “This one does,” he said. “And what will you do with such a gift?” “It will remind me,” Angelo said in a near whisper. “Of what?” Paolino’s eyes searched the boy’s face. “Of what I am without it, Papa.”
