I_soprano_5x13 Official

The air in North Caldwell was thick with the humidity of late June and the stench of betrayal. Tony Soprano sat on his patio, the glowing tip of his Cohiba the only light in the encroaching gloom. He wasn't thinking about the orange juice with "some pulp" or the ducks that had long since flown south. He was thinking about his mother and his uncle.

As the rain began to pour, Tony found himself at Vesuvius, the doors locked against the storm. Artie Bucco let him in, his face a mask of pity and fear. They sat in the dark, eating pasta by candlelight while the lightning illuminated the empty tables. I_soprano_5x13

Tony left the room and walked straight into the path of the FBI. The feds were moving in, a swarm of windbreakers and warrants. They weren't there for Livia; they were there for the wreckage Tony had left behind in his wake. The air in North Caldwell was thick with

Tony looked at his family—Carmela, Meadow, AJ—huddled together in a booth. He realized then that the ducks weren't coming back. He had built a cage around his family, and the bars were made of his own sins. He raised a glass, the wine dark as blood. To the family, he said, his voice cracking. He was thinking about his mother and his uncle

Inside the house, the silence was brittle. Carmela was upstairs, her rosary beads clicking like a countdown. She knew the storm was coming; she could smell the gunpowder on Tony’s skin even when he hadn't fired a shot. Tony stood up, his heavy footsteps echoing off the flagstone. He had a stop to make before the world exploded.

He leaned in close, his shadow swallowing her bed. He didn't yell. He didn't shake her. He just whispered into the plastic of her oxygen mask. I know, Ma. I know it was you.