BELLA MAFIA (2 page)

"He told you—for his son, for Michael Luciano."

"Is that it?"

Emanuel was not prepared for the rush of anger that made Domino's cheeks flush.

"Paul Carolla saw to it that Michael Luciano was introduced to heroin while the boy was studying in the States. Then, when he became an addict, they shipped him back and flaunted him like a beaten whore to the father who worshiped him. Carolla did that to a beautiful boy because Michael's father refused to deal in narcotics." Domino's hand clenched into a fist. "Yet the don never gave way. You have the proof now; the man who was in this room tonight is one of the most highly respected legitimate exporters of goods from Sicily, and he paid the price. He paid for it with the life of his son."

Domino paused, shook out a silk handkerchief, and wiped his mouth before continuing. "Michael was his father's son, and he fought back. At the time of his death he was cured of his addiction. But his killers injected him with enough heroin to kill five men. Even that did not satisfy them; they tortured him, beat him, until even the mortician could not repair his features. Don Roberto carries all this in his heart; he blames himself for that broken body, for the terrible things that were done to his beautiful son."

Emanuel watched as Domino wiped his eyes. The old man was speaking as if the tragedy had just occurred.

"Why, if he knew all this, did Luciano wait? His son has been dead more than twenty years."

Domino gave Emanuel a disdainful look. "Because he has two more sons."

"Yet now, all these years later, he is prepared to jeopardize his life and the safety of his family. I don't understand."

Domino tucked his handkerchief away and smiled, but his eyes were ice cold.

"You are not one of us, you could not understand. Call it revenge, call it the end to a vendetta, but I guarantee that Paul Carolla is finished if you get Luciano on the stand.
Capich'?"

Domino excused himself, and again the door opened to some unseen signal. The two men who had brought Emanuel to the meeting were waiting for him.

Emanuel arrived back at his apartment to find one of his guards washing down, yet again, the main entrance. Red stains could be seen on the cloth as the man wiped the door. Emanuel sighed. Once or twice a week a dead cat was pinned to the door, its guts hanging out, pitiful legs pinned as if crucified.

"Another cat? They carry on like this, and there won't be one left in the neighborhood."

The guard shrugged. "This one's a bit different," he said.

Emanuel looked, not even sickened anymore. "Oh, yes?"

"Yes, it's yours."

Sophia Luciano sat beside her husband, Constantino, watching the road, knowing that within moments they would reach the brow of the hill from which they could see the sprawling Villa Rivera.

The elder son of Don Roberto Luciano, Constantino had handsome features and blue-black hair that were reminiscent of his father as a young man. But only reminiscent; there was a shyness, a gentleness to him that were even more evident when he spoke, for he was afflicted with a slight stammer. Sophia waited for him to tell their children they were "home"; it annoyed her that her husband always referred to his father's house as "home" when they had lived in Rome for the past eight years, but she said nothing.

Below them now, sparkling in the February afternoon sun, the Villa Rivera seemed bathed in golden light, which spread across the tiled roof, the swimming pool, and tennis courts. White curtains billowed from the painted shutters and caught the breeze along the veranda.

Constantino stopped the car on the brow of the hill. They could see the striped awnings of the marquee, already erected for the wedding. Constantino stared down while his two sons grew impatient, urging their papa to hurry.

"Is something wrong?" asked Sophia.

"They must be workmen, see them? On the roof, around the gates."

Sophia shaded her eyes and replied, "There'll be a lot of people, darling. You know Mama will want only the best."

Graziella Luciano was waiting on the porch, her gray hair coiled in a bun at the nape of her neck, her tailored dress concealing her extra weight. Her face, with no trace of makeup, was still, at sixty-five, hardly lined. Her excitement was held in check; she appeared almost austere, but her pale blue eyes were sharp, watchful.

The guards were opening the fifteen-foot-high wrought-iron gates. As Constantino's car continued up the long driveway, she waved, acknowledging their arrival, but at the same time she gave a curt order to the florist to space the floral displays a little farther apart and reminded him that everything had to be completed before five o'clock.

The boys ran from the car and into their grandmother's arms. Her face softened by smiles, her blue eyes warm and brimming with tears, she hugged her grandchildren. Constantino followed, arms outstretched, to kiss his mother. She smiled, touching his face lovingly.

"Are you well?"

"Mama, you saw me a month ago. You think I'd change?"

Graziella linked her arm through her son's and smiled a welcome to her daughter-in-law. Sophia blew a kiss with her fingertips and instructed the maid to take care with the wedding gown, which was draped in sheets to keep it clean. When Sophia came to her, Graziella reached up to stroke her cheek.

"You have been away too long. I have missed you."

The car was full to bursting with their luggage. Graziella ordered one of the men to unload it and take the suitcases upstairs.

Making no effort to help, Constantino asked after his father. Graziella replied that he was in town but would be back by five. She then turned her attention to her beloved grandsons, saying that if they hurried to their rooms, they might just find something underneath their pillows.

Sophia could hear the boys in the bedroom below. She would have preferred them to be on the same floor that she was, but she knew better than to question Graziella's arrangements. She began to unpack the cases, which were already neatly stacked at the foot of the bed.

The room was filled with fresh flowers, perfectly arranged, as was the room itself, though Graziella's taste was a little old-fashioned and austere for Sophia. Much of the heavy carved furniture had come from Graziella's family home; it was whispered that her ancestors had been titled aristocrats. Nowhere in the house was there a photograph of these mysterious relatives, and Graziella did not look like a Sicilian. In her youth she had been very blond with piercing blue eyes, looks that only her firstborn child had inherited.

Sophia snapped open the locks of her case, angry with herself because every time she came here she was reminded of Michael Luciano. Although there was not a single photograph of Graziella's mysterious family, her dead son's face was everywhere. Over the years Sophia had deliberately learned where each silver-framed image was placed, so she could never be taken unawares, never be shocked by seeing him.

At that moment Constantino walked in, making Sophia even more angry with herself. She hated being caught talking to herself.

He closed the door and watched her, smiling. Her curvaceous body was usually hidden beneath her perfectly cut and draped clothes; now she was barefoot and wore only a silk slip. It never failed to arouse him when he saw her like this.

"You need any help?"

"No, just watch that the boys don't get too unruly."

"Mama's with them, she's bought them new Action Men."

"She spoils them." Sophia inspected an outfit she was thinking of wearing for the wedding.

"She loves them."

She smiled. "I love you."

He went to her, but she sidestepped him, laughing. "No, let me unpack. Your papa will be home shortly."

Constantino caught her in his arms and kissed her neck. "Take your hair down."

"No, just let me do what I have to do."

He released her and flopped across the bed. "It's going to be a full house, and guess what? They are actually using Michael's room."

Sophia almost dropped a coat hanger. "What?"

Constantino put his hands behind his head and smiled. "Yeah, the groom is to be in Michael's room."

"I hope they've aired it. It's been closed for years."

"I peeked as I came up. Most of Michael's stuff has been put away. They couldn't really keep it closed, not with a full house. You know, this will be the first time in God knows how many years that we all are together. Maybe it'll lay a few ghosts to rest."

"You mean Michael?" Sophia could have bitten her tongue.

"Michael? No, I wasn't thinking of Michael. I know Filippo and his wife feel slighted that they don't play more of a part in the business, but with the wedding, no doubt Teresa will feel happier."

"I'm sure she will, but it's all been arranged in such a hurry. Is there a reason?"

"It's what Papa wanted."

"I see. And Papa always gets what he wants. Sometimes I feel sorry for Teresa."

"Why's that?"

"Filippo may be handsome, but he's still a child and behaves like one."

She caught sight of her husband's face in the wardrobe mirror, saw the flash of anger. He was always this way if she said a word against any member of his precious family. "Where is Don Roberto?" she asked.

He rolled off the bed. "Mama said he was caught up with some business in town. Should be home by f-f-five." He stuffed his hands in his pockets and frowned. "Something is going on. I've tried to c-contact Papa. He's selling off some of the companies; it doesn't make sense."

Sophia noted the stammer and watched him. He rarely discussed business with her, but she knew he had been worried lately. "Well, now is your chance to talk to him."

He nodded and changed the subject. "You think Mama looks okay?"

"Yes, why? Don't you?"

Before he could answer, they heard the sound of a car horn. Sophia went to the window.

"It's Filippo and Teresa. They almost ran into Mama's flowers."

Constantino said, "I'd b-better go down," but he stood there, his hands still deep in his pockets.

Sophia went to him and wrapped her arms around him. "Your mama is fine. She's maybe a little nervous. This is a big occasion, and she has a lot to think about."

He rested his head on the nape of her neck. "You always smell so good, you know that? Sometimes I look at you when you don't know I'm there, and I still can't believe you're mine."

She ran her fingers through his hair and cupped his face in her hands. "If you like, I'll wait up here for you, and I'll let my hair loose—"

He drew away as the car horn sounded again, loudly. "No, you'd better dress. Mama will want you downstairs."

He hurried out, and she heard him calling to his brother. From the bedroom window she watched as her sister-in-law, Teresa Luciano, climbed out of the Rolls-Royce. The driver was already unloading their pieces of ill-matched luggage.

Teresa called to her husband, but he paid no attention; he was running to greet Graziella. He had film star looks but didn't seem to care how he dressed; he wore a leather jacket and a T-shirt, and his hair was long. Sophia noticed that he wore a pair of high-heeled cowboy boots.

Filippo had lived in New York for years, hardly ever making the trip home, so it was no wonder his mother was so extravagantly pleased to see him. She was so overjoyed that she ignored Teresa and her granddaughter, the bride-to-be.

Rosa Luciano was still collecting her things from the back of the Rolls-Royce. The driver held the door open for her as she got out. Sophia was surprised at how attractive the girl had grown; it had been years since she had seen her. Rosa had inherited her father's dark eyes and black, curly hair.

Teresa was older than Filippo, and to Sophia's eyes she looked more like a spinster schoolteacher than ever, her pinched face, sharp nose, and tight mouth accentuating her bad temper as she tried to organize the luggage and her daughter while waiting to be welcomed by Graziella. It amused Sophia to see how nervous her sister-in-law was as she made an embarrassed gesture toward her crumpled skirt and jacket.

"Aunt Sophia . . . Aunt Sophia ..." Rosa Luciano rushed into the room. "Can I see my dress? Can I see it?"

Sophia moved quickly away from the window. "Can you wait until it's pressed? I want you to see it at its best. . . . You know, Rosa, you have grown into a beauty. Let me see you close."

Rosa beamed, then tossed her head. "Maybe you should wait until later, when the creases are out of me. We were delayed hours at the airport, and then Mama and Papa argued all the way because Papa insisted on driving, so Mama nearly had heart failure—"

Sophia kissed Rosa's lips. "When one is as young as you, and a bride-to-be, there are no creases. They come with age, my darling, and you are as pretty—"

Rosa hugged her tight. "Oh, Aunt Sophia, I am so happy I don't know what to do with myself. Look, have you seen my ring?"

Sophia made all the right noises as she examined the emerald and diamond ring. Rosa was to marry Don Roberto's nephew, a boy the same age as she, just twenty.

Sophia knew he could not have afforded the ring;
il Papa,
the don himself, had bought it, as he had Sophia's engagement ring. She could tell at a glance that it was worth thousands.

Rosa threw herself on the bed. "You know, Aunt Sophia, sometimes I have to pinch myself to believe it's all really happening. Two months ago I didn't know Emilio existed. He came to New York on business for Grandpa and we met—it was love at first sight, he proposed to me on our second date. It was so romantic."