BELLA MAFIA (73 page)

Sophia bent quickly to retrieve it, and while hidden from view, she checked that all the crushed tablets had been used. She shook it slightly, and as she sat up again, she saw Luka wiping his plate clean with some bread.

She turned to Graziella. "Mama . . ." She held out the handkerchief.

"Grazie,
Sophia." Graziella slipped it into the sleeve of her dress. "Johnny, are you still hungry?"

The main course finished, Graziella cleared the table and brought fresh fruit and several cheeses. She was just setting down a thick cheesecake with fresh raspberries when Sophia asked her to sit with them. They could wait for coffee.

By the time Graziella had walked back into the dining room she could see that Luka was drowsy. He was sitting well back in his chair, his face flushed, and he didn't seem to notice that Graziella locked the double doors behind her as she returned to her seat and placed the key in front of Sophia.

The room fell silent, and the women looked at each other furtively. Then Sophia picked up a knife. "Would you like fruit and cheese or some of Mama's homemade cheesecake? Luka? Luka?"

Their faces were staring at him through a distorting mirror; they had elongated noses and wide cheekbones, and their mouths flapped at him. He giggled, and it didn't even register that Sophia had called him Luka.

No one moved, no one made any attempt to continue talking. They fell silent, watching him, waiting for him to sleep. It seemed an interminable time before his head rolled forward.

Sophia took one of the leather belts she had collected and tied his right leg to the chair. As Rosa did his left leg, Teresa pulled at his right arm. His left arm hung limply at his side, and he muttered, trying feebly to free himself. But the next moment he was trapped, with both arms and both legs shackled to the chair.

Sophia examined the buckles. "Make sure he can't get them undone. He's strong. Make sure they're tight."

They eased the chair a fraction away from the table and tied a scarf around his eyes. His head was now slumped on his chest. To ensure that he was completely trapped, Rosa wrapped yet another belt around his shoulders.

After they cleared the dishes and removed the tablecloth, they dimmed the huge chandelier to candlelight level. Sophia gestured for them all to leave the room.

Teresa whispered, "Shouldn't one of us stay with him?"

Sophia shook her head. "No, he can't move, look at him. We wait until he wakes."

Rosa brought coffee into the living room and passed it around with chocolate mints. On the surface everything appeared natural, yet the tension in the room was electrifying. They had succeeded in phase one; they had him trapped. Now they had to move on to phase two. When Luka woke, could they get him to talk? Would he?

Teresa, feeling chilled, rubbed her arms, and asked Rosa to light the gas fire. They all watched as Rosa knelt by the ornate marble fireplace and turned on the gas.

Graziella spooned sugar into her coffee, stirred it slowly. "Do you think there is any doubt at all, Sophia?"

Sophia shook her head, then stared into the flames as she explained how Pirelli had described him to her.

"I am
so
sure I brought along all the papers we left at your apartment, Teresa. We need never go back. If this place is really ours, we can live here, but we'd better check just how much of it we actually own. We cannot trust a word he has ever said to us."

"It's not rented," Teresa said. She walked into the hall and looked into the darkened dining room, seeing the shrouded figure still bound to the chair. His head, still wrapped in the Hermes scarf, lolled forward. She returned with the deed and handed it to Sophia.

The flickering fire attracted their attention, made a focal point for the room. Graziella watched the blue and red flames curling and weaving around the fake logs. She sighed; perhaps the fire reminded her of the massive stone grate at the Villa Rivera, but she spoke to the room, softly, without direction.

This must be a lesson to us all. How easily we have been
^Us
ed. Papa never allowed anyone outside the family to stay at the villa."

She turned to Sophia, watched her a moment as she read through the deed to the house. "Do you remember that time, Sophia, how angry Papa was because Constantino brought you
^t0
the villa. . . ."

Teresa was on the defensive immediately. "Mama, there were reasons for allowing Johnny into the villa, reasons we don't want to go into now."

Graziella nodded acceptance. "I had my own reasons for not being more suspicious." She smiled sadly. "He always reminded me of Michael; sometimes he looked just like Michael."

Teresa snapped, "Mama, we don't want to hear about Michael now, okay? If it weren't for him, none of us would be in this situation."

Sophia said sharply, "This is not the time to argue among ourselves."

Graziella went on. "I am not criticizing you, Teresa, just stating a fact. We must learn to protect ourselves, never allow anyone to get so close—"

Teresa's voice rose. "We all agreed to let him stay at the villa; it wasn't just me. It wasn't just my decision; you can't put the blame on—" She was red-faced with anger. "Tell her, Sophia, we all agreed."

Sophia's voice was cold but soft. "Not quite, Teresa, but what is done is done. As Mama said, we should be more careful in future."

Close to tears, Teresa left the room, flinging a last remain over her shoulder: "We have a future then, do we?"

Graziella and Rosa looked fearfully at Sophia, who could feel the tension building up in the room. She held up a small red book. "What's this?"

Rosa looked at it. "We took it from Barzini's desk, I don't know what it is." She flicked through it. "It's full of numbers, and at the back there's a list of names."

Sophia handed Graziella the deed to the house.

"Check this over, Mama," she said, then bent close and whispered in Sicilian, "Leave Teresa alone."

Graziella whispered back, "But you know what I am saying is true. You know it."

"Because he's blond and blue-eyed? He has nothing to do with Michael, Mama, and this is not the time to start thinking about Michael."

But Graziella would not leave it alone. "We just accepted him, but you know, I still can't believe what you say is true, go over and over it, but it can't be true. All you know is what some detective told you. Don Roberto never put any trust in the police—"

"We are going to find out the truth, Mama. That is what this is all about." Sophia kissed the top of Graziella's head and patted her shoulder.

Her hand was gripped tightly, then released. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

Returning to her chair, Sophia began going through the folders and documents. Her head was aching, but she would not take anything—no more pills, nothing more to drink. She knew she had to remain in control of herself.

Teresa walked back into the room, and Sophia gestured for her to come to her side.

It was the thick folder of documents that puzzled Sophia. "These were supposed to be handed over to Barzini. Are these the originals?"

Teresa flushed. "Yes."

"But I thought Barzini had them?"

Teresa was shaking as she told them what had taken place at the meeting with Barzini and why she had not discussed it with them. She also told them of Luka's part in contacting Salerno.

Sophia looked hard at Teresa. "In the future you do nothing without consulting the rest of us. We were paid for the Luciano holdings, the fifteen million, yes? So why didn't you hand these over to Barzini?"

"I was going to. You see, I felt it was important to make contact with Barzini's partners, make sure they knew we weren't trying to cheat them. But at the same time we still own a New York waterfront pier, not included in the deal, and two warehouses right on the dock. I would like to continue working, with that property as a base. There are vast opportunities—" She stopped suddenly, as if everything she was saying had no place, no meaning. Not now, tonight.

Sophia stared into the flames of the gas fire. "You start running, Teresa, and your legs will be slashed off. We have to walk this one, very slowly. Maybe you're right, it is a good basis for a business, and the money split four ways doesn't in the end amount to a fortune, but ... If we were to start up, We would have to settle with Barzini."

Teresa hesitated, then quietly, guiltily, explained that Barzini was dead. She described how he had been killed the day she met with him and that was why he had not taken the documents.

Sophia rose slowly to her feet and gripped Teresa's arm. "And you never told us? Are you mad?"

"I was only doing what I thought best."

"For whom, Teresa? We are what is left of the family. . . ." She released Teresa's arm, leaving a red impression of her slender fingers. Then she continued calmly. "Commissario Pirelli came to New York to meet with Barzini. He had had some information, a tip that linked Barzini to the murder of our men. Barzini could have been the one who hired Carolla. If they discover what we have done, we could be in trouble."

"But it was an accident. He ran straight into the street."

Sophia nodded. "Maybe we can use his accident to our advantage."

Rosa sat as if at a tennis match, looking from her mother to her aunt. Were they arguing? If so, it was very subdued.

Graziella, sitting in a low chair close to the fire, interrupted them. Her quiet voice made Sophia bend low to hear what she was saying.

"They are like wasps in a nest. Kill one, and the others will swarm around in retaliation. I used to place a jar of honey on the step, part filled with water. A lot would die because they wanted the honey. But the heart of them was in the nest. Not until the nest was set on fire were they gone. . . . Shouldn't someone check on Johnny?"

Teresa hurried from the room without being asked. Sophia looked with renewed interest at Graziella, a soft smile on her lips. Graziella warned Sophia to be careful with Peter Salerno and his willingness to cooperate. "We have the honey, Sophia, but never forget the nest."

Rosa cleared the coffee cups. As she carried them toward the kitchen, Teresa was easing the dining-room door closed.

"He hasn't moved," she whispered.

Luka's breathing was loud, as if he were deeply asleep; he had been that way for an hour and a half.

Teresa helped Rosa stack the dishes. Rosa asked, "What were you and Sophia talking about?"

"The deal with Barzini."

"I thought you were arguing."

"No, just clearing up a few things."

"She's changed; she's different."

Teresa dried her hands. "I think, under the circumstances, we all are going to change."

"Mama, if we find out, you know, if we get him to talk, what's going to happen?"

"You'd better ask Sophia. I've made so many mistakes, Rosa. I should have listened to her from the beginning. We should have gone to the police as she wanted, handed Johnny over to Pirelli when he came to the villa. But we didn't, Rosa, and I was the one who persuaded everyone to keep him safe so he could work for us. I keep seeing the blood on his clothes at the apartment: It was thick; it covered my hands."

Even now Teresa could not tell her daughter of the part she had played in Rocco's murder. At the time she had forced herself to accept it as a necessary evil. But the guilt was now manifesting itself, and it weakened her, made her vulnerable. She tried, hesitantly, to explain this to her daughter.

"Everything I did was for you and for me. I felt we were owed; I didn't care about the others. Sophia is right, I have made so many mistakes."

Teresa's face crumpled, and she wept openly, holding out her arms pleadingly to Rosa. They held each other tightly, Rosa trying to soothe her mother, whispering that no one blamed her.

"You know who's to blame, Mama, so why do we wait? If it weren't for him, I'd be married; if it weren't for him, none of this would have happened. Sophia is right: We must take our justice. He began it himself. Now we should finish it; we shouldn't wait any longer."

Teresa watched, stunned, as her daughter pulled open one drawer after another. Then, shouting, "What are you going to do? Rosa!" she rushed forward, but Rosa had torn the diamond from around her neck and was hacking at it with a meat cleaver, trying to smash it on the wooden chopping board.

Luka stirred, but he could barely lift his head. He moaned softly, then slipped back into his drugged sleep. They both heard him.

Rosa whispered, "We have to kill him, Mama, for what he's done. I want to."

Sophia had come to the kitchen door. They spun around as she spoke. "That's right, Rosa. Now, come into the living room. I think the notebook we took from Barzini is important."

Mother and daughter hurried past Sophia, who was about to follow them when she saw the chain, the diamond teardrop, and the cleaver. She gave a slight nod of her head as if in confirmation and picked up the diamond.

She returned to the living room and bent to lay a gentle hand on Rosa's shoulder, whispering, "Diamonds are hard to destroy, Rosa. Keep it; it is valuable; we may need it."

Rosa looked up into her aunt's beautiful face. "Grandma had a pearl for every good memory of her life. Do I get a diamond for the bad? I don't want it!"

Sophia slipped the diamond into her pocket. "You will have pearls, Rosa, I promise you." She crossed to Teresa, who was flicking through Barzini's notebook.

Teresa muttered, "I don't understand this. It could be some kind of code for keeping cash records. If Barzini handled the payout to us, then maybe he used to pay off others. ... I don't know . . ."

Sophia took the notebook and turned to the last page. "You see this? It's just a list of names. You heard of any of them?"

Teresa shook her head, and Sophia passed the book to Graziella. "Mama, these names in Barzini's book, have you ever heard of any of them? They have to be important. Remember his face when we took the book?"

Graziella held it at arm's length to read. "I've got to get some glasses. . . . Ah! You remember, I told you Mario Domino was in Papa's study, all his papers were gone? You remember, Sophia? Three men, and two of them are listed here: E. Lorenzi and G. Carboni. These men were in papa's study—"

As Sophia moved to Graziella's side, they all heard the awful sound, half cry, half howl, like that of a crazed dog.

Sophia was out first, running across the hall to the dimly lit dining room. She heard, mingled with the screams, the frantic banging of the chair as Luka tried to free himself, his body twisting and jerking the chair almost off the floor. His head thrashed from side to side, and it looked as if at any moment the chair would fall over backward.