Omerta (31 page)

“What about this guy Tulippa?” Boxton asked. “He can leave the country anytime.”

“Tulippa is touring the country giving speeches for drug legalization and also collecting his blackmail payment from big companies.”

“Can’t we nail him on that?” Sestak asked.

“No, Sestak,” Cilke said. “He has an insurance company and sells them insurance. We might be able to make a case, but the businesspeople oppose it. They’ve solved the safety problem of their personnel in South America. And Portella has no place to go.”

Sestak grinned at him coldly. “What are the rules of engagement here?”

Cilke said smoothly, “The director ordered no more massacres, but protect yourself. Especially against Astorre.”

“In other words, we can leave Astorre for dead,” Sestak said.

Cilke seemed lost in thought for a moment. “If necessary,” he replied.

I
t was only a week later that the federal auditors swarmed over the Aprile bank records and Cilke came personally to see Mr. Pryor in his office.

Cilke shook his hand and then said genially, “I always like to meet personally with people I may have to send to prison. Now, can you help us in any way and get off the train before it’s too late?”

Mr. Pryor looked at the young man with a benevolent concern. “Really?” he said. “You are completely on the wrong track, I assure you. I run these banks impeccably according to national and international law.”

“Well, I just wanted you to know that I’m tracking down your background and everyone else’s,” Cilke said. “And I hope you are all clean. Especially the Sturzo brothers.”

Mr. Pryor smiled at him. “We are immaculate.”

After Cilke left, Mr. Pryor leaned back in his chair. The situation was becoming alarming. What if they tracked down Rosie? He sighed. What a shame. He would have to do something about her.

W
hen Cilke notified Nicole that he wanted her and Astorre in his office the next day, he still did not have a true understanding of Astorre’s character, nor did he wish to. He just felt the contempt he had for anyone who broke the law. He did not understand the resolve of a true Mafioso.

Astorre believed in the old tradition. His followers loved him not only because of his charisma but because he valued honor above all.

A true Mafioso was strong enough in his will to avenge any insult to his person or his
cosca
. He could never submit to the will of another person or government agency. And in this lay his power. His own will was paramount; justice was what he decreed justice must be. His saving of Cilke and his family was a flaw in his character. Still, he went with Nicole to Cilke’s office vaguely expecting some thanks, a relaxation of Cilke’s hostility.

It was evident that careful arrangements had been made to receive them. Two security men searched Astorre and Nicole before they entered Cilke’s office. Cilke himself stood behind his desk and glared at them. Without any sign of friendliness he gestured them to sit down. One of the guards locked them all in and waited outside the door.

“Is this being recorded?” Nicole asked.

“Yes,” Cilke said. “Audio and video. I don’t want any misunderstanding about this meeting.” He paused for a moment. “I want you to understand that nothing has changed. I consider you a piece of scum I won’t allow to live in this country. I don’t buy this Don bullshit. I don’t buy your story about the informant. I think you engineered this with him and then betrayed your conspirator to gain more lenient treatment from me. I despise such trickery.”

Astorre was astonished that Cilke had penetrated so near to the truth. He looked at him with new respect. And yet his feelings were hurt. The man had no gratitude, no respect for a man who had saved him and his family. He smiled at the contradictions within himself.

“You think it’s funny, one of your Mafia jokes,” Cilke said. “I’ll wipe that smile off your face in two seconds.”

He turned to Nicole. “First, the Bureau demands that you tell us the true circumstances of how you got this information. Not that phony story your cousin gave. I’m surprised at you, counselor. I’m thinking of charging you as coconspirator.”

Nicole said coolly, “You can try, but I suggest you take it to your director first.”

“Who told you about the attack on my house?” Cilke asked. “We want the true informant.”

Astorre shrugged. “Take it or leave it,” he said.

“Neither,” Cilke said coldly. “Let’s get this straight. You are just another dirtbag. Another murderer. I know you blew up Di Benedetto and Washington. We’re looking into the disappearance of the two Sturzo brothers in L.A. You killed three of Portella’s hoods, and you took part in a kidnapping. We’re going to get you in the long run. And then you’ll be just another piece of shit.”

For the first time Astorre seemed to lose some of his composure, and his mask of affability slipped. He caught Nicole watching him with a sort of terrified pity. And so he permitted some of his anger to escape.

“I don’t expect favors from you,” he said to Cilke. “You don’t even know what honor means. I saved the lives of your wife and daughter. They could be lying underground if it wasn’t for me. Now you invite me here to abuse me. Your wife and daughter are alive because of me. Show me respect for that at least.”

Cilke stared at him. “I’ll show you nothing,” he said, and he felt a terrible anger at being in Astorre’s debt.

Astorre rose from his seat to walk out of the room, but the security guard pushed him down.

“I’m going to make your life miserable,” Cilke said.

Astorre shrugged. “Do what you like. But let me tell you this. I know you helped put Don Aprile on the spot. Just because you and the Bureau want to get hold of the banks.”

At this the security man moved toward him, but Cilke waved him off. “I know you can stop the attacks on my family,” he said. “I’m telling you now that I make it your responsibility.”

From the other side of the room, Bill Boxton looked at Astorre and drawled, “Are you threatening a federal officer?”

Nicole broke in. “Of course not, he is just asking for his help.”

Cilke now seemed more cool. “All this for your beloved Don. Well, obviously you haven’t read the file I gave to Nicole. Your beloved Don was the man who killed your father when you were only two years old.”

Astorre flinched and glanced at Nicole. “Is that the part you tried to erase?”

Nicole nodded. “I didn’t think that part was true, and if it was, I didn’t think you should know. It could only hurt you.”

Astorre felt the room begin to spin, but he kept his composure. “It doesn’t make any difference,” he said.

Nicole said to Cilke, “Now that everything is clear, can we go?”

Cilke had an overpowering build, and as he came out from behind the desk he gave Astorre a playful slap on the head. Which surprised Cilke as much as Astorre, for he had never done such a thing before. It was a blow to show his contempt, which masked true hatred. He realized that he could never forget Astorre saving his family. As for Astorre, he looked steadily into Cilke’s face. He understood exactly how Cilke felt.

N
icole and Astorre went back to Nicole’s apartment, and Nicole tried to show her sympathy for Astorre in his humiliation, but this angered him even more. Nicole prepared a light lunch and then persuaded him to lie down on her bed for a nap. In the middle of his nap, he was conscious that Nicole was on the bed beside him, hugging him. He pushed her away.

“You heard what Cilke said about me,” he said. “You want to get mixed up in my life?”

“I don’t believe him or his reports,” Nicole said. “Astorre, I really do think I still love you.”

“We can’t go back to when we were kids,” Astorre said gently. “I’m not the same person, and neither are you. You’re just wishing we were kids again.”

They lay in each other’s arms. Then Astorre said sleepily, “Do you think it’s true what they say about the Don killing my father?”

T
he next day Astorre flew out to Chicago with Mr. Pryor and consulted with Benito Craxxi. He brought them up to date and then asked, “Is it true that Don Aprile killed my father?”

Craxxi ignored the question and asked Astorre, “Did you have anything to do with inspiring the attack on Cilke’s family?”

“No,” Astorre lied. He lied to them because he did not want anyone to know the depth of his cunning. And he knew that they would have disapproved.

“And yet you saved them,” Don Craxxi said. “Why?”

Again Astorre had to lie. He could not let his allies know he was capable of such sentimentality, that he could not bear to see Cilke’s wife and daughter killed.

“You did well,” Craxxi said.

Astorre said, “You haven’t answered my question.”

“Because it is complicated,” Craxxi said. “You were the newborn son of a great Mafia chief in Sicily, eighty years old, and head of a very powerful
cosca
. Your mother was very young when she died in childbirth. The old Don was in extremis, and he summoned myself, Don Aprile, and Bianco to his bedside. The whole of his
cosca
would tumble at his death, and he was worried about your future. He made us promise to look after you and chose Don Aprile to take you to America. There, because his wife was dying and he wanted to save you any more suffering, he placed you with the Viola family, which was a mistake, because your foster father turned out to be a traitor and had to be executed. Don Aprile took you into his home as soon as his trouble had passed. The Don had a macabre sense of humor, and so he arranged to have the death labeled suicide in the trunk of a car. Then, as you grew older, you showed all the traits of your real father, the great Don Zeno. And so Don Aprile made the decision that you would be the defender of his family. So he sent you to Sicily to be trained.”

Astorre was not really surprised. Somewhere in his memory was a picture of a very old man and a ride on a funeral hearse.

“Yes,” Astorre said slowly, “and I am trained. I know how to take the offensive. Still, Portella and Tulippa are well protected. And I have to worry about Grazziella. The only one I could kill is the consul general, Marriano Rubio. Meanwhile, I have Cilke hounding me. I don’t even know where to start.”

“You must never never strike at Cilke,” Don Craxxi said.

“Yes,” Mr. Pryor said. “That would be disastrous.”

Astorre smiled at them reassuringly. “Agreed,” he said.

“There is some good news,” Craxxi told him. “Grazziella, in Corleone, has requested Bianco in Palermo to arrange a meeting with you. Bianco will send you word to come within a month. He may be your key.”

T
ulippa, Portella, and Rubio met in the conference room of the Peruvian consulate. In Sicily, Michael Grazziella expressed his profoundest regret that he was unable to attend.

Inzio opened the meeting without his usual South American charm. He was impatient. “We must solve the question: Do we get the banks or not? I’ve invested millions of dollars, and I am very disappointed in the results.”

“Astorre is like a ghost,” Portella said. “We can’t get at him. He won’t take more money. We have to kill him. Then the others will sell.”

Inzio turned to Rubio. “You’re sure your little love will agree?”

“I will persuade her,” Rubio said.

“And the two brothers?” Inzio asked.

“They have no interest in vendetta,” Rubio said. “Nicole has assured me.”

“There is only one way,” Portella said. “Kidnap Nicole and then lure Astorre out to rescue her.”

Rubio protested, “Why not one of the brothers?”

“Because now Marcantonio is heavily guarded,” Portella said. “And we can’t fuck around with Valerius because army intelligence will come down on us, and they are a vicious bunch.”

Tulippa turned to Rubio. “I will not hear any more of that bullshit from you. Why should we risk billions of dollars to go easy on your girlfriend?”

“It’s just that we tried that trick before,” Rubio said. “And remember, she has her bodyguard.” He was being very careful. It would be disastrous for Tulippa to be angry with him.

“The bodyguard is no problem,” Portella said.

“Well, I’ll go along with you as long as Nicole doesn’t get hurt,” Rubio said.

M
arriano Rubio set things up by inviting Nicole to the annual Peruvian ball at the consulate. On the afternoon of the ball, Astorre came to visit her to tell her he was going to Sicily for a brief visit. As Nicole bathed and dressed Astorre picked up a guitar that Nicole kept for him and crooned Italian love songs with his hoarse but pleasant voice.

When Nicole came out of the bathroom, she was completely naked except for the white bathrobe over her arm. Astorre was nearly overwhelmed by her beauty, which was hidden in her everyday dress. When she reached him, he took the bathrobe and draped it around her.

She moved into his arms and sighed. “You don’t love me anymore.”

“You don’t know who I really am,” Astorre said, laughing. “We’re not kids anymore.”

“But I know you’re good,” Nicole said. “You saved Cilke and his family. Who is your informant?”

Astorre laughed again. “None of your business.” Then he went into the living room to avoid any more questions.

T
hat night Nicole attended the ball accompanied by her bodyguard Helene, who had a better time than she did. She understood that Rubio, as host, could not pay her special attention. But he had arranged for a limo for the night.

After the ball, the limo took her to the front of her apartment. Helene got out first. But before they could enter her building, four men surrounded them. Helene bent down to her ankle holster, but she was too late. One of the men fired a bullet into her head, forcing her crown of flowers to bloom into blood.

At that moment another group of men came out of the shadows. Three of the attackers fled, and Astorre, who had discreetly followed Nicole to the ball, had her behind his back. The shooter of Helene had been disarmed.

“Get her out of here,” Astorre said to one of the men. He held the gun on the killer and demanded, “OK, who sent you?”