"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 ag
o 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."
"Your mother must be very happy." Rosa sat up and gave a lopsided grin. "Are you asking me or telling me? You'd think it was Mama getting married, she's made such a fuss. She's even started telling me the facts of life, keeps bringing me books on the reproductive organs, checking that my periods are regular.
In the end I said, 'Mama, I'm getting married, not going into labor.' " Just at that moment Teresa walked in. She pursed her lips. "Shouldn't you unpack, Rosa? You must take everything you want pressed down to Adina in the kitchen." Rosa jumped off the bed and winked at Sophia as she loped out of the room.
Teresa sighed and crossed to Sophia; they kissed. "She can never walk from a room, she's so clumsy. I hope you haven't made a dress with a long train; she'll trip over her feet." Sophia laughed and assured Teresa that the dress would be perfect. "Can I see it?" Teresa asked. "Mama has decided that the women will spend the evening alone while the men go out.
We can see the dress then." Teresa pushed her thick glasses back to the bridge of her thin nose. "You look very fit, slim as ever. Are the boys well? I hear they spend a lot of time here. How is Constantino?" "Well, very busy . . . And you?" Teresa ignored the question and continued. "It's strange Don Roberto was not here to meet us. He usually is. Was he here when you arrived?" "No, just Mama."
"She looks very well."
"Yes, I thought so, too," "But then, you see her more often than we do."
Teresa's shortsighted eyes flicked around the room, noting everything, the clothes on their hangers, the neat array of shoes. Sophia said, "I expect you'll see more of Mama now that Rosa is marrying. Will she live at the villa?" Teresa smiled, unable to hide her pleasure.
"Oh, I think so. Don Roberto treats him like a son." She was almost out of the door when she stopped and closed it.
"It is not an arranged marriage. They are in love." "Yes, Rosa told me." Teresa had never been sure how many of the family knew the background to her own marriage. She had never known why the don had chosen her, but she had never argued.
The first time she had set eyes on her handsome husband she had wanted him more than anything else in her life, except to conceive a son. Rosa was her only child, but with the forthcoming marriage she was confident that she and Filippo would no longer have to feel like poor relations.
"We are on the top floor," Teresa complained. "It's inconvenient what with having to help Rosa dress. I would have thought we'd have the room below yours, the big guest room."
"Mama put the boys in there. We can keep an eye on them, hear them if they wake in the night."
"Yes, she told me. Well, I'll unpack, not that it'll take me long. I see you have brought a veritable wardrobe. Perhaps if my suit is not good enough, you could lend me something?"
"You are welcome to choose anything—"
Teresa interrupted her curtly. "Thank you, but I'm sure what I've brought will suffice." She left the room.
Next to arrive was Emilio Luciano, the groom, his young face bright pink with nerves. Constantino leaped down the stairs two at a time and clasped his nephew-to-be in his arms. Filippo, with shaving cream on his face and wearing only his trousers, appeared at the top of the stairs and then, amazingly, glided down the banisters to land in the hall. The children attempted to emulate him by sliding, belly down, on the polished wooden rail.
Amid the congratulations, the backslapping, the shouting and teasing, Graziella stood bursting with happiness. These were her boys, her sons, her grandsons. She seemed unaware of the mayhem, of the fact that Filippo wore only his trousers; she just clapped her hands, hunching her shoulders coyly when one or another of her boys paid her an outrageous compliment.
"Who is this young woman? Where's our mama, eh? You telling me this beauty is our mama? How come you don't age, huh?"
As Graziella gestured ineffectually for them all to go into the living room, Rosa hurtled into Emilio's arms. They kissed, to a round of applause. In mock desperation Graziella brought out a gong, as she had done when the boys were little. She banged it, hughing, and one by one they drifted in.
Graziella served espresso, and once they all were settled and the initial excitement was over, she made an excuse to get more coffee.
"I'll do that, Grandmama."
"No, no, Rosa, I have to check on supper."
Graziella crossed the hall, but instead of going toward the kitchen, she entered the dining room. Alone, she let out a long, deep sigh; the tension of having to hide her feelings had exhausted her. She pushed the shutters open slightly and checked her watch. He should have been home by now. He had said no later than five, and it was already past that. The florists, the builders and decorators had all gone, the family had arrived, and still, there was no sign of him. He always phoned if he was even fifteen minutes late. Why hadn't he called today of all days?
The telephone rang shrilly, and Graziella gasped with shock. She hurried into the hall as Adina replaced the phone.
"It was a message for you, signora. Don Roberto should be home in a few moments. He tried to get through earlier, but someone must have been using the telephone."
Graziella crossed herself. "Thank you, Adina. Make some fresh coffee, and check that all the extensions are unplugged. Leave only the phones in the hall and the study connected."
Adina nodded. Something was very wrong. She had felt it in her mistress days before the arrival of the family. But she dared not ask; she could only pretend she was unaware of it.
Graziella joined her family, sitting together in the cozy living room. Smiling, she passed around cakes and pastries.
"This is the first time we are all at home together, so that is what we celebrate tonight, the family."
Constantino became aware of his mother's frequent glances at the gold carriage clock on the big mantel. She kept a small smile on her face, but her eyes betrayed her nervousness.
"Are you worried about something?" he whispered, kissing her hand.
"Your papa is late. Next thing I know, dinner will be ruined."
Filippo, eating a slice of cake, asked loudly, "Mama, what's with the army of guards out front of the house?"
Graziella ignored the question. "If you all wish to change, bathe, then we must come to some arrangement about the hot water. Sophia, you want to go first, see to the boys?"
Don Roberto Luciano's two sons looked at each other.
Something was definitely wrong. Constantino gave Sophia a small nod of his head to take the boys out; putting her half-full cup down, she called them and immediately left the room.
Filippo looked hard at Teresa. She frowned, not understanding.
"Take Rosa up to finish unpacking, will you?"
It was not a request. Teresa put her cup down and beckoned to Rosa to go with her. Filippo closed the doors behind them while Graziella fussed with the tea tray.
"Papa w-w-worried about this trial, Mama?" asked Constantino.
Graziella nodded.
"The papers in New York were full of it," Filippo said. "Mama, you okay?"
Graziella was close to tears. She wanted to tell them there and then but could not bring herself to go against her husband's wishes. Constantino placed his hand on his brother's shoulder as a signal not to question her further.
"Maybe we should talk about this with Papa. Mama must have a lot of things to do before dinner."
With a grateful look, Graziella excused herself and left her sons together. Constantino walked slowly to the great stone fireplace and leaned against the mantel.
Filippo shrugged. "So what was all that about? The way she acted I thought she wanted to talk to us—"
Constantino gave his brother a guarded look. "Emilio, you wanna do me a favor? My cigars, I left 'em in my room. Get 'em for me, would you?"
The young groom knew he was being asked to leave the brothers alone, and he obeyed without que
stion.
Constantino stood up and drew the curtains aside, looked out at the drive, the guards on duty at the gate. "What's going on? You think this trial business's getting to the old man? There're more guards out there than at the National Bank."
"They get any of our guys?" asked Filippo.
Constantino snorted. "They got the rubbish, small-timers. Cages are filled to breaking point with every bum in Sicily. Nice way of cleaning up the garbage."
"Paul Carolla's no small fish."
Constantino dropped his easy manner. "Eh, you think I don't know that? Word's out the bastard hired someone to hit the prison cleaner's nine-year-old kid. He put pressure on the guy, wanted him to take messages out; when he refused, his son's head was shot off. Did you read about it?"
Filippo shook his head no.
Constantino stared from the window, apparently in deep thought. "Papa organized this wedding in one hell of a hurry. Is there some reason? Rosa's not having a kid, is she?"
Filippo sprang to his feet, his face twisted with anger, but Constantino soothed him. "Take it easy. . . . But you've got to admit it's a bad time for a wedding, unless that's the intention. We're all here, all under one roof; maybe he knows something we don't. You taken a look out there? Papa's hired what looks like an army to guard us. Maybe he's worried. I know he was blazing about Lenny Cavataio. The whole trial's ground to a halt."
Filippo, calmer now, lit a cigarette. "Who's he?"
"Cavataio, used to deal in junk for Paul Carolla."
Filippo shrugged. He had never heard Cavataio's name. Constantino realized that the stories about his brother must be true; rumor had it that he was nothing but a front in New York, that their father had virtually maneuvered him out of the business. Now he wondered if the reason the marriage was taking place was that their father intended moving young Emilio up to look after New York. The wedding had been organized too fast. The question was why. But as always, the don had kept his plans to himself.
Constantino kicked at the grate, his hands stuffed deep in his trouser pockets. "Papa's sold two companies without even discussing it with me. ... It has to have something to do with this Cavataio business."
BELLA MAFIA Page 2
