His voice was plaintive. "But no one can possibly connect you."
"No? Are you stupid as well as crazy? Won't connect me? I was there, I was there! The police will want to question me; the people who work for Nino will notice the designs are missing!"
"But there were hundreds. I didn't take them all."
"Don't you understand, you've destroyed any chance of my being able to use even one of them!'"''
He gestured for her to keep her voice down, and she clenched her hands at her sides. "I could have paid him, understand? I could have bought them legitimately."
He sat on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands. She wanted to hit him, slap his face, kick him. She had never known such blind fury against another human being.
"I should go straight to the police and hand you over. . . . Give them the drawings, let them deal with you, you stupid—"
She paced the room, her anger easing the horror of the situation. She stopped in front of him and pulled his hair to make him look up at her.
"As soon as Barzini pays us, you get out of our lives, or so help me God, I'll tell the police."
It was a hopeless threat. She was cornered, and she knew it. Her freedom, her release from the Lucianos, was disappearing fast.
"It was an accident, Sophia. He started saying things about you, and all I could think of was how you had crawled to him, begging him to help you, and he laughed in your face. He made you vomit in the street; he said you were finished, you could never do anything, you had no talent. He kept on and on, and I told him to stop; but he wouldn't. ... I swung out, hit him with something from his desk, a statue. ... I don't know, I don't remember. I didn't mean to kill him; but he deserved it, and I would do it again if I had to, anytime. No one can hurt you, no one. I won't let them."
"You—you took my last chance." Her face crumpled, and she sobbed; but as he stepped toward her, she moved away, went to the door, tried to turn the knob. Frustrated, she-turned just as he clasped her to him. She tried to break free, tried to claw at his face, but he twisted her arm behind her back.
"You can have everything again, Sophia. I'm going to give it to you. I love you, I love you."
Her dark eyes showed her contempt. "Your love disgusts me. Now, move away from the door and let me go."
Luka kissed her, a passionate, longing kiss, but she did not respond. He could feel her teeth, her lips. . . . When he broke away, he looked into her angry eyes. They were filled with such hatred that he let go of her shoulders and fumbled in his pocket for the key. She stood directly behind him while he unlocked the door.
As she made her way down the stairs, she wiped her lips with the back of her hand. She knew he was following her, but she didn't turn back. She didn't turn until she reached ground level. Then she looked up to see him staring down the stairwell. The light from the naked bulb behind him encircled his head and shoulders, and at that distance she could not see his expression. He was like a statue, so still, his pale skin and blond hair making him appear ghostly.
Sophia let herself into the apartment. As she closed the door, Rosa appeared.
"Where's the champagne?"
"I—I couldn't find a liquor store open." Sophia passed her, heading for her bedroom.
"You went to see Johnny, didn't you?"
With her hand on the doorknob, Sophia sighed. "Rosa, it's none of your business where I've been."
Rosa flushed with anger. "Are you two lovers?"
"No."
"Don't lie to me. He can't take his eyes off you. What happened in Rome?"
Sophia opened the door. "Nothing, and take my advice, stay away from him."
"Because you want him?"
Sophia slammed the door shut and turned on Rosa. "Don't be childish, and don't be so rude to me. I'll forget it this once, but don't you ever insinuate that there is anything between me and that creature. . . . And I mean it, Rosa, stay away from him." _
Rosa turned and ran into her room as Teresa came out of the bathroom.
"What's going on?" she asked Sophia.
"Nothing ... I just want to go to bed, all right?"
"Fine by me. I just thought you and Rosa were having an argument. No need to snap my head off."
"I'm sorry. . . . Rosa seems to think I am having a thing with Johnny." ,
"What? Are you serious?"
"Don't let her see too much of him, Teresa. Believe me, I know what I'm talking about. The sooner we get rid of him, the better."
Teresa hesitated, wishing she could agree, but Johnny had bound her to him with the Rocco murder. If she were to anger him, his violence could turn against her, against any one of them.
"Johnny's still useful to us, Sophia, but I'll speak to Rosa."
Breakfast was not a happy affair. No one had much of an appetite for the eggs and sausages Graziella had cooked. They all were too worried about the meeting with Barzini, which would take place in a few hours. The weather outside was freezing, and Sophia, generous as ever, offered one of her furs to whoever needed it.
Rosa pulled a face. "I think it's disgusting walking around with dead animals on you. I don't know how you can. You've got about fifty pelts there; that's fifty hearts, lungs. . . ." Sophia lit a cigarette and said nothing.
The telephone rang, but Teresa waited. "We don't want to look too desperate. I'll answer it." She disappeared into the study.
When she came out, she announced, "We're to meet him at a restaurant called the Four Seasons, at one o'clock sharp. Sophia, would one of your coats fit me?"
"Oh, Mama, how could you?"
"Quite easily, Rosa, I'm not going to freeze."
Barzini and the three women sat at his table at the Four Seasons restaurant. They ordered; Barzini was a genial host, refusing to discuss business until lunch was over. He seemed to be a regular customer, acknowledging other diners and being on first-name terms with the waiters.
The women were very formal, fearful, and hardly able to touch their food. Every person Barzini called to seemed a threat, and when he reached over to grip Sophia's hand, she shrank back.
"You are very beautiful, I am honored, but I am puzzled. . . .
They waited. Rosa's leg, beneath the table, pressed against her mother's. She hated the way his small hands were never still, the way his eyes flicked from one woman to another.
"Where is Signora Luciano? I was looking forward to meeting her again."
"Mama is feeling unwell, Mr. Barzini. She asked me to send you her very best wishes and her apologies."
"No apologies needed. She must be tired. She is staying with you, Teresa? I may call you Teresa?"
"Si, please. We all are staying at my apartment."
He nodded, then touched Rosa's hand. It shook beneath his fluttering little pats. "Good. You see, as I promised, I will ensure you are protected. You must trust me, these are dangerous times, and it is good that you are together, a family, no?"
It felt as if the luncheon would never end, that Barzini would never broach the subject, the entire reason for the meeting. But when coffee was served, he rested his manicured, small hands on the white linen cloth and, looking from one to the next, said quietly, "To business . . ."
Barzini agreed to pay the women in the form of a bank draft, which would be delivered to them within twenty-four hours. In exchange, he would receive the documents relating to all the Luciano holdings in Palermo plus named companies in New York. Satisfied that the meeting had reached its conclusion amicably, with all parties in agreement, the diminutive Barzini hailed a taxi outside the restaurant for their departure.
Sophia was very much aware that he had not mentioned the names of any of the parties involved in the buyout.
Graziella used the women's absence to speak to Luka in private. She busied herself in the kitchen, brewing fresh coffee. Then she called him in. "Please sit down, sit. . . . Now we have no one overhearing us, eh? So now, Johnny, I want to talk to you about Rosa."
He looked surprised. "Rosa?"
&nb
sp; "She's very young, and I think she has a liking for you, a crush, as we used to call it in my day. I'm sure you understand what I mean."
"I didn't know."
Graziella smiled. "Maybe not, but I want to make sure that you do not encourage her in any way. You see, Rosa must make a good marriage; we are dependent on her, you understand. Only Rosa can carry the Luciano blood. . . . Only through Rosa can our family survive."
"I have hardly spoken to her."
"But you have become very close to all of us. We appreciate all you have done; I know Teresa has promised you a percentage, and rightly so, but when this is over—pray God, today we will know—but when this is over, Johnny, I think you should get on with your own life. We must; Rosa must. We have to find a suitable marriage. She is a Luciano, you understand? You are a young man; she believes you mean more to her than you do. This must not happen, understand me, Johnny?"
Graziella brushed his cheek with her hand, and he caught it, kissed it.
"I just want to stay with you all. I want to work for you."
She smiled at him affectionately, pinched his chin. "How old are you, Johnny? Twenty-one, twenty-two? How old?"
He swallowed. "I'm twenty-six."
"Oh, so young, but old enough to want to marry and settle down? You got someone special, Johnny?"
"No, I have no one . . . except all of you."
"Then it is time you thought about your life, too. You don't want to be always surrounded by women, and you're too clever to want to be just a driver, huh? You will have money, you make a career for yourself, yes?
He rested his head on his arms. She touched his hair softly. "What of your family? Rosa says you have a brother. Is that right?" She continued to stroke his blond hair. He lifted his head, and she let her hand fall back in her lap.
He pushed his chair back and smiled his soft, intimate smile. Then he rose to his feet.
"I'll drop by later. I have to collect something for Teresa."
Graziella heard the front door close behind him, but she was staring at her hand; her fingers tingled, as if she could still feel the soft silkiness of his hair. She sighed, a long, deep sigh. . . .
Slowly she got up and went to her bedroom. She opened the dressing-table drawer and took out the photograph of Michael. As she stared at it, she could see him clearly, sitting at the old dining-room table, leaning close to Roberto, smiling once more that beautiful smile. . . .
She heard the key turn in the front door and quickly replaced the photo, telling herself she was being foolish.
Rosa was carrying two grocery bags full to the brim. "This is going to be a great Christmas, Grandma. We got everything you can think of . . . turkey and all the fixings. ..." She dumped the bags on the small table in the hallway and swept Graziella into her arms.
Sophia said nothing, walking straight into the bedroom, and Teresa stared after her.
It was just after four o'clock when the doorbell rang. Graziella was carrying a tray into the dining room. Rosa was in the bathroom washing her hair, and Sophia was still in her bedroom. The bell rang again, and Teresa opened the door wide.
Three men in hideous masks pushed the door so hard that it caught her shoulder and she fell back. The next moment she felt her hair gripped, almost torn from her head, and a gun against her neck.
"Keep your mouth shut and walk . . . move. . . . Get the others."
Graziella came to the kitchen door, and one of the men dragged her out to join Teresa in the hall. When Graziella struggled, he knocked her over. As she fell, screaming, Sophia hurried into the corridor.
"Shut up and put your hands above your head an' you won't get hurt." The man's voice was distorted by a rubber wizard mask with a terrible long nose and wobbling, crooked chin, the whole disgusting thing covered in warts.
Sophia made the mistake of screaming for Rosa. The gun hit her on the right temple, and she fell face forward at Graziella's feet. Teresa was still being dragged along the corridor, hauled so roughly by her hair that her legs went out from beneath her.
"Please, don't hurt us, please . . ."
They were herded at gunpoint into the study. Rosa, still in the bathroom, could hear the screams. Terrified, she dropped the hair dryer, locked the bathroom door and ran toward the fire escape. As she raised the window, she heard shots fired, dull, thwacking noises from a silencer, which split the lock and blew the door open. Hysterical with fear, Rosa hunched against the window, and the man wearing the grotesque clown's mask reached down and dragged her into the study, where he rolled her toward Sophia. She clung to Sophia, while blood streamed down her aunt's face.
The man in the wizard mask trained his gun on them and backed away. "Now keep nice and quiet and nobody will get hurt. You, come here."
He yanked Teresa toward the desk, and her hip banged against the corner.
"We want the papers. Hand them over."
Teresa clutched the edge of the desk. "What papers?"
The wizard backhanded her. "You know, bitch, you know. Now get on your knees. ... On your fucking kneesl"
He twisted her arm behind her back, and she sank to the floor. Rosa started to scream and was kicked in the stomach so hard that she retched as she buckled over. The clown took some rags from his pocket and sat on Rosa to tie her hands behind her back. Then he made her kneel beside her mother.
The wizard was pulling out drawers, sifting through the papers. "You know what we want. Don't waste any more time. Where are they ?"
Weeping, Teresa shook her head. "I don't know what you want. What papers? There's nothing here—"
Rosa shrank back in fear as the third man, wearing a rubber mask with long strands of white hair dangling from the chin, grabbed her arm. He shook her and shouted, "Tell her to give us what we fucking want! Tell her! He smashed her head against the desk, catching her just above her right eye, and she screamed.
Graziella had been cowering against the wall, holding tightly to Sophia's hand, but hearing Rosa's screams was too much. She hurled herself at the man, trying to grab his mask from his face.
"Don't hurt her! You leave her alone. What kind of man are you to fight women—"
The clown pushed Graziella away, kicking out at her as she stumbled. Rosa was sobbing, pleading: "Oh, God, Mama, give them what they want, please. . . . Mama . . ."
The wizard laughed and gestured to Teresa. "Hear what she says, huh? Come on, do what your daughter says. You wanna see her face cut?"
Sophia had to hold Graziella back as the old lady was about to let fly again. "Teresa, do what he says. Give them what they want. ... Do it!”
About to ring the doorbell, Luka paused. He had noticed that the lock was not quite caught. He inched the door open just as Rosa screamed.
The sound had come from the study. Opening his jacket, he took out a gun. Now he could hear Graziella. He moved silently to check out the other rooms, until he was certain they all were in the study. Then he backtracked down the corridor, into the bathroom and out onto the fire escape. He followed the fire escape around the corner to the study window. He flattened himself against the wall and peered through the blind.
Teresa, a gun at her head, was being forced around the desk. Rosa still knelt in front of the desk. Sophia stood at the far end of the room with her arms around Graziella. All three men had their backs to the window. . . .
Luka inched forward a fraction. Sophia and Graziella were standing to his left; Rosa, tied up, was still on her knees in front of the desk, sobbing uncontrollably. Teresa, terrified, her lands shaking, was passing documents to the man in the wizard mask. He held a gun to Rosa's head.
The clown stood by the study door, a gun in his right hand. The third man appeared to have no weapon; he was sifting through the documents as Teresa passed them over. Part of his rubber mask, the white, trailing beard, had been torn.
Twice Luka took aim on the wizard, but Teresa was in his way. Then the moment came; Rosa, sobbing, cowered lower behind the desk. Teresa bent down to sign a docum
ent, and the wizard was in the clear. Luka fired.
The wizard lurched forward, the bullet blowing the back of his head open. He fell, sending the documents flying, his blood spraying the room, covering Teresa. The gun went spinning from his hand. Teresa picked it up, held it in both hands, and fired.
The bullet caught the clown in the right upper arm, and he lost his balance, falling backward. Teresa shouted to Sophia to get his gun, but Sophia had turned to the window, having no notion who was outside.
"It's me!" Luka screamed, frantically kicking out the jagged glass, jumping into the room because the man with the white, trailing beard had reached his friend's weapon. The bearded one's fingers touched the metal as Luka fired. The bullet clipped him in the upper thigh. His fingers froze, and he buckled over in agony.
Graziella untied Rosa and dragged her beneath the desk for safety. Luka drew Sophia to his side and gave his gun to her. "Keep it on them. If they move, shoot."
Sophia held the gun while Luka forced the two wounded men to lie facedown on the floor. He kicked the clown so hard in the groin that he howled. The man with the white beard, now splattered with blood, lifted his hands above his head.
"Don't shoot! Don't shoot!"
Luka ordered Rosa to crawl out from beneath the desk. "Gimme the ropes . . . rags, whatever they brought. Lemme get their hands tied."
Graziella moved cautiously around the desk. Her feet crunched on broken glass as she leaned over the wizard, sprawled on the desk. She touched his hand, feeling for a pulse. There was blood everywhere, covering the desktop, splashed on the documents. She gasped to Teresa, "He's dead!"
Teresa stood as if unable to move, both hands still holding the gun, her eyes wide and staring. Graziella reached out to touch her; her daughter-in-law was rigid and seemed not to hear her name. All she could do was stare at the gun in her hand. Her face and dress were covered in blood. Slowly she began to pant. Then she gasped, "Oh, God, Mama! Oh, my God, Rosa . . . Where's Rosa?" Her voice was a high-pitched shriek. "Oh, Mama, what have I done? What have we done?"
Luka finished tying the second man, then took Rosa by the shoulders. She looked at him with scared eyes, her face streaked with blood, and was about to start screaming—he knew it.
BELLA MAFIA Page 44
