by Wendy Rosnau
Chapter 10
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The church was packed. Every store owner and neighbor Frank Masado had ever had dealings with, and every player in the Chicago famiglia, showed up to pay their respects.
Or maybe it was out of curiosity. Frank Masado had been whacked in the parking garage on his home turf. The word whacked stuck in Rhea’s mind; she had heard it mumbled as she walked up the aisle on Joey’s arm.
The service was long, as dictated by Sicilian custom. She had wanted to wear dark glasses, but Joey had refused to let her, and she had cried openly throughout the service.
As they left the church, the snow they had woken up to continued to fall, and the silvery flakes glistened on the pavement as Joey directed Rhea to the long black limousine.
He motioned to Gates, handed Nicci to him, then kissed Rhea’s cheek. “Go with Gates,” he instructed. “I’ll meet you at Rosewood.”
“All right.”
They made eye contact, and just before he stepped away, he brushed a tear off Rhea’s cheek, then kissed her lips.
The cavalcade to Rosewood Cemetery would be long. A mile-long line of black stretches waited to follow the procession.
Rhea climbed into the limousine and she snuggled into her black sable coat, a coat Joey had brought to her just after breakfast, then she removed Nicci’s hat and gloves and unbuttoned his new gray coat so he wouldn’t get too warm. Glancing out the window, she noticed Lavina Ward had stopped Joey. As she kissed his cheek, he spoke a few words, then looked back at the limousine where she and Nicci sat.
A few minutes later, Lavina nudged through the crowd and headed for the limo, while Joey, accompanied by Lucky, disappeared into the hearse to ride with the casket.
Norman Gates opened the door for Lavina, and after she had climbed into the limousine, he followed, taking a seat next to her, across from Rhea.
Lavina reached out and patted Rhea’s hand. “You’re doing fine, dear. Here, let me take Niccolo.” As she reached for him, she said, “Our boy here looks exactly like Joey did at this age. I can’t get over it. When I see him it just brings back so many memories. Did Joey tell you, he practically lived at my house when he was growing up? He and Jackson were inseparable when they were boys. Of course, Lucky tagged along. Then when he got a little older, the boys were tagging after him, trying to keep him out of trouble.”
Lavina laughed over that, then began to tell Nicci a funny story about his father and his uncle Lucky. Rhea listened, and she thought, though Norman kept his eyes directed out the window, he was listening, too.
The trip to Rosewood took close to an hour. Once they drove through the gates, Norman said, “Mr. Masado wants you to stay in the car until he comes to get you. I’ll be outside if you need anything.”
When he stepped from the car and closed the door, Rhea said, “Carlo Talupa was at the church. Do you think he will be here, too?”
“Yes.” Lavina slipped Nicci’s hat back on his head. “He came to gloat, and to show how untouchable he is.” Once again, Lavina patted Rhea’s knee. “But he’s gone too far this time.”
Rhea frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, my boys are smart, and they do not let injustice go unpunished. I’m getting old, but that doesn’t mean I have an excuse to be stupid. I keep my ears open at the restaurant. Mark my words, there is a shake-up brewing.” She glanced out the window. “It looks like they will be coming to get us soon.” She took Nicci’s mittens from Rhea and began to slip them on his hands. “Did you know that Joey has always liked children?”
Glad for the subject change, Rhea said, “No. But he’s a natural with Nicci.”
“In the old neighborhood he was the one who kept watch over the forgotten ones.”
“Forgotten ones?”
“That’s what we called the children in the neighborhood who didn’t have responsible parents for whatever reason. Frank was gone a lot, and I worked, too. Harold—that was my husband—he had diabetes and required a lot of attention. Jackson had to grow up fast on account of that. With Joey and Lucky in and out of the house so much, they helped out with Harold. I guess my boys got used to responsibility early. Maybe that’s why Joey became so serious. ‘A boy with an old man’s soul,’ is what I used to call him. To this day he’s never forgotten the forgotten ones.”
“What do you mean?”
“Joey is the one who started the safe house in the old neighborhood. Jackson tells me Joey is the reason the place continues to stay open twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.”
Rhea didn’t know what to say. She had always known there was more to Joey than good looks and Masado Towers. Still, she had to admit she hadn’t expected to hear that he funded a safe house for forgotten children.
“I can read your thoughts, dear. The Masado boys were born into the famiglia, just like Nicci.” Lavina handed him back to Rhea. “They were born innocent boys who just wanted to play and have fun like all children do. But children grow up, and Joey and Lucky became men with heavy burdens and no way out. So they did what Frank taught them to do. They became survivors, and they learned how to change what they could change, and to live within the boundaries of what they could not. They are the crème de la crème, my boys. Our city’s finest, Rhea. And don’t let anyone tell you different.”
A solid rap on the window warned them that things were about to change. The door opened seconds later, and Lucky dipped his head inside. To Rhea, he said, “Joey’s on his way. Stay put.” Then his eyes connected with Lavina’s. “Come on, Vina. Jacky wants you where he can keep an eye on you.”
Lavina hiked one graying eyebrow. “He does, does he?”
“Come, Madre.”
When he stood, Rhea spied a gun inside Lucky’s jacket. She shivered at the sight, then clutched Nicci closer. Another five minutes passed before the door opened again. But Joey didn’t call her out; instead, he climbed in and sat across from her.
He was dressed in a long black wool coat that made him look as dark and dangerous as Lucky. But the moment he saw Nicci, he smiled, and his son quickly wiggled off her lap to crawl up and hug his father. Remembering what Lavina had told her minutes ago, Rhea now understood why Joey and Nicci had become so inseparable—Nicci not only sensed that his father loved him, he also liked him. Joey’s sincerity was as potent as his dark eyes and as convincing as his gentle touch.
“Once we’re outside, I want you to stay close,” he instructed. “Gates will be in charge of Niccolo and he will be on your left.”
Rhea scowled. “Is something supposed to happen here?”
He hesitated a moment, then nodded.
“Don’t you think I should know what that ‘something’ is, so I’ll be prepared?”
“I don’t want you anticipating anything. I don’t want you acting nervous.
“I’m already nervous.”
“All right. Jacky, along with the feds, plan to arrest Carlo Talupa after the committal. They claim they have a bookie in Allenwood willing to turn over some hard evidence. I don’t think it’s going to be enough to hold Carlo for long, but it’ll stir things up. Right now, that works for us. It should be a clean arrest, but in case it isn’t, I want you to keep your wits about you and do whatever you’re told. Capiche?”
So that was why so many guards had been trailing them all day. At the church, it had looked like an army. Feeling another dose of fear slide up her spine, Rhea lowered her head to hide the worry in her eyes. She knew Joey was doing what he could, but would it be enough? Could he win? Frank had told her that Carlo Talupa was unstoppable.
When Joey wants something, he’s the one who is unstoppable. Lucky’s words came to Rhea on a cloud of hope, and she decided she would cling to them.
“Rhea, look at me.”
She took a breath, bolstered her courage, then raised her head.
“This will be over soon.”
“I’ll do what I’m told.”
He smiled. “Grazie.”
The word was spoken so
ftly, and it hung between them while they stared into each other’s eyes. It was a long time before she said, “We’re survivors … you and I.”
“Si. And our son will be one, too.” He reached out, took her hand and brought it to his lips. Kissing the back of her hand, then her palm, and still holding it close to his mouth, he said, “Remember that, mio moglie, will you—” his eyes bored into her “—in the days to come.”
He let her hand go, then set his gaze on his son, who sat quietly watching him. “You were a good boy at the church, figlio. Thank you.” He dipped his head and whispered something in Nicci’s ear. Something that made Nicci smile and turn to look back at Rhea.
Rhea was curious about what Joey had said to elicit such a wide smile, but she decided she would wait to ask Nicci. Wait until they were home and the day had passed.
Joey said, “Norman is going to hold you for your madre once we get outside. You let him, and listen to what he tells you. It’s important, figlio. Capiche?”
Nicci nodded once, still smiling. “Capiche.”
Joey embraced his son, kissed him on both cheeks, then opened the door. Once he was out of the car, he handed Nicci to Norman, then he reached back inside and enclosed Rhea’s cold hand in his. “Come, darlin’. Let’s finish this, so mio padre can finally rest in peace.”
By the time they reached Frank’s grave site, the cemetery was packed with cars and a large group had gathered. After they had taken their places under the tented pavilion, Rhea scanned faces, relieved when she located Jackson, Sunni and Lavina. Remembering what Joey had told her in the car, she studied the crowd, trying to make out who the feds were—an impossible task.
Movement directly across from them drew her attention, and her eyes met those of the man responsible for tearing all their lives apart. She had worked hard not to hate Stud for all he’d done. She had tried to understand his torment, and to some degree she had, but as she looked at Carlo Talupa, she couldn’t hold back the hate that surfaced. He was an evil man, even though his grandfatherly appearance contradicted that fact. And that was the irony. The travesty, Rhea decided.
He was a little bent, and his skin was wrinkled, his cheeks saggy. He was dressed in a long navy-blue coat, his brimmed fedora making his ears stick out. He didn’t have cold eyes, but Rhea knew he had the coldest heart of any man alive.
Four bodyguards flanked him and six more guards covered his back. That in itself bore witness to how much the man was hated.
The rumors were that he’d put out more contracts across the country, and had been responsible for more mob hits, than any other crime boss in Chicago. That thought sent a raw chill through Rhea, knowing the cemetery could turn into a war zone at any moment.
Joey must have sensed Rhea’s rising panic, because he reached over, curled his hand around hers and squeezed.
She glanced behind and to the left of Carlo Talupa, to see Sophia D’Lano. She stood next to a squat, ruddy-faced man with a wide, flat nose and a mustache that covered his entire mouth. She saw his mustache move, then Sophia said something in reply. Seconds later the man on Sophia’s right laughed.
Rhea had been reading the newspapers since she’d returned to Chicago. The laughing man was Moody Trafano, Sophia’s half brother. He was tall and slender, his hair lighter than her own, which made him look ridiculously out of place in the sea of black-haired Sicilians. Absently, Rhea wondered if she looked as out of place as Moody Trafano did. Vincent D’Lano’s bastard son may as well have been branded with a B on his forehead.
She glanced at Lucky, who stood next to Joey. Unlike Joey and Jackson, he had rejected the customary black suit and black coat. He wore jeans and a dark red sweater beneath a three-quarter length scarred brown leather jacket that had definitely seen a number of wars. Their eyes met and held only a moment.
In less than twenty-four hours, Rhea’s opinion of Lucky had completely changed. She had always been wary of Joey’s younger brother, but no longer. He’d surprised her last night, welcoming her into the family the way he had done. The sincerity in his eyes had overwhelmed her, and the gentle touch he’d offered Nicci had clearly told her that, like his brother, there was more to Lucky Masado than met the eye.
Once more Rhea felt as if she were being dissected, and she scanned the crowd again, to find Sophia D’Lano glaring at her. Outfitted in a silver fur coat and a matching fur hat, Sophia looked like the reigning queen of the kingdom—the mafia kingdom. Her hostility was so tangible that Rhea could almost feel the knives from Sophia’s black eyes being tossed at her.
It was during the closing prayer that a long black limousine entered the cemetery and cruised around the loop, moving at a snail’s pace. Rhea saw Lucky slowly shift his body, saw his hand slide inside his jacket. Joey let go of her hand and did the same.
The black limo pulled off the road in full view of the grave site, but no one got out. The priest stepped back, his eyes on Joey. Suddenly Joey stepped forward, a knife appearing in his hand so quickly that Rhea wasn’t sure where it had come from. He cut two bloodred roses off the enormous spray that draped the casket, brought them to his lips, then kissed the petals. Seconds later, he handed one of the roses to her and the other to their son.
The act set off a steady hum that went through the crowd. Joey had just announced to the famiglia that he had a son—a son he acknowledged—as well as a wife.
As the mourners started to disperse, two gunshots were fired into the crowd. Screams went up, and Rhea was shoved forward against the cold casket. Then came the words “Stay down!”
She turned her head as Lucky dwarfed her with his body. Paralyzed with fear, she glanced sideways, anxious to locate Nicci. She saw Joey grab their son from Norman, and then, as if Norman Gates had gone through the drill a hundred times, he made himself into a human shield for Joey and they quickly moved toward the limousine.
Another volley of shots rang out and a spray of snow flashed around Joey’s and Norman’s feet as they ran. The second Rhea saw how close the shots were, she cried out and tried to run after them. Lucky grabbed her and tossed her behind him, cussing anxiously. Obviously he was as aware as she was that Joey could be shot in the back at any minute.
Rhea demanded, “Go, Lucky. Go to Joey.”
He snapped his head around. “Non posso! I won’t leave you!”
“You have to! Joey and Nicci need you. I’ll stay here. I’ll be all right. Go now!”
“Maledizione! Don’t move, and stay down.” Lucky pushed her to her knees. Then he was running and dodging the screaming crowd to reach Joey, as gunshot continued to follow them to the limousine.
A wild bullet blew the corner off Frank’s casket, and Rhea sought cover in the open grave. No longer able to see if Joey and Nicci had made it safely to the car, she bit her lip and hovered in the hole as more gunfire ricocheted off the casket overhead.
Minutes passed, and still the shrieks and shots continued. Then, out of nowhere, a hand reached down, grabbed her arm and lifted her out of the hole.
Ordered to run, Rhea took off with her head low, determined to keep up with the long stride that was setting the pace and pulling her along.
She didn’t realize until it was too late that she was running in the wrong direction.
* * *
Mayhem could be a great diversion, the key to any successful plan. And now that he had gotten what he came for, and it was safely tucked away in the trunk of his limousine, Vito rapped on the window and ordered his driver to return to Dante Armanno.
On the order, the long black stretch cruised out of Rosewood Cemetery‘s iron gates as slowly as it had entered. No one paid any attention; shots were still being fired and the confusion appeared to be growing.
Vito smiled as he watched two of his men behind a gravestone raise their rifles and turn up the heat with another round of gunfire.
It had been worth it to humble himself and ask Summ to dress him, Vito decided. From there, he’d ordered two of his guards to help him outside and into
his car. And that, too, had been worth surrendering his pride. Yes, a thousand times worth it. The humiliation of having a woman wiggle his shorts up his legs and over his gone-to-fat belly no longer stung so much. Nor did it bother him that he’d needed to lean on Benito, his most trusted bodyguard, to make it to the car.
“I want you to write a letter to Kendler, Summ.”
“Now, Shujin?”
“I said so, didn’t I?”
Bundled into a green shawl, Summ sat across from him with her head slightly bowed. But Vito knew damn well she had seen everything from the moment the first shot had been fired. Her humble actions didn’t fool him a bit. She was about as obedient and innocent as a mosquito, and twice as busy.
She opened her cloth bag and took out a pen and paper. “It is good, your decision,” she said.
”So now you approve of my vengeance? After preaching forgiveness for twenty years, you suddenly have taken up the sword?” Vito groused.
“It is not vengeance you seek, but justice, Shujin.”
Vito snorted, then puffed on his Italian cigar. “Now you know what I’m thinking, too?”
She didn’t answer, and in the silence, Vito glanced back at the pavilion where the silver casket covered in red roses shimmered in the snow. He hadn’t expected the pang of regret that assailed him, or the thickening in his throat. His old friend was dead. His friend and enemy.
It was too late for regrets, he reminded himself. Useless to conjure up memories of the past. A waste of effort to dwell on happy times. But there had been happy times with Frank. He had simply pushed them aside years ago, along with his thoughts of Grace. After reliving the good memories, what followed was a nightmare.
The words what if suddenly entered his thoughts, and Vito muttered, “I’ve waited years to see Frank Masado dead. I expected to feel better once it was done.”
As the limo left the cemetery, Summ said, “Perhaps time has healed the open wound.”
Again Vito snorted. “Or maybe it’s your witch’s brew that has turned my head to mush, and I’m no longer thinking straight.”
He had to admit it was a powerful concoction, her stinky tea. It had to be, for him to still be alive. Summ’s herbal remedies and holistic ideas had kept him from death’s door when expensive medicines had failed. His doctors were amazed. His cancer was full-blown and hungry. He should have died months ago. And it was inevitable that he would die. But how soon depended upon Summ, not on modern medicine.
