Suzanna filled her in on life in London.
“You can’t find a decent prosecco to save your ass. Plus the winters suck. But you should see my mink. I look like the original ice queen.”
What was it with these women and mink, Natalia thought. First Lola. Now Suzanna. At least London was climate appropriate.
“Mama having a good visit with your brother and their new baby?”
“She and the wife don’t get along—surprise, surprise. Calls every day, threatens to come home.” Suzanna played with a jeweled mobile phone and handed it to Natalia.
A blurry baby’s face swam into view. Enormous black eyes. Pink frilly cap.
“Cute,” Natalia said. “You enjoying Naples?”
“Yeah, well.” Suzanna made a face. “God, I hate this place. Everyone’s in your business.”
“Why’d you come back?”
“Who said I was coming back? I promised Nicky I’d check on Mama. How did she seem to you?”
“She seemed … the same.”
“Right? Nicky’s a pain in the ass. So is she. She’s wearing the same old rags she wore after Papa died. Like he’s going to be offended if she wears a new blouse. Uses the same rancid perfume that she got when I was twelve. I opened one of her lipsticks? It had turned to chalk. I tried to get someone in to clean, and she threw a fit. Sorry about your mom and dad,” she added.
“Thanks. It’s been a long time, but it still hurts.”
“Sure. She drives me crazy, but when Mama goes, I can’t imagine.”
Natalia reassured her that with her mother’s stubbornness, it wasn’t going to happen any time soon. “You’ll never guess who I ran into the other day. Liana Pagano. Sister Immaculata.”
“Sweet Liana,” Suzanna said.
“She asked after you. Wanted to know how you were doing. She’d love to see you.”
“And me her. God, Liana, a nun. Jesus, the good old days, right? Only we didn’t realize then.”
“Yeah.”
“Then came my darling Ernesto.”
“We were all envious. You’d found your soul mate. Just like in the paperback romances. So what was it like being courted like that? Limousines picking you up at school? Dining out at extravagant restaurants? Flowers arriving every day? A dream wedding?”
“Dream is right. It was exciting at first. He proposed the day we met. A week later we were living together and married in another month. I had my own maid. Every morning she brought me breakfast in bed. Wheeled in on a tray. A vase with a fresh baby rose. It was amazing: pineapple and blood oranges sculpted into flowers. Chocolate croissants. The maid laid out my clothes. He wanted me to look good. We’re talking Versace, St. Laurent, Halston. I wasn’t allowed to lift a finger. Couldn’t wash a pair of undies or a plate. Anything I wanted was mine. I admired a sapphire bracelet in Rinaldo’s window, and in a blink of an eye it was on my wrist. He found out I’d never tasted caviar and ordered an iced shipment air delivered overnight to the house from Moscow.”
“What went wrong?”
“First time the maid got in bed with us, I’m surprised. No, it was more like stunned and embarrassed. Shamed. But he’s my husband, you know? Then he asks me to do things … with men he’s brought home. He liked to watch and be watched. It got worse. He was into cutting.”
“Himself?”
“Me.”
“Jesus,” Natalia said.
“It was like I was living alone after a while. Except for the times he paraded me around in public like a trophy, I never saw him. Man was never home. Middle of the night the phone rings? I answer it, they hang up. Ten minutes later, he’s out the door, weighed down with cologne. I figured he was going off to one of his bimbos.”
“Why didn’t you leave?”
“Pride, I guess. I couldn’t go back to my parents. I’d made my bed, you know? Next thing I know, I’m pregnant. He goes nuts. Accuses me of doing it deliberately, of sabotaging his life. Punches me in the abdomen and throws me out of the house.”
“We had no idea.”
“I couldn’t let on, could I?” Suzanna leaned back into the couch, head resting on the edge. “It was sort of tolerable for a while. Until the pregnancy. When he struck me like that, I almost lost my mind. Well … you know.”
“That was terrible,” Natalia said. “Lola, Mariel—we all felt for you. But you really loved Ernesto, didn’t you?”
“Loved? Yeah, I suppose so. You know how it is. I was a virgin.”
“You’re kidding.”
“You’re surprised? A good Catholic girl? Sister Benedicta had me terrified. All that stuff about hell. Underneath I still believe it—you?”
“I don’t know. Probably,” Natalia said. “That’s when you …”
“Went berserk. Right. Put on quite a show for the folks on Via Tribunali. I was raving. They had to put me in a strait jacket.”
“I’m sorry,” Natalia said.
“Don’t be. I got myself together, didn’t I, Princess?” she picked up the dog and kissed it on the mouth. “I’m in the hospital, sedated. Hubby pays a visit to my mama and papa. Suggests I’d be better looked after in a clinic abroad somewhere. Not Spain, not France, either. Not in continental Europe. It was all Lucia could do to keep my father from killing him.”
“That’s terrible,” Natalia said.
“Don’t waste your tears,” Suzanna said. “I was a kid. Naïve. I left Suzie Ruttollo behind a long time ago.”
“How did your father-in-law take it?”
“He was scandalized. We’d gotten along. Plus he’d been looking forward to a grandchild.”
“But he didn’t intervene?”
“Between an Italian husband and his Italian wife?” Suzanna shook her head. “They were very different, those two. Papa Gianni was a worker bee. Donated to the Sisters of Charity. Attended mass every day. Drove the same Fiat he’d had since 1965.”
“Yes, the local hero.”
“Papa Gianni was invited to every christening, every wedding. Gave a generous gift of cash without fail, even while imprisoned. He’s still paying for the fireworks and floats on saints’ days and holidays, though you’d never catch him riding on one. He and Renata still live in the same apartment they moved into when they were married.”
“That’s certainly not his son’s style.”
“No. Ernesto likes it fancy. And he was always a lazy son of a bitch. Don’t get me wrong—he paid his dues for Papa. Killed more than a few with his own hands. Nowadays? As if you people don’t know. Lounges by the pool after he lifts his weights. Pops his vitamins, counts out the grams of protein in his food. In between phone calls he screws whoever is on hand. He’s big into promotion. Facebook. Twitter. Like he’s some kind of a brand. Have you heard the song?” Suzanna said.
“ ‘The Devil Fucks Satan’?”
“I heard he paid a hundred and fifty thousand euros to this hot band in Turin to write a song about him. He told one radio deejay if he didn’t play the song, he’d personally break his legs.”
“Sweet,” Natalia said. “What happened to your baby?”
Suzanna’s face lost its color. “I … I’m sorry. I can’t speak of it.”
Natalia lay in the crook of Pino’s arm. “Uncle Ricci sends his love. He’s so happy I’ve come to my senses. Said it’s time to see some children running around in the country house.”
“Since when does Uncle Ricci like children?”
“He’s getting sentimental in his old age. Man hasn’t been in a church since the war. Now he says he’ll talk to Father Mario. Arrange a church ceremony. I told him Father Mario passed eight years ago. ‘Whoever,’ he said. He even took a suit out of the closet. ‘Zio,’ I said. ‘It’s full of moth holes.’ ‘So I’ll get a new one.’ ”
Natalia laughed. “How did he know I wanted a church wedding?”
“You do?”
“Doesn’t every Neapolitan girl? I can see it now: the photo of Lola ascending the steps of Santa Chiara. And above the he
adline: CARABINIERI WED, CAMORRA Attend. Seriously, I can’t talk about it right now. I have a lot on my plate.”
“Tell me.”
“Papa Gianni’s getting out, for one. We could be in for a bloodbath anytime.”
“And the other?”
“I’m not at liberty to say.”
“Oh, it’s like that now.”
“Pino, it has to be.”
“Come here. Let me take your mind off your troubles.”
In minutes, Pino was snoring. Natalia returned to her pillow, but sleep wouldn’t come. The door to the balcony was open. The moon was silvery and full. She watched as a cloud passed over, revealing its features then hiding them in shadow.
Chapter 18
Surveillance and intelligence reports from the police antimafia directorate indicated that Scavullo might be losing interest in his African girlfriend. Which made Natalia think it might be a good idea to see if they could talk to her when he wasn’t around and maybe shake out some information about Ernesto.
It seemed obvious he was not faithful to her. In which case, she might be willing to vent.
In any case, Scavullo would know they’d been nosing around and wouldn’t like it, which made it almost worthwhile. If it led to his doing something foolhardy, it would most certainly be worth provoking him. Albeit dangerous. The woman would have to be looked after.
Natalia asked Lola to keep her posted about Ernesto Scavullo’s whereabouts. Lola reported that Ernesto was en route to Gaeta to see about a football team he was interested in acquiring. Natalia quickly collected Angelina, and they once again made the journey to the mobster’s mansion on the hill.
Paolo was still guarding the door, looking stylish in a black suit, black shirt and magenta tie, though the sleeves of the jacket seemed oddly short. His bulking up had contributed to this. The extra bulge of his left shoulder was courtesy of his holster.
“He’s not here,” Paolo said.
Behind him, a maid vacuumed the foyer. A truck pulled into the circular drive hauling fresh laundry. Paolo waved it around the side to the service entrance near the garage.
“Friendly advice?” he said. “Stay the fuck away from him.”
Natalia informed Paolo they weren’t interested in talking to his boss. It was the girlfriend they wanted to see. Unofficially.
“That won’t be possible,” he said. “She isn’t here. And even if she was, I’d still need you to leave. See up under the overhang of the roof? There’s a camera trained on the front door. He could be watching us right now on his computer. He likes to keep track.”
“And if he sees something he doesn’t like seeing?”
“You don’t want to know.”
“We’d like to speak to the African woman,” Angelina said. “Please.”
“Look, ladies. The African dame disappeared during the night. I have no idea where she went.”
“Why aren’t you with the boss?” Natalia asked. “You don’t travel with him anymore?”
“That’s not your business, is it?”
“Depends how you look at it. Maybe you stayed here because something happened to the girl, and you had to clean up the mess. Is that it? Did Ernesto lose his famous temper?”
“Nothing’s happened to the girl.” He got a call on his hands-free device. “What time you gonna get here?” he said into the transceiver and listened. “Okay.”
A girl sauntered up behind Paolo, running her hands through a mass of dark hair. She had on a yellow tank top and white gauzy pants—no evidence of underwear. Ignoring the Carabiniere, she kissed Paolo on the ear.
“You leave me any coffee, honey?”
Paolo shook her off. “I’m working. Get it yourself, or get the housekeeper to do it.”
“Love you, too,” she pouted and gave him the finger as she clacked off toward the kitchen in her red stilettos.
A maid walking a tall, grey whippet made her way across the grounds toward them, circling around the sprinklers. Unleashed, the dog trotted up the steps. They made quite a pair, Natalia thought, the royal dog, pointed nose quivering, the maid in blue-and-white pinstriped uniform and a little cap.
“The dog guy is running late,” Paolo said to her. “He’ll do the manicure and brush him when he gets here. Give Salvatore a sponge bath in the meantime. I’ll call you when the groomer gets here. Take the pooch around the back, okay? The boss noticed a couple of scratches on the floor.”
Getting nowhere, Angelina and Natalia walked away toward their car. A gardener caught up to them halfway down the drive. He checked to make sure no one was watching. He was a friend of the African girl, he explained. She hadn’t told him where she was going, but he thought maybe to an uncle in Naples. He had the address. She’d given it to him and told him to contact her uncle if anything ever happened to her.
* **
Clouds sugared the sky above the dark cramped streets of the Mergellina district. Natalia and Angelina found a place to park then joined locals and dozens of tourists who drifted through the square named after poet Jacopo Sannazaro.
Africans and Bengladeshis clotted the narrow sidewalk and spilled onto the street as they waited for goods to be offloaded from hulking ships docked nearby. Shopkeepers scrolled their smartphones. A few talked on their mobiles while they sat on the sidewalk, enjoying fresh falafel oozing from pita bread.
Nigerians were eclipsed now by Senegalese and Ghanaians. The Nigerians had been the first to arrive and included the women recruited by the Camorra as prostitutes.
The Africans were loyal and came cheap, qualities the camorristi liked. They liked their subservience, too. It didn’t hurt that the men shared a deep-seated misogyny.
As a reward for good work, a few blacks were cut into the drug trade. When the Africans grew too ambitious, they were gunned down or otherwise executed. The lucky ones fled or lay low, waiting for the killing spree to spend itself.
Those who survived stood in the blistering sun outside the train station, hawking fake Rolex watches and Gucci shoes long into the night until the last commuter train pulled out.
As the two Carabinieri approached, the soft hum of voices ceased. The pair stepped into the street and made a wide circle around some men playing soccer. A girl texted on the sidewalk. Her toddler performed a drunken walk, then sprawled, shrieking beside her. The goalie jogged over and hoisted the baby onto his shoulders. He told his girlfriend to watch the baby, or he was going to find someone else to live with.
Two African men passed Natalia hauling enormous plastic bags. The stench of body odor gripped her. No wonder. They spent countless hours in the sweltering heat. And when they were not outside they were crammed into squalid living quarters, often five to a room, minimal bathing facilities.
They were hundreds of miles from their homes, away from all that they knew and loved. Each day was grueling. Often dangerous. But in spite of that, the men often seemed cheerful. They worked together, worshipped at church or in makeshift mosques. And somehow made the best of it.
The building Angelina and Natalia were looking for they found three blocks later. The entrance to the tenement was camouflaged by a giant dumpster.
Mohammed, A. was inked onto a piece of tape stuck next to a black button. Natalia pressed it. The door clicked open just as a man passed by, resplendent in gold and purple native dress.
The halls were warm and smelled of cooking oil. She and Angelina climbed three flights and rapped on the door. The African girl opened it. She’d traded in the short shorts and gold heels for a long blue robe and printed headscarf.
Angelina proffered her ID. “May we come in?”
The three women sat down abreast on an orange plastic couch that faced an enormous plasma screen. The TV was on. The black woman picked up the remote and turned it off.
“Did he threaten you?” Angelina asked. “Miss …?”
“Keandra. No, not directly. He went away on business. Someone called in the middle of the night. Said I had better get out or I would be ki
lled.”
“Did you recognize the voice?” Natalia asked.
“No.”
“Male or female?” Angelina had her pen poised over a notebook.
“I couldn’t tell. Most likely male.”
“What happened last night,” Natalia said, “before you got the phone call?”
“I had dinner in my room. Watched a movie. Then I went to sleep.”
“Didn’t Paolo usually accompany him when he went out of town?” Natalia asked.
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you go to Paolo after you got the call?” Angelina asked.
“Paolo doesn’t like me.”
“Excuse me for this,” Natalia said, “but you seem like a nice woman. Why were you with Ernesto at all?”
“He was a poodle, but—”
“A poodle?” Natalia interrupted.
“It’s what we call them back home. A rich man who pisses his semen. He likes it wild. You know? Ammuchiata. Orgies. With women and sometimes men. He’d fuck a dog to get off.”
“Maybe you’d had enough,” Natalia suggested.
“I’m going to have a baby.” She rubbed her belly the way pregnant women did. “He said we would get married. He would behave. He gave me this.”
The diamond was enormous, star-cut, surrounded by tiny sapphires. “He said they matched my eyes.”
At least that part was true: her pale eyes were sky blue, startling against her skin.
“You think he will?” Angelina said. “Marry you, I mean.”
“No. At first, maybe I thought so. He acted so nice, like he was pleased. Then he beat me. How dare I try to trick him with a nigger child. I’m lucky he didn’t kill me then.”
“What stopped him?” Angelina asked.
“He got a call.”
“You know he’s going to find you here,” Natalia said. “When is he coming back?”
“He’s due tomorrow. Don’t worry. I’m leaving sooner. Ernesto wouldn’t dare to hurt me in a black church in the African neighborhood. He is afraid of us.” She then reassured Natalia she was leaving on the first ferry in the morning bound for Tunisia. She’d make her way south from there. Back to her mother. She’d have her baby and a new life. “Ernesto would never step foot in Africa. He thinks it’s uncivilized, filled with germs!”
A Few Drops of Blood Page 17
