BELLA MAFIA (63 page)

"What have you done? Johnny?"

"Go wash your hands. I'll take this down to the incinerator and see you at the car. Oh, I got you this: It's a simple mechanism, just withdraw the safety catch, and it's ready to fire. It's loaded, so don't mess around with it. Just put it in your purse."

She grabbed the .22 and hurried into the bathroom, leaned against the door. Her hands were stained with blood, and the gun felt slimy to the touch. Gritting her teeth, she forced herself to wipe it clean, then scrubbed her hands nearly raw under the running water.

She took a last look around the apartment to make sure it was clean. Only the shattered window gave any indication of the nightmare that had taken place. She collected her purse and the gun, then locked the front door and hurried down the stairs.

As she reached the basement door, she could hear someone whistling. She paused, then crept closer, panting. . . .

It was Luka, seeming totally unconcerned. He stopped whistling when he saw her, smiled, and opened the door with a flourish. All she could think of was the bloody shirt, the stained jeans, the sneakers caked with blood. Were the murders never to end? She swayed, gulped for air, and was about to faint when Luka clasped her elbow. His fingers pinched, hurting her.

"I did what had to be done. Now straighten up, pull yourself together, okay? Okay now?"

She nodded, and he slowly released his hold. They went on into the garage.

It was eleven forty-five as they drove away from the apartment. Teresa sat up front with Luka, who was at the wheel. In the backseat sat Graziella and Sophia, with Rosa between them. They held the mask of the clown and the torn one with the wispy beard.

Luka drove carefully, unhurriedly. Teresa could feel the outline of the gun in her bag, and slowly, gradually, the terrible feeling of panic subsided. The gun comforted her, gave her confidence.

Luka, after a sidelong glance, reached out to stroke her hand. "Okay?" he whispered, and she nodded.

"We're here." Luka pulled on the parking brake and was out before the uniformed doorman had time to step forward.

Teresa turned to the backseat. "Hide the masks under your coats. Are we ready?"

They nodded, and the passenger door swung open. Sophia stepped out first, followed by Rosa. Then Luka helped Graziella. Closing the door, he turned to Teresa. "You sure you don't want me to come with you?"

"Stay with the car!"

The four well-dressed women merged easily with the man) people thronging the reception area. They separated as the) approached the elevators.

They made it to the door of the suite without seeing any one. As Rosa pressed the buzzer, Graziella and Sophia put on the masks. Teresa, a fraction behind them because some of the wispy gray hair on her mask had caught on her handbag, jerked it free and only just had time to get the mask in place before they heard the lock on the door click.

Barzini peered through the peephole, and they could hear him swearing at them for being so fucking stupid. Then he swung the door wide. Before Teresa could even start her wel rehearsed speech, Graziella began a tirade in Sicilian.

Barzini was so startled that he stumbled backward an overturned a small Venetian urn. The floral display cascade over the floor.

Teresa moved Graziella firmly aside. "Good evening, M Barzini."

She ripped off her mask and threw it at him. Sophia clost the door and put the chain on it. Her hand was shaking :

much that twice she missed the small aperture.

Teresa watched Barzini squirm as he tried to assimilate what had happened.

Rosa cut the telephone wires and replaced the scissors in her bag. She then followed her mother and aunt into the living room.

Graziella went in the opposite direction, looking for Barzini's wife. She locked the bedroom door from the outside, then returned to the living room and held up the key.

She sat on the sofa, and her appearance gave Barzini some hope. "Come on, girls," he said, "I don't know what these men told you, but—" He still had the mask in his hand. He tossed it aside.

Teresa put a hand on his shoulder. "Pay us off, Mr. Barzini, and you won't get hurt."

He shrugged again. "Is this some kinda sick joke?"

She grabbed him by the hair. "You give us the bank draft, and we leave."

"I swear I don't know what you're talking about. I don't know what this is all about. Now why don't I get you ladies a drink and we can talk about this?"

Teresa bent down and whispered to Rosa to give her the scissors. Rosa slipped them from her bag as Barzini turned his attention to Sophia, declaring that he knew nothing about the men who attacked them. Sophia asked how he knew they had been attacked, and his eyes rolled frantically as he pointed out that they had bruises and Sophia had a bad cut.

Teresa was at his side, and as he looked around to see what she was doing, she snipped at the lobe of his ear with the scissors. He screeched and backed away, his hand to his ear.

"What the fuck! Are you crazy?" Blood trickled down his hand, and he took out a white handkerchief, pressed it on the wound.

"We just want the bank draft, Mr. Barzini."

"Jesus Christ, you cut my ear, you cut my fucking ear!"

Teresa gestured to Sophia, who got up and went to Barzini's desk. She began to pull the drawers out and tip the contents on the floor.

Barzini turned on her in fury. "You leave those alone. Don t touch anything—"

Teresa opened her bag and took out the gun. He stood helplessly watching, dabbing at his ear with the handkerchief. "I can't believe you women could be so stupid! You know what you're doing? You think you'll get away with this, think I make the decisions? I got partners."

"We know you do, Mr. Barzini. Did you ever think that we might have, too? And we're not taking anything that your partners weren't prepared to give."

Teresa handed the gun to Rosa and joined Sophia in searching through Barzini's papers. She picked up a small book and flicked through it.

Barzini moved to the desk to try to take it. "You crazy bitches!"

With both hands shaking, Rosa pointed the gun straight at him. He froze, afraid to move even a step, while Teresa flipped through the book.

When she spoke again, her voice was very calm. "Empty your pockets."

Barzini took off his jacket and flung it aside. "I tell you, you're making a mistake. Believe me, this doesn't stop here."

Teresa searched the pockets of his jacket and opened his wallet. She took out a folded white envelope, and just by the look on his face knew she had found it. The draft was for fifteen million dollars, but it was made out to Barzini.

"You get the documents when you've cashed this draft. That was a nice restaurant you took us to; book another table there, say, one o'clock tomorrow. We don't want any drafts, just the cash, and in return you'll get exactly what we agreed to. If you don't turn up—"

Suddenly Teresa had lost it. What if he didn't turn up? What if he cashed the draft himself and took off?

Graziella rose from the sofa and walked sedately toward Barzini. "If we do not receive the money, we will ask for a meeting with my husband's associates. We will tell them of our treatment. We will tell them, do you understand? You made a grave error of judgment. Do not believe we are alone."

As they walked out of the hotel, Luka was already opening the door for Graziella.

They were still describing to Luka what had been said and
^w
who had done what to whom when they let themselves into the apartment.

Luka asked to speak to Teresa alone. They went to the study and closed the door.

"How do you know he'll stick to the bargain now?" he demanded.

"We couldn't do anything else; the draft was in his name."

"There're all-night banks. . . . You shouldn't have walked out. I told you to take me in with you. You fucked up. You could get every one of those women hit, you know that, don't you?"

Teresa felt her legs shaking. Luka leaned close, but his eyes were so pale and dead that she backed away from him.

"You needed me. He had to be scared, understand? You have to put the fear of God in him. You needed me. Why won't you trust me? I saved your life, all your lives, for chrissake."

Teresa clutched the desktop to give her strength. "And we saved yours, so I guess we're quits. You're going to get a slice of the fifteen million, and you've earned it. But then what happens? What happens next, Johnny? Are we going to live under the threat of blackmail? Is that what we can expect?"

"Has Sophia been talking to you?" Teresa shook her head, and he went on. "Then why? Why are you turning against me? I don't understand. You need me."

She gave him a hard look and adjusted her glasses. "How come you know so much, Johnny? You're just a kid, and we keep on trusting you, but we know nothing about you and . . . you made us accessories to murder."

He lifted his hands in a gesture of amazement. "You know why I had to do that! What did you want me to do then? Run? Why won't you admit I saved your lives?"

Teresa sighed. "I know, I know. . . . But it's all getting out of control, Johnny. I keep listening to you, but—"

He was sitting on the edge of the desk, swinging his foot. "Reason I know so much is that I was a runner, you know, a messenger boy. I kept my eyes and ears open. My father was small-time, but part of the mob. I was running messages before I was thirteen, cleaning the cars, that kind of thing. But because I could keep my mouth shut, they liked me."

Teresa took her glasses off. " 'They,' Johnny? Exactly who?"

"Well, sometimes it was the Gennaro family, and they kind of passed me around. They shipped me out to Sicily almost a year ago. I was supposed to be a courier, you know, bring stuff back for them. By then my father was dead. I was in deep trouble over the Dante thing; I mean, I can't go back, I blew it, they'd have me shot. It was heroin, I told you, and so without you I wouldn't have stood a chance of getting out of Sicily. I guess I need you! So,
you
hire me now, I work for you. You own me because if you wanted, you could turn me in at any time."

"That works both ways, Johnny."

"Right, but I don't want to take over. I'll take whatever orders you give me. I want to work for you; you've become my family. I've got nobody else."

Sophia walked in, and he turned. She leaned against the doorframe. "It's two in the morning. I think we all should get some rest. I think Johnny should leave."

Luka was off the edge of the desk fast. He didn't look at Sophia, just muttered that he could come back to drive them to the meeting with Barzini.

"I'll walk you down, Johnny. I need some air," Teresa said.

Sophia watched them standing in the street below. She closed the curtain and turned to Graziella. "Do you have any pills? I've run out."

Graziella opened her bedside drawer and held out the bottle. As Sophia reached for it, she saw Michael's photograph.

"He was your favorite, wasn't he?"

Graziella closed her eyes. "He filled my soul and broke my heart. They always say the firstborn is the one, the one that touches you most, lives inside you more than the others. Maybe because the first one is so frightening and so wonderful—"

She stopped. Sophia had left the room.

Sophia poured a glass full of whiskey, then sat at the kitchen table. She took the first pill, then a second, and felt a hand on her shoulder. Graziella took the pill bottle, carefully screwed the cap back on, then pulled out a chair and sat down, reaching for Sophia's hands, but she could think of no words of comfort for her daughter-in-law.

"I want to sleep, Mama, and never wake up. I don't think I can take any more. It's as if we're caught in madness."

Graziella sighed. "Yes, sometimes I lie awake, and it is as if I am in a different world."

Sophia reached for her hand. "Mama, there is something I have never told you. You remember that night when Filippo brought me to the villa after the accident? I had come to Palermo from Cafalu because—"

She stopped because Rosa had appeared in the doorway.

"Where's Mama?" she asked. Her face was drawn and pale. Graziella patted her knee, and Rosa climbed on it like a little girl and buried her face in her grandmother's shoulder.

"Grandmama, I am so glad you are here."

Graziella smiled. "You know, I guess we all are hungry." She kissed Rosa's cheek.

"You know what day it is today? Grandmama? It's Christmas Day."

Rosa felt her grandmother's arms tighten around her, and she snuggled closer.

"You know, Rosa, Christmas at the villa used to be so special. We would put lights all over the big tree, you know, the one by the kitchen garden? Full of lights, and Papa would climb to the top and put up the holy saints that the children from the local school made specially each year. And when the boys were little, after we checked to see they were asleep, we would creep out and hang up their stockings. Only they weren't real stockings but old pillowcases with the boys' names printed on them in big red letters. Michael, Constantino, Filippo. I would put Papa's gifts underneath the tree, but never, never did he put one there for me, no! He would hide it, like I was a little girl. Sometimes it was under my pillow, sometimes in the pocket of my robe, and once I found it under my napkin at breakfast, a string of pearls. Oh, Rosa, each one perfect, each one chosen by Papa. Years and years he had waited because to find pearls the same size, the same color is very, very difficult. There was one for each year of our life together, one for each of my sons. . . ."