BELLA MAFIA (72 page)

Sophia was still bending close to her mother-in-law. "I'll bring you the pills, Mama. Maybe if we crush them into powder. . . . You always have a handkerchief up your sleeve; you can empty it like so. ..."

Sophia slipped a lace-trimmed handkerchief from Graziella's sleeve to demonstrate how Graziella could empty the powder into Luka's dinner.

Teresa asked, "Sophia, how are we going to do it?"

The beautiful, mask like face turned in Teresa's direction. "He is guilty, Teresa, I know it. In some way I have always had this feeling about him, but I never knew what it was, why he made me feel the way he did. He has to die slowly, painfully."

"Which one of us will do it?"

"All of us, we'll all do it. . . ."

They heard the tooting of the car horn, and Teresa crossed to the window. Her whole body was shaking as she said, "He's here. It's him. . . . He's driven around to the back of the house."

Sophia looked at Rosa. "Get the keys as soon as he leaves the car, and you, Teresa, use the electronic lock for the main gates."

The tire tracks could still be seen, although the snow was still falling. Rosa waited, trembling, in the stables. Luka passed her three times, unloading the groceries. She heard the lid of the trunk slam down; then he passed her a fourth time, whistling. She peered over the stable door in time to see him going into the kitchen.

She hurried down the long gravel drive to the big iron gates and slipped a padlock and chain around them. Then she ran back to the car, took the keys from the ignition, and went into the kitchen, her heart pounding. She quickly removed her coat and shook the snow from her hair.

Graziella had already covered the kitchen table with the provisions from the brown grocery bags. As Rosa slipped the car keys into a kitchen drawer, Graziella asked her to put a pan of water on the stove to boil for the rice and then to chop mushrooms, onions, and tomatoes.

The knife was sharp as a razor, and the pattering of Graziella's feet on the tiled floor as she bustled about seemed unreal. The old lady was behaving as if nothing untoward were about to take place. She was simply cooking dinner, their first dinner in their new home. The tears streamed down Rosa's face, and suddenly she felt her grandmother's soft hand on her neck.

"Onions always make such tears. . . . You know, if you place a bowl of hot water at your side, you won't cry. Did you know that, my little one?"

Rosa nodded and wiped her cheeks. Graziella put a steaming bowl of water beside her, and her soft voice calmed Rosa. "Remember that night, when you were all dressed up in your wedding gown that Sophia had made especially. ... It was so beautiful, and you were so happy. . . . Remember, Rosa, remember?"

Graziella's eyes held her granddaughter's, and it was not until Rosa nodded that Graziella turned back to her cooking.

Graziella began to sing an old Sicilian ballad. It was eerie: the soft voice singing, the bubble of food on the stove, and the onion tears that continued to stream down Rosa's face. Rosa started to remember, to see again the night she danced for them in her white wedding gown, and the quick chopping of her knife became firmer as her sweet young mouth set into a thin, hard line.

Teresa was wearing the black dress Sophia had given her for their dinner party in Rome. She came out of her bedroom just as Sophia was passing.

"I think that's a good idea, Teresa."

He appeared from nowhere, his blond head resting on his forearms as he leaned on the banister rail. Teresa watched as Sophia went to stand close to him.

"Johnny, don't you think Teresa looks lovely?"

"You look beautiful, Teresa. Turn around and let me see. . . . What a dress! Is this one of Nino Fabio's creations, Sophia?"

"Yes. . ."

Luka laughed, giving Sophia an intimate look, and started up the stairs. Teresa couldn't stop shaking; she hurried down the stairs, leaving Sophia alone on the landing. Luka paused and turned back, looking down at Sophia, as he pulled his T-shirt over his head. His gold heart caught in the cloth, and he twisted his head to free himself from the chain. When he looked at her again, she was staring at his body, and he flushed, wanting to cover his chest.

She could see how tight and muscular he was. How strong he must be; Nino Fabio's wound had been so deep the muscles °f his back had been cut through. ... He turned and ran on
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P the stairs, thankful that she could not see the effect she had °n him. His body seemed to be on fire for her.

Sophia could see the welts on his back as he disappeared from view. Pirelli had forgotten nothing; he had repeated the description of Luka given him by Father Angelo. It was yet further proof of his identity.

Rosa met her mother on the landing. Teresa looked furtively toward the floor above and whispered, "Are you all right?"

"Yes, Mama."

"Did you get the keys?"

"Yes . . . Mama, I can't bear it. I can't—"

Out of the corner of her eye Teresa saw him, wrapped in a bath towel and peering down at them. Teresa's dress was still creased from the suitcase, and she tried to smooth it with nervous hands.

Rosa's voice wavered as she tried to make conversation. "Why don't you play the piano, Mama? It's a Steinway. Go and play the piano, I'll go change . . . Mama?"

Teresa looked upward, but Luka had disappeared. "I'll wait with you, Rosa."

Rosa whispered, "No, go downstairs and play for us."

Obediently Teresa entered the living room.

Graziella could hear the piano in the kitchen, but she did not recognize the melody. She stood with her head slightly cocked to one side. . . . She could remember Roberto's voice, laughing when he said there was never any time for him to have his bath because the bathroom was always full; she could remember the children's voices as they played on the landing. . . . She moved to Sophia's side as if for comfort.

Sophia was squashing tablets, a mixture of Valium and Seconal sleeping tablets with the garlic press. "Where's your handkerchief, Mama?"

Graziella took the clean lace square from her pocket and handed it to Sophia. The piano stopped abruptly as they heard a scream.

Sophia ran from the kitchen, snatching up the knife Rosa had been using.

Luka, wearing a strange frock coat and an old top hat, was swinging a cane and laughing as Sophia entered.

Teresa was still sitting at the piano, trying to cover her nervousness by leafing through old sheet music. "He gave me such a shock!"

Luka laughed. "I crept up behind her. I was going to break into song. ... I couldn't remember the words."

Sophia hid the knife behind her. Fixing a smile on her face, she asked Luka where on earth he had got the clothes from. Luka said they must have belonged to the previous owner; they were in an old trunk in his room.

Sophia backed to the sofa and slipped the knife between the cushions. "Why don't you play something that Johnny could dance to for us, Teresa?"

Sophia stared hard at Teresa, who fumbled frantically through the sheets of music. "I can't play by ear. I have to have music. ..."

Luka did a quick imitation of Charlie Chaplin, shrugging his shoulders and twirling the cane, scuttling around the room with his feet splayed out. He seemed in very high spirits, and Teresa couldn't stand it. She slammed down the lid of the Steinway.

"I'll go help Mama. I'm not in the mood."

Luka tossed his hat and cane onto the sofa and looked at Sophia.

"Aren't you going to change for dinner, too, Sophia?"

"Yes, as soon as I have a moment."

Sophia was relieved when Rosa came in, carrying a tray of champagne.

"Where is Mama?" she asked, the glasses rattling as she put the tray down. When she offered a glass to Sophia, her hand shook visibly.

"Helping Graziella in the kitchen." A look passed between them as Sophia took her glass, her dark eyes urging Rosa to offer Luka a glass.

He refused a drink and picked up his hat and cane, saying he wouldn't be a moment; there was something he had forgot-
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n. As he left the room, he gave Sophia a strange, unfathomable stare.

Sophia barged into the kitchen and spoke loudly in case Luka was listening. "Is everything all right in here, Mama?"

Graziella nodded as she put some serving dishes in the Warming oven. The door opened suddenly behind Sophia and Pushed her forward. She froze, then looked around fearfully. "
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sighed with relief when she saw it was Rosa.

Luka knew something was going on. He sat on his bed and gripped the sides of it with his hands. It was Sophia; she was different. . . .

Had Pirelli told her more than she admitted? Could it be that she knew how Nino Fabio had died? Was that it? He moved to his bedside table and looked through one drawer after another. He had left his knife there. ... If she were to tell the others . . . Would she tell on him? Someone had been in his room, searching his belongings.

The door handle was beginning to turn, and his eyes were transfixed in a wide stare. . . .

"Didn't you hear me calling you?" Sophia demanded.

She could see the sweat on his forehead and the stains in the armpits of his shirt.

"Are you all right?"

He backed away, a single, small step.

Sophia turned and he could see that the back of her dress was open. "Would you zip me?"

He edged toward her, and she felt how cold his hands were as he eased the zipper upward.

"You look very beautiful."

She turned to face him. "Thank you. . . . Don't you think you should change? Dinner's almost ready. Everyone else is downstairs, waiting."

He seemed so unsure that she moved closer. "What is it? Don't you feel good? Don't you want to eat?"

His hand was wet with sweat. His fingers tightened on her hand. "I—I got all sweaty dancing. I need to wash."

"Well, don't be long. This is a special occasion."

Suddenly he confronted her. "You've changed. Something has happened. You're different."

"It's just your imagination."

Sophia closed the dining room door behind her. "He knows something is wrong, and that's your fault." She nodded to Teresa. "He's very strange, and his room stinks. He's sweating like an animal."

Teresa put her fingers to her lips to silence Sophia; she had heard something. Sophia pulled her chair out, saying loudly, "Well, Mama, this looks wonderful. Can I help you?"

They all listened; then Rosa asked if everyone wanted wine. Teresa held out her glass, and their hands shook so much that between them they spilled a fair bit. Behind them the door creaked, and Luka, having changed his shirt, came into the room.

"Now, Johnny, you sit at the head of the table there, in the carving chair, as you are the man of the house." Graziella smiled at him as she set down the warm soup plates, then opened the serving hatch to bring a tureen to the table. She began to serve the steaming vegetable soup with a large silver ladle. Luka was silent, his eyes guarded; he sat like a naughty child forced by an adult to behave at table.

After the soup was served, Graziella folded her hands in prayer: "For what we are about to receive, we thank the good Lord. Amen."

Sophia raised her glass and smiled. "To Johnny, for providing us with this wonderful house; for this dinner, too."

They toasted him, and he seemed slowly to relax. He sipped his wine, and now his behavior was more like that of a young boy allowed to dine with the grown-ups. Somehow they managed to talk about everyday things.

The soup plates were stacked, and Graziella bustled into the kitchen. Rosa assisted her grandmother, carrying all the serving dishes for the main course and putting them close to Graziella's place at the table.

Teresa, her face flushed with wine, suggested that the first thing they had to do was hire some servants. Adina was latched onto gratefully as a subject for light conversation. Graziella lifted the lid of a serving dish and leaned over, closing her eyes to smell the aroma.

"It's good, good. . . . Now, Sophia?"

They watched as she served each of them with the fresh pasta with its thick seafood sauce, leaving Luka until last.

"I'll pass it to Johnny, Mama!" Sophia leaned across Graziella, taking the plate from her. Teresa tasted the pasta and congratulated Graziella on her culinary expertise. They all were tasting and murmuring their approval, but none of the women, 't seemed, could eat more than a few mouthfuls, although the clatter of cutlery and the continuous refilling of wineglasses at least gave the appearance of a jovial dinner party.

Suddenly Teresa leaned directly across to Graziella. "Mama, you have dropped your handkerchief."