Authors: Lynda La Plante
"Arrivederci,
signor, we thank you."
The men agreed it was farcical of Sophia to believe there was even so much as a possibility of her becoming part of the organization. Yet there remained the fact that to date the women had already got away with fifteen million and still retained the entire Luciano holdings in both America and Palermo.Sophia's demand for Paul Carolla's estate furthered the rumor that someone was behind the Luciano women, someone who had schooled them well, and someone who was prepared to kill for them. And who was the heir she claimed? Miano spit in disgust at the thought of men willing to take orders from four women, one of them just out of school, another a grandmother.
The car passed through the wrought-iron gates, which closed soundlessly behind them, and the hidden video cameras swiveled back into place. Peter Salerno, sitting in the backseat, could not resist a last look back at the impressive house. He looked up at the top-floor windows; a woman, clothed in black and partially hidden by the security bars, was watching them leave. She was in the shadows, but he was sure he recognized her.
"I think Sophia Luciano's different, a different kind of woman from what we're used to. She's—"
The men in Salerno's car admitted that she unnerved them; she was, they joked, an unknown commodity. None of them had ever had any dealings with a woman like her, in business or bed. They all agreed with less humor than before that she was
bella . . . bella mafiosa.
But Salerno didn't laugh. He stared from the car window. What had made her so different?
The slush spattered the road and the gleaming sides of the limo. The cigar smoke made him feel sick, and he pressed the button to lower the window, gasping for the freezing air. How had she known just which of the families were involved? He went over the meeting virtually word for word, picturing her face as she quietly listed men who didn't even know of one another's complicity. This meant she had to know every man involved in the murder of her family. Salerno was chilled by the ramifications because if she knew who they were, she must also be aware of the money transferred from Sicily, the Luciano fortune.
Someone asked him to close the window. He reached for the button; the pain in his gut was like an explosion, blowing his bowels apart. The burning sensation swept up through his chest and into his throat, choking him, and spittle ran from his lips. His mouth flapped soundlessly as if he were trying to warn the other men, but he never uttered another word.
Peter Salerno's name was scratched from the back of the photograph. The photo of Michael Luciano was set back in its place of honor. Graziella Luciano, widow of Don Roberto Luciano, Teresa, widow of Filippo Luciano, and Rosa, the tragic bride-to-be, waited expectantly to hear the outcome of their meeting, unaware that Sophia, widow of Constantino Luciano, mother of little Carlo and Nunzio Luciano, had already acted. The seeds of the vendetta that had begun with the murder of Michael Luciano would continue.
La spine della rosa sono nascoste dal fiore.
The thorns of the rose are hidden by the bloom.