The latter was very much younger than the others but stockily built. He was wearing an open-necked casual shirt and rose-tinted glasses. Graziella glanced around the study; drawers and even the safe door were wide open. Stacked around the desk were files neatly tied with string, obviously ready for removal.
"I shall be in the dining room. If you wish refreshments before you leave, please call Adina." Graziella walked out, leaving the door open and making it obvious that she wanted the men to leave.
She sat in the cool dark dining room in her husband's chair with her back to the shuttered windows. She could hear the men preparing to leave, their hushed voices sounding to her like those of conspirators. Then Mario himself appeared in the dining room.
"I am sorry, Graziella. I was hoping to have everything completed before your return. Don Roberto was conducting international transactions. I am not the only lawyer involved with the businesses, so we had a lot of work to do. They will be handling all the American issues."
She had never seen Mario so hesitant. He looked guilty, mopping his brow with a silk handkerchief. "They have removed only the files necessary-"
She stared at her folded hands. "Perhaps in the future you would be kind enough to warn me if you require access to my husband's study."
"Of course, but I doubt if I will have to intrude again. Forgive me."
He bent to kiss Graziella's cheek, but she averted her face. Hurriedly he retrieved his briefcase from the study, his eyes darting around the ransacked room, making sure there was no trace of incriminating documents. There was not one room in the villa that had not been thoroughly searched. Now he would begin the marathon job of assessing the Luciano holdings, knowing that many of the territories had already been taken over, that someone had already stepped into Roberto Luciano's shoes. He had known the moment he had been approached by the three men Graziella had just met.
Graziella watched Domino drive away before she picked up the heavy package of her husband's tapes. She carried it to the study desk and looked around. The room smelled of the men's cigar smoke and of charred papers… Sure enough, there in the grate were the telltale blackened scraps of paper.
Adina entered with a tray. She had prepared some soup and a small side dish of pasta. "You must eat, signora, just a little."
Graziella nodded, taking the tray and putting it down on the desk. "You may leave now. I can take this back to the kitchen."
"No, signora, I'll stay, if just to make sure you at least take a little soup."
"That will not be necessary, please leave me. And, Adina… in the future you show no one into my husband's study, no one, is that clear? This room will remain locked, no one is allowed in, do you understand?"
Adina closed the door quietly behind her. She paused, listening for the sound of cutlery being used, knowing that Graziella had not eaten for days. As if a ghost crossed her soul, she froze, hearing clearly the deep, warm tones of Don Roberto Luciano. She could not help crying out, and the study door opened.
Graziella's face was white with anger. "Leave me alone. Leave the house now."
Graziella stood in her husband's study, eyes closed, feeling the evening breeze as it dried the tears on her cheek, tears she made no effort to wipe away, as she listened to the don's voice.
"My name is Don Roberto Luciano. I give this statement on the eighth of February, 1987. I have certified evidence to prove that I am of a sane, healthy mind and have a witness to prove that these statements are given freely without any undue harassment or pressure from any quarter. I make these statements of my own will…"
His voice hurt her, pained her. But she had to listen, had to know what her husband knew and what she did not. She would hear exactly how her son had been murdered; she would hear, in those same, warm tones, another side of the man she thought she knew and loved.
CHAPTER 5
Teresa looked down into the New York street and watched Father Amberto hail a cab. He was carrying two heavy suitcases filled with her husband's clothes. She remained standing at the window until the cab merged into the stream of continuous traffic on Thirty-fifth Street, then turned back into the small room she and Filippo had used as a study. She went to the desk where she had stacked all Filippo's unpaid bills and company papers in preparation for work that evening, but now nothing could be further from her mind. She was so angry she was still shaking. She pressed her hands to her cheeks, flushing at the thought of what her daughter had said to the priest. Suddenly she yanked open the study door and walked into the narrow corridor.
"Rosa, Rosa!'
Her daughter's bedroom door remained firmly closed. Her radio blared, the volume turned up to earsplitting level.
"Rosa, Rosa, come out of there!” Teresa hit the door with the flat of her hand, kept on hitting it until the music was turned off. Then she stepped back, hands on her hips, as Rosa opened the door.
"How could you do that? How could you say that to Father Amberto?"
"What?"
"You know perfectly well what. How dare you! I have never been so humiliated in my life."
"Didn't faze him, he was too busy stuffing the suitcases with all the clothes."
"I want you to apologize to me, you hear me?"
"Sure I hear. So can half the block. There's no need to act so hysterical. You think he's never heard the word before? All I said was-"
"I know what you said: 'Check the pockets for rubbers!' For rubbers! What in God's name possessed you to say such a thing? Search your papa's suit pockets!" Teresa put her hands over her face. "What will he think of us?"
"I don't think he'll be saying Hail Marys over it, Mama. It was nothing, forget it."
"Forget it! Why did you say it, Rosa, why?"
Rosa shrugged her shoulders and turned to go back to her room. "Maybe because I can't stand the way you're acting, creeping around the place. It's been two months, Mama, and every time I look at you, you start blubbering, or you're going to every mass. It's a wonder your knees aren't calloused."
Teresa pulled her daughter by the shoulders, her face red with rage. "How do you expect me to behave? You want me to play music so loud I deafen everyone? You want me to throw open the blinds and have a party? My husband, your father is dead! So help me God, what do you want me to do?"
"I don't know. I just don't want anyone else coming here with their prayer books and clasping me by the hand, people I don't know pinching my cheeks as if I were a kid."
"They're being kind, Rosa. They're trying to help us."
"No, they're not. They're just prying. We don't even know them."
"They're from the church."
"But they don't know me; they never knew Papa. He never set foot in church unless you dragged him there. They're just nosy, and you are loving every minute of being the center of attention."
Teresa slapped Rosa so hard she crashed into the wall. She staggered for a moment, then hurled herself at her mother, fists flying, screaming, "Leave me alone!"
"Fine, I'll leave you alone. I won't cook for you, clean for you, wash for you-"
"You don't have to anyway-"
"Sure I don't have to, and I don't have to give you money every day to go to college. Sure I'll leave you alone. I won't speak to you until you apologize. May God forgive you, and you'll need his forgiveness for what you said to Father Amberto."
"Why? It was the truth, wasn't it? You think I'm deaf? I heard you two fighting and arguing. I could hear you screaming at each other. He never loved you. He had other women. I know it, everyone knew it…"