BELLA MAFIA (13 page)

"Known what?"

"What this family is, what it was . . . You've always known. Is that why you are so strong, why you don't weep? Is that why?"

"You are being foolish. Don't say things, now, Sophia, that you will regret later."

Sophia made the mistake of gripping Graziella's arm and was shoved off her feet. The older woman's strength was awesome.

Graziella stood over her, eyes blazing. "
You
didn't know? Don't play the innocent. It doesn't become you. Yes, I have known, just as you have, but perhaps my reasons for accepting it were different. What were yours, Sophia? What made you return to this house? For my son? Was it for Constantino or for what you saw here?"

Sophia remained huddled on the floor. "I loved him. You know that. He was a good husband, he was a good father, but—"

"But he was a Luciano."

Sophia put her hands over her ears. She wanted to shout, to curse the name aloud.

Graziella relaxed, as if the flash of icy anger had been someone else's. "You know, I was about the same age as you were the day you were brought here when I first set eyes on my husband. Oh, I knew what he was, Mario Domino knew what he was, but neither of us could say no to him. I could never say no to him, in my entire life with him. I mean no disrespect, but my family were well-to-do, my life mapped out. . . . Did you know I almost married Mario Domino?"

"No, I didn't." Sophia rose slowly to her feet, took a cigarette from the box, and lit it.

Graziella pushed the shutters slightly open to let the cool night breeze into the room. "How different it would have been. A nice, respectable lawyer in a good, reputable firm . . . My father would have approved. He would turn in his grave if he knew I chose Roberto instead. But you see, it was the only choice I could have made, because without him, without him . . ." Her voice trailed away.

"Don't get cold, Mama."

"I tried not to see, not to know. It was all hidden from me. I could pretend that what went on outside could never affect me, and as I chose not to know, Michael died. I blamed Roberto. I tortured him with my grief, and I hated him for being what he was. But perhaps if I had been more aware of my husband's world, Michael need not have died. You see, Roberto tried to play the game both ways; he wanted to be a good man, an honest man, but it was impossible. When I realized what I was doing to him, when I realized there was a side I didn't know, I made it my duty to know. Mario Domino would have been shot if it had ever been discovered, but I made him keep me informed of everything he could possibly tell me. So yes, I did know, I knew more than my dear, beloved husband could ever have dreamed, and I stayed by his side. If he was guilty, then so was I. . . ."

Sophia looked up. The chill had returned to Graziella's voice. "I wanted him to destroy Paul Carolla."

"Did he ever discover how much of his life you knew?"

Graziella shook her head and pulled the shutters closed. "No, I was far too clever. He never knew. He knew most things about all of you. Remember how he delved into your past when you wanted to marry Constantino?"

Sophia's breath caught in her throat. She couldn't speak. She was suddenly afraid of Graziella; did she know everything? Could it be possible? She stubbed out her cigarette, desperate to get out of the room, away from her.

The quiet voice continued. "He always said you were his favorite. You must forgive, Sophia, not blame him. You are not like Teresa; she is nothing."

"What about Rosa, Mama? Is she just a nothing? Was the marriage really arranged, or did Emilio love her?"

Graziella's eyes\were like stones.

Sophia sighed; she knew then that the don had arranged that marriage just as he had arranged Teresa's. "Don't tell her, don't let her know. At least give her that."

"I will take care of Rosa," said Graziella.

At that moment Sophia loathed Graziella. "I'll return to Rome in the morning."

"You must do whatever you think best. I'm sorry that we are so divided. Together we would be stronger."

"For what? There's nothing left, Mama."

Graziella lifted her arms as if to embrace her, but Sophia hurried out, not wanting to be touched.

Left alone, Graziella took stock of the elegant room. Her eyes were accustomed to the darkness, and she noticed a cushion out of place. She straightened it deftly, picked up Sophia's glass and the used ashtray, then paused, looking at the array of family photographs. Michael's was out of line. As she pushed it back into its place, she said to the empty room, to the faces of her dead, clearly and quietly, without emotion, "It is with me now."

Graziella's entire adult life had been taken up with caring for her family. Now she thought only of the end of Paul Carolla.

Mario Domino, worried that the strain would be too much for Graziella, had tried to dissuade her from going to the trial. He made the excuse that there was not one spectator seat available, but she had told him curtly that she would arrange it herself. "The guards are paid a pittance. I will make sure that they have a seat for me every day, no matter what the cost."

The first time she saw Paul Carolla she was shocked by his arrogant, audacious manner. She could not take her eyes from him. He became aware of her attention and, calling a guard over, pointed her out. When she lifted her veil, Carolla gave a low, almost mocking bow of recognition, but he turned away as if she meant no more to him than any of the other spectators.

The eye-to-eye contact made Graziella recoil as if she had been punched in the heart, a reaction so strong that she snapped the silver crucifix chain in her hands.

Even after she returned home, she found no release from the shock. The choking feeling—as if she were being squeezed physically—persisted until she lay in her bed, hugging her husband's pillow. She prayed to Roberto, begged him to give her strength, and as if he were still alive, his strength encouraged her not to give up.

From then on Graziella hardened herself to sit through all the hours of the preliminary trials. And day by day Paul Carolla became more of an obsession with her; she had no interest in any of the other defendants. She sat, shrouded in her widow's weeds, waiting only for the day when Carolla would be brought to the stand. He joked to his guards that she was like a praying mantis, but she was getting to him. He turned his chair so that he could not see her.

Emanuel had made many excuses to delay the meeting with Graziella, but eventually he could no longer put it off. When she appeared at his office, he was impressed by her calmness. He assured her that Carolla would be convicted.

She removed her gloves carefully, straightening each finger, and folded them neatly in her lap. "Will he also be accused of destroying my family?"

"Signora, there is no evidence so far that he was involved in that tragedy. At the time he was in jail."

"He was also in jail when the little Paluso child was murdered, yet I believe he is suspected of ordering the killing. Is that not so?"

"I understand he has been questioned, yes."

"So is he to be accused of my family's murders?"

"If evidence is produced, it will necessitate a separate trial. You must realize, when it became known that Don Roberto was to testify, there would be many who would want to stop him."

"Did my husband's evidence incriminate others?"

Emanuel twisted the cap of his fountain pen on and off, then spoke with care. "He made no accusations against any other named party. He chose only to tell me the pertinent facts surrounding your son's death. He incriminated himself more than anyone else."

"Are you able to use the statements he made?"

The pen twisted and turned in his hands. "Without Don Roberto's presence the statements could be dismissed as circumstantial evidence. This also applies to the statement made by Lenny Cavataio. As I explained to your husband, all the evidence contained in the Cavataio statement was contested by the defense counsel as hearsay. . . . Don Roberto knew this; it was the sole reason he chose to offer himself."

Graziella leaned forward, her black-gloved hand resting on the edge of his desk.

"First, I would like to have the tapes my husband made. Would that be possible?"

Emanuel nodded. They had been transcribed to computer files. But he was not prepared for her next words.

Sitting upright in her chair, her hands folded in her lap, she said, "I wish to offer myself in my husband's place. I am prepared to be a witness for the prosecution."

She paused, searching his face for a reaction, but all she saw was that the nervous hands twisting the fountain pen had become still. Emanuel rose from the desk and walked to the window. He parted the slats of the blind a fraction and peered out.

"Did you discuss the statements with your husband, Signora Luciano?"

"I did not need to. I am fully aware of the facts. I am prepared to be your witness; I am prepared to repeat in court everything my husband told you."

"You mean, repeat his statements?"

"No, I mean, tell the truth as I know it."

He turned and scrutinized her. He wondered how much she really knew. "These facts, signora, would you be prepared to discuss them with me now? Or would you require access to your husband's taped interviews first?"

"Are you asking me if I would perjure myself?"

He blushed and returned to his desk. "I am in the middle of the case. The time required to discuss everything with you would mean my asking for a stay of at least one week. If I were to ask this of the judge and be awarded it, only to discover that your evidence was not—could not be used against Paul Carolla, then my time would have been wasted, and my time, right now, is my primary consideration. These men have been held in jail for almost ten months. We cannot afford further delays—·"

"The murder of my entire family is just a delay? How long did my grandchildren's deaths delay the court proceedings, sig-nor? One day? One hour?"

"Please, I mean no insult, but we have already discussed the fact that to date the police have discovered no connection—"

"No connection
? My husband was the main witness against Carolla; is that not a connection?"

Emanuel was angry but very controlled. "I am unaware, as are the authorities, who it was who organized, arranged, whatever term you wish to use, the terrible tragedy that occurred. I am prepared to accept you as a witness if, and only if, you have evidence that stands up by itself without your husband's tapes."

"I know Paul Carolla instigated the death of my son. I know he, and only he, benefited from the death of my family—"

"But forgive me, signora, without proof—"

"The proof is in the graveyard."

He sighed. "Trust me, I give you my word—"

"Your word means little to me. My husband trusted you, trusted your word that there would be protection for himself and for his sons. . . ."

Emanuel took out his handkerchief and blew his nose. There was no denying that the leak had come from this very office, his office. After a moment he asked if she would be prepared there and then to answer certain questions in front of a witness. If he believed she had valuable evidence, he would accept her for the prosecution.

Hesitantly Graziella agreed. A secretary brought them coffee while they waited for a stenographer. Emanuel sifted through his notes, preparing questions. Graziella slowly approached his desk.

"Would it be so wrong to allow me to listen to my husband's tapes? Would it be so wrong to allow me to say the words he died for? In the end what we both want, what you want, is justice."

"I cannot, signora, no matter how much I want, no matter how much I believe in the man's guilt, go against the law. I cannot do this for you—or for the animal Paul Carolla."

Graziella remained with Emanuel and the stenographer for an hour. Emanuel was as tough on her within the confines of his office as he knew the defense would be with her in court.

"Would you state your relationship with Paul Carolla?"

"I have no relationship with him."

"How well did you know the defendant?"

"He came to my home, to visit my husband."

She could not recollect the exact date but knew that the first time she had met Carolla was in the late fifties. She explained that there had always been friction between Carolla and her late husband.

"What exactly do you mean by friction?"

"When Paul Carolla's father died, his will did not name his son as head of the family. Instead, he chose my husband. Paul Carolla always bore a grudge against my husband because he felt usurped."

Emanuel tapped the side of his desk with his foot. "So you were aware of ill feeling between the two men as far back as the early fifties?"

"Yes. Paul Carolla came to my home wanting my husband to release him; he no longer wished to work for him. He wanted to start his own business."