BELLA MAFIA (20 page)

Before Domino could say another word, she had hung up. She was making it impossible for him to negotiate the sales he had set up on many of the companies. Her only instruction to him had been "Get rid of everything, sell everything." She wanted nothing, no part of the Luciano holdings. She wished only for the cash to be accumulated for her daughters-in-law and her granddaughter. Domino had begged her to wait, to get some advice, but she was adamant that nothing must remain. She even instructed him to include the Villa Rivera in the sale price.

Graziella clenched one hand in fury as Adina entered the study. "You may go, Adina, I'll fix myself something to eat later."

"Diego asked me to give you this. He's waiting in the kitchen."

Graziella tore open the cheap white envelope. There was a short note, written on ruled paper.

Dear Signora Luciano,

I am sixty-four years old. I would like to retire, go and live with my son and daughter. I beg you to release me.

Yours with great respect, D. Caruso

Graziella picked up her checkbook. "He's still waiting, you say?"

"Si,
signora."

Graziella wrote out a check and put it in one of her husband's crested manila envelopes. She handed it to Adina.

"Tell Signor Caruso he has nothing to fear. He is free, and I wish him a happy and peaceful retirement."

The following morning Mario Domino set out early to drive to the Villa Rivera in the hope of catching Graziella before she left for the trial. There was only one guard at the wrought-iron gates, and he opened up without even asking Domino's name.

Mario noticed that the gardens were already looking neglected; the hot weather had dried the grass quickly. The swimming pool was a dark, murky green, and decay was sweeping through the orchards. Around the trees, laden with their rotting fruit, the flies swarmed in clouds. The tennis court had begun to sprout weeds; the net hung limply, and a racket that had belonged to Michael lay abandoned on the grass.

The villa was shuttered, every window closed. Domino parked his car behind the Mercedes, which still stood in the driveway, and walked around the back to the kitchen. Adina was hanging out some wash.

They sat in the kitchen. Adina told Mario that Graziella rarely, if ever, ate and most nights never slept.

"She plays the tapes over and over. ... I hear his voice, like a ghost through the house, and she has taken every photograph down. I don't know what to do, she is making herself ill, she is so thin, so—"

"Has the doctor been to see her recently?"

"No, signor, she sees no one. The phone she will not allow me to answer. . . . And look, see all these letters and cables? She does not even open them. She listens only to the tapes.

Yesterday Diego Caruso left. She has no one to drive her now; she took a taxi into town."

Domino decided he would return that evening with the doctor.

Adina wept, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "It is as if she hates the don. All his clothes, everything that belonged to him she has made me give to the missions. . . . Signor, what is on those tapes? What makes her act this way?"

Domino sighed, patting the servant's shoulder. "Perhaps the truth."

Going down the long drive, Domino remembered the day Don Roberto had discovered his wife's visits to his office. At first Domino had tried to deny that they were a regular occurrence, and Don Roberto had snapped that there was nothing that was not reported back to him. Domino had been afraid; this man for whom he had worked all his adult life still terrified him.

"Your wife, Roberto, feels greatly that she is in some way to blame for Michael's death, that you did not allow her to nurse him. If she knew more . . ."

"Understand this, Mario. Graziella is my wife; she is the mother of my sons. You will tell her nothing, nothing, unless I give you permission." Then he had given that charming smile of his. "You may call it jealousy; even after all these years I have not forgotten you were once to be married. I am sorry if I spoke curtly, forgive me. . . . She may come to you once a month. I will give you certain information she may be told, no more, no less."

The spectators were always seated at the trial before the prisoners were brought up from their cells below the court. This was often a long procedure. The cages ranged along one entire wall of the massive courtroom, like a zoo; the bars reached from floor to ceiling, and as many as thirty men at a time were herded inside, in handcuffs and sometimes leg irons. Each cage was locked, and a guard positioned at the door, before the next group of prisoners was led in. In each cage was a microphone that could be turned on if a prisoner requested to speak with the defense counsel.

The lawyers always remained outside the court until all prisoners were locked in. The judge entered last, taking his seat on the high rostrum facing the horseshoe of counsel.

When a prisoner was required to take the stand, he was led by armed guards to the bulletproof glass booth that served as the witness box. Advisers ranged alongside the judge, and there were microphones in front of each man. The courtroom was filled with earsplitting calls for order. When things got out of hand, the judge threatened that the trial would continue without the presence of the prisoners, a maneuver that gained a brief silence.

For Graziella, the prisoners in their cages grew to be a sickening fascination. Had any of these men worked for her husband, carried out the terrible crimes the prosecuting counsel accused them of? How many of these men who had come in chained to each other like animals were linked to the Lucianos?

Carolla's sweating face, his obsession with cleaning his nails, filing and picking at the cuticles, drew her attention. She stared, kept on staring. Had Michael's death, in the end, joined Luciano and Carolla together? If she had known the truth, known the way her son had died, nothing would have stood in her way, no matter what the cost. She could not, like her husband, have waited. Why had he waited? And why, if Carolla was unlikely ever to be freed, had Roberto chosen to be a witness? He must have known the dangers, not only to himself but to his family.

When the trial closed for the day, Carolla had still not taken the stand, had never used the microphone that linked him with the court. He had sat impervious to the proceedings.

Graziella returned to the villa, more determined than ever to uncover the truth. Mario Domino was waiting for her. Adina, as instructed, had shown him into the dining room. The study was always kept locked now; Adina was not even allowed to clean it. It was littered with documents and tapes, and notebooks were stacked on the desk, and Graziella was, in truth, afraid lest anyone find out how much she now knew about the Lucianos.

The dining room was cold. She did not turn on the light, preferring to sit in the shadows. Domino opened his briefcase and took out some files.

"Did you find Gennaro Baranza for me?"

"Yes, he lives with his son in Mondello. They run a small hotel; I have the address and phone number. He is very frail. May I ask why you wish to see him?"

Ignoring the question, she asked if he would like a sherry. Just as he accepted, they heard the buzz of the door intercom.

Mario was slightly flustered. "That may be the doctor. . . . Now please, before you say anything, for me, see him—"

"Please apologize for wasting his time, and, Mario, when I need to see a doctor, I am capable of calling one for myself."

Mario returned to find her flicking through his papers. She looked up, her face paler than ever. "You know, every day at the trial I look at the men in the cages, and I know many of them must have worked for or been known to Don Roberto. I hear of prostitution, blackmail, kidnapping, extortion, murders, and I think of this place, I think of my life. I listen to his voice, and he is a stranger to me. ... I have lost three sons, but worse, I have lost all respect for him, Mario."

"Then you do him a great injustice."

"Do I? How much of his fortune was built on fear? How many died to make my family worth being murdered for? You want to hear what I have been listening to? Hear him laughing when he describes how he arranged his son's marriage as a cover for murder? Do you want to hear what he did, how he used me, how he used his sons?"

"Throw the tapes away. Don't listen to them."

"I will listen to every one of them. Because even at the end he lied to me. He said he could not rest, could not die in peace without giving Michael the justice he deserved. It was
liesl
He could not die in peace unless he destroyed Paul Carolla. He was not content to have him in prison; that was not enough. Carolla had to
know
that it was Don Roberto Luciano who put him there. Michael had nothing to do with his decision, Mario; it was for himself. He wanted to prove to Carolla that in the end he had beaten him."

"That is not true, Graziella."

"No? How much proof did he need for his courts, for his law? And if my husband had been alive to go to the witness stand, who do you think would have paid the penalty? Paul

Carolla? No! My family, my sons . . . He would have destroyed them anyway. Well, he succeeded, and now I want nothing, nothing to be left. My granddaughter, my sons' wives, none of them must know the truth. I want them to live their lives without fear. I want them free, Mario."

Mario picked up his papers and carefully rearranged them in order, stacking them in his briefcase. He snapped the locks, resting his hands on top.

"As you wish. I will contact you as soon as the transactions have taken place. But understand, you will be giving the very people you despise access to your husband's legitimate companies, companies that were to have been your sons' inheritances."

"Mario, I know about my sons. Please don't think me that naive. They were part of it, too. I have read enough of your files to understand that much. I also understand how you played Roberto's game. Well, no more lies. I want to go to my grave in peace. Now you must excuse me; it has been a very long day."

Mario looked at her sadly. "I have always loved you. You must know that. I would protect you with my life, but I could not go against his wishes."

"Because you were afraid? Tell me, Mario, were you afraid of him too?"

"What do you mean by that? To whom have you been talking?"

"Diego Caruso. He was afraid even to talk to me."

"What did you ask him?"

She gave a small shrug of her shoulders. His heartbeat quickened, and his indigestion grew ten times worse. He sucked constantly on strong antacids, but the pain would not abate.

Graziella's remark unnerved him. His hands shook as he replied. "Graziella, never, understand me,
never
ask questions of anyone. If you need to know something, then ask me, ask me."

"Who were they, those men? Why did you search this house?"

"For your own protection. I had to make sure there was nothing here, nothing anyone else would need or want—nothing incriminating, do you understand? The men I introduced to you ran certain branches of the Luciano holdings in the States. . . ."

"But you were afraid of them?"

"No, no . . . If it appeared so, then perhaps I am overtired."

"Mario, have there not been enough lies?"

His heartburn was worse, and he was growing impatient with her. "I was not afraid for myself! On one hand, you tell me to cut all ties with the organization; then, when I do so, you accuse me."

"I am not accusing you."

"Graziella, we are not dealing in small amounts of dollars and lire but in billions! Don't you understand how difficult you have made things for me? I have negotiated with the main families to take over Don Roberto's territories in America—New York, Atlantic City, Chicago, and Los Angeles. But the Sicilian families also want to negotiate. Even though it is against your wishes, I am simply trying to do what I believe is in your best interest. Your demand that I sell everything, whether at a profit or not, has caused nothing but suspicion. I am also trying to transfer all money to a Swiss bank account so that you would not be taxed as you would be if it were paid here in Palermo. You would be losing billions of lire, millions of dollars, in death duties and taxes. . . . And then today one of my clerks—"

Domino had to sit down; he could not get his breath. "I have sixteen men in my offices, all working toward finalizing all the contracts for your daughters and granddaughter. Today, however, we have come across certain discrepancies. . . . One of the buyers, I believe, though I cannot be sure, is acting under orders."

Domino could hardly bring himself to say the name. "I think that Paul Carolla is using fictitious names to purchase the Palermo-based export company, which includes the warehouses, the dock—"

Graziella banged on the table. "How in God's name can this happen? The man is in jail, how can he be negotiating?"

"He is not!”
He is employing men to buy for him, but until I can verify that, until I can trace every one of these buyers . . . Here, see for yourself, see how many contracts, how much work all this entails. Tomorrow I am going to check out as much as I can in Rome."