BELLA MAFIA (60 page)

"No. . . . Did you hear me say to help your mama?"

Rosa walked into the study. "Mama, did you take Johnny's address from the hall stand?"

"No. I'm going to need your signature, Rosa, and Ma-

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mas—

Rosa tapped on Graziella's door and peeked around the door. "I think Sophia's gone to see Johnny. She said she was going to get some champagne, but she's gone to see Johnny."

"Maybe she's gone to tell him the good news."

Rosa shrugged and muttered something about Sophia's getting a bottle of champagne.

"I think celebrations are a little premature."

Graziella watched her granddaughter wander around the room, then sit at the small dressing table. She began picking up brushes and combs and replacing them; then she pulled her hair back from her face and coiled it into a bun like Sophia's. She pursed her lips, watching her reflection in the mirror.

"Sophia's very beautiful, isn't she?"

"Yes . . . You know, when I first saw her, she was a few years younger than you, and so thin, her little face so pinched—"

"I like Johnny, Grandma."

"I think we all do; he's a nice boy, hard worker. That's just what he is, though, Rosa, a worker, understand me? When the day comes for you to find someone, he must be worthy of you because you are all we have left, Rosa. Through you the Luciano line will continue; only you can produce a Luciano family, children. That is the most important thing in the world, children, a son. . . . When the time is right, we will return to Sicily and find you a husband, so don't get ideas about Johnny. Stop them right now."

Rosa leaned over the bed and kissed Graziella's cheek. "Yes, Grandma . . . Good night."

She had no intention of obeying her grandmother. When

she got her share of the money, she could do what she wanted; she would be free.

Sophia paid off the cab and wished she had asked the driver to wait. The rooming house was in a rundown area, just a row of bells by the side of a paint-peeled door. Many of the bells were smashed, and garbage bags and broken bottles littered the steps. She pressed the button for room 18 and waited. She pressed again and heard Johnny's distorted voice asking who was there.

"Just let me in."

The buzzer went two or three times before the lock sprang back. Inside, the dark lobby stank of stale, rotting food and urine. Only one naked bulb lit the stairwell. Sophia began to walk up the dark wooden steps.

By the time she reached the third-floor landing he was waiting for her, smiling his delight. He swung the door to his room open wide, then looked at her in concern.

"Is there a problem? Everything all right?"

She brushed past him. "How did you get those drawings? You'd better tell me."

"Does it matter?"

"Yes, it matters. Don't tell me he just gave them to you because I know he wouldn't. . . . He's dead, he's dead!"

"How do you know?"

"I called his workrooms, I called him, that's why."

"Do you want to sit down?"

"No, I just want you to tell me the truth."

"I also got you this. He signed it, just in case there should be any trouble."

She snatched the single sheet of paper from his hand. "What did you do, Johnny? Tell me!"

He skirted the room with its naked, dim light bulb and single bed, as if cowering from her. Eventually he stood with his back to her, looking out of the grimy window over the fire escape. "I thought you wanted the drawings. I thought that was what you wanted."

The neon lights of a hotel sign outside lit his frame with an eerie, bluish light, off, on, off, on. . . . One moment she could see him clearly; the next he was in shadow. She sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing her hand over the rough gray

blanket. "I don't believe this is real. I don't think I am here—"

"It's a dump of a room," he said softly.

"I need a glass of water."

He left the room, and she remained sitting on the bed, patting the blanket. Her head was throbbing. She stared around blankly. His clothes, everything belonging to him were neat and tidy.

He returned, carefully carrying a paper cup. She coughed, and he went to take her hand. She drew away from him.

"Please don't touch me . . . Don't ..."

He seemed hurt. He lowered his head, pouting.

"Stop playing games, Johnny. Drop your little-boy-lost act. Look at me. . . . Look at me, Johnny, because I want the truth."

He lifted his head. His body swayed slightly, and he suddenly appeared to be very young, younger than his twenty-six years. When he spoke, she could hardly hear him.

"Sophia, don't be nasty to me." His eyes pleaded with her like a bewildered child.

"Did you kill him?"

"Yes."

She tried to put the paper cup down on the bedside table, and it toppled over. The next moment Luka was kneeling at her feet, both arms wrapped around her legs.

She protested, "Please don't do this. Please don't."

He pressed his face against her thighs and shuddered. His arms tightened around her.

"I did it for you, to prove that I was important. When I saw you go off with that man, I had to do something to prove to you. . . . I did it for you."

Sophia eased herself away from him, and he sat back on his heels.

"Do you have anything to drink?" Her tongue felt swollen, and she couldn't swallow.

He leaped up and hurried to the door. "I'll get you some more water."

The moment he moved away she stood up. "No, no, I'll be all right. I have to go. They're waiting for me. ... I said I
^Was
going out for champagne. . . . Barzini called Teresa; he's offered a lot of money.
Please stay away from me, don't come near me!"

"Shussssh, someone could hear you." He opened the door a fraction and looked out, then closed it and locked it. "What are you going to do?"

"It doesn't matter what I am going to do."

"Yes, it matters. I did it for you."

She felt her anger rising. "What do you think I can do with the designs now? Do you think I could even contemplate using them after I know what you've done? Don't say it, don't dare say it again. I never asked you to do anything for me—"

His voice was plaintive. "But no one can possibly connect you."

"No? Are you stupid as well as crazy? Won't connect me? I was there,
I was there
! The police will want to question me; the people who work for Nino will notice the designs are missing!"

"But there were hundreds. I didn't take them all."

"Don't you understand, you've destroyed any chance of my being able to use even one of them!'"''

He gestured for her to keep her voice down, and she clenched her hands at her sides. "I could have paid him, understand? I could have bought them legitimately."

He sat on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands. She wanted to hit him, slap his face, kick him. She had never known such blind fury against another human being.

"I should go straight to the police and hand you over. . . . Give them the drawings, let them deal with you, you stupid—"

She paced the room, her anger easing the horror of the situation. She stopped in front of him and pulled his hair to make him look up at her.

"As soon as Barzini pays us, you get out of our lives, or so help me God, I'll tell the police."

It was a hopeless threat. She was cornered, and she knew it. Her freedom, her release from the Lucianos, was disappearing fast.

"It was an accident, Sophia. He started saying things about you, and all I could think of was how you had crawled to him, begging him to help you, and he laughed in your face. He made you vomit in the street; he said you were finished, you could never do anything, you had no talent. He kept on and on, and I told him to stop; but he wouldn't. ... I swung out, hit him with something from his desk, a statue. ... I don't know, I don't remember. I didn't mean to kill him; but he deserved it, and I would do it again if I had to, anytime. No one can hurt you, no one. I won't let them."

"You—you took my last chance." Her face crumpled, and she sobbed; but as he stepped toward her, she moved away, went to the door, tried to turn the knob. Frustrated, she-turned just as he clasped her to him. She tried to break free, tried to claw at his face, but he twisted her arm behind her back.

"You can have everything again, Sophia. I'm going to give it to you. I love you, I love you."

Her dark eyes showed her contempt. "Your love disgusts me. Now, move away from the door and let me go."

Luka kissed her, a passionate, longing kiss, but she did not respond. He could feel her teeth, her lips. . . . When he broke away, he looked into her angry eyes. They were filled with such hatred that he let go of her shoulders and fumbled in his pocket for the key. She stood directly behind him while he unlocked the door.

As she made her way down the stairs, she wiped her lips with the back of her hand. She knew he was following her, but she didn't turn back. She didn't turn until she reached ground level. Then she looked up to see him staring down the stairwell. The light from the naked bulb behind him encircled his head and shoulders, and at that distance she could not see his expression. He was like a statue, so still, his pale skin and blond hair making him appear ghostly.

Sophia let herself into the apartment. As she closed the door, Rosa appeared.

"Where's the champagne?"

"I—I couldn't find a liquor store open." Sophia passed her, heading for her bedroom.

"You went to see Johnny, didn't you?"

With her hand on the doorknob, Sophia sighed. "Rosa, it's none of your business where I've been."

Rosa flushed with anger. "Are you two lovers?"

"No."

"Don't lie to me. He can't take his eyes off you. What happened in Rome?"

Sophia opened the door. "Nothing, and take my advice, stay away from him."

"Because you want him?"

Sophia slammed the door shut and turned on Rosa. "Don't be childish, and don't be so rude to me. I'll forget it this once, but don't you ever insinuate that there is anything between me and that creature. . . . And I mean it, Rosa, stay away from him." _

Rosa turned and ran into her room as Teresa came out of the bathroom.

"What's going on?" she asked Sophia.

"Nothing ... I just want to go to bed, all right?"

"Fine by me. I just thought you and Rosa were having an argument. No need to snap my head off."

"I'm sorry. . . . Rosa seems to think I am having a thing with Johnny." ,

"What? Are you serious?"

"Don't let her see too much of him, Teresa. Believe me, I know what I'm talking about. The sooner we get rid of him, the better."

Teresa hesitated, wishing she could agree, but Johnny had bound her to him with the Rocco murder. If she were to anger him, his violence could turn against her, against any one of them.

"Johnny's still useful to us, Sophia, but I'll speak to Rosa."

Breakfast was not a happy affair. No one had much of an appetite for the eggs and sausages Graziella had cooked. They all were too worried about the meeting with Barzini, which would take place in a few hours. The weather outside was freezing, and Sophia, generous as ever, offered one of her furs to whoever needed it.

Rosa pulled a face. "I think it's disgusting walking around with dead animals on you. I don't know how you can. You've got about fifty pelts there; that's fifty hearts, lungs. . . ." Sophia lit a cigarette and said nothing.

The telephone rang, but Teresa waited. "We don't want to look too desperate. I'll answer it." She disappeared into the study.

When she came out, she announced, "We're to meet him at a restaurant called the Four Seasons, at one o'clock sharp. Sophia, would one of your coats fit me?"

"Oh, Mama, how could you?"

"Quite easily, Rosa, I'm not going to freeze."

Barzini and the three women sat at his table at the Four Seasons restaurant. They ordered; Barzini was a genial host, refusing to discuss business until lunch was over. He seemed to be a regular customer, acknowledging other diners and being on first-name terms with the waiters.

The women were very formal, fearful, and hardly able to touch their food. Every person Barzini called to seemed a threat, and when he reached over to grip Sophia's hand, she shrank back.

"You are very beautiful, I am honored, but I am puzzled. . . .

They waited. Rosa's leg, beneath the table, pressed against her mother's. She hated the way his small hands were never still, the way his eyes flicked from one woman to another.

"Where is Signora Luciano? I was looking forward to meeting her again."

"Mama is feeling unwell, Mr. Barzini. She asked me to send you her very best wishes and her apologies."

"No apologies needed. She must be tired. She is staying with you, Teresa? I may call you Teresa?"