Lynda La Plante - Bella Mafia

The gates opened, and the gleaming black Mercedes headed toward the villa. The don sat between two bodyguards in the back, with his faithful driver up front.

The villa was ablaze with lights. As the car stopped, Don Roberto sat for a moment, waiting for the door to be opened. One of the bodyguards adjusted the cashmere coat to sit perfectly on the don's shoulders, then handed him his kid gloves and hat. He had been giving statements to Emanuel since ten o'clock that morning; it had been a grueling, painstaking day, a day when memories flooded back, old wounds opened, but he stood straight, inches taller than his bodyguards, and smiled. The front door opened as he walked up the white steps and onto the porch.

There was not one of them in the sprawling villa who did not know, could not sense the presence. Don Roberto Luciano was home.

Luciano closed his eyes and thought for a moment, then leaned forward and spoke softly. "Paul Castellano, head of the Gambino family, and his driver, Thomas Bilotti, were shot to death in front of Sparks Steak House in New York. Neither man was carrying a gun. There was no backup team to protect Castellano. Yet until that moment he had always been protected, insulated by his men. He was losing sight, not comprehending anymore the world in which he had been raised. He had refused to have his food distribution companies used as covers for drug couriers. He was not prepared to take the risks of drug running, and the main importer, the main dealer in heroin to the United States, was Paul Carolla. I have evidence that will give you Paul Carolla as the man who ordered the murders." Luciano's eyes were like slits. He cocked his head to one side as if to say, "Is that enough?"

But Emanuel knew that it was not. What Luciano had given him was evidence that any number of men could give. Emanuel rose to his feet and stood by the big velvet chair. "I'm afraid it is not enough to ensure your protection."

Luciano looked up at him, then at Domino. After a moment he, too, rose to his feet and placed his hand on Emanuel's shoulder. The big hand felt like a dead weight. The room was eerily quiet.

Emanuel was afraid of this man, and his relief as the hand slowly lifted made him gasp.

"Lenny Cavataio gave you a statement regarding the death of a young Sicilian boy. Cavataio was prepared to take the stand and name Paul Carolla as the instigator of the murder." The eyes didn't flicker. They held Emanuel's attention as he whispered, "The dead boy was my eldest son."

Nowhere in the soft, cultured voice was there a hint of what Don Roberto Luciano was feeling. He continued. "Now, my friend, I am not prepared to talk with you further. It is up to you. You say time is of the essence. Then so be it. You have two weeks. I will wait to hear via Domino. I have arranged the marriage of my granddaughter, which will take place on February the fourteenth, two weeks from today. It will be the first time the whole family has been gathered together for many years-my sons, my grandchildren. If you can guarantee the protection I need, it will be easier to accomplish with my entire family under one roof. The danger to my loved ones is obvious, and will be more so when, if, I take the stand. My sons will not approve of my decision; but my mind is made up, and I will not retract my offer. Thank you for coming to meet me. It has been a pleasant evening."

The door opened without any obvious command, and he was gone, leaving behind him the sweet smell of fresh limes.

Domino drained his glass. "Don't underestimate what he is offering you. You will make your career on his back. You will become a very famous man, or a dead one."

Emanuel snapped, "He wants protection for his family. Dear God, what about mine? As it is, they balked at giving me two personal around-the-clock guards. You'd think I'd asked for a private army, and that is what Luciano will need-an army."

"Then get it. Step up your own security because I warn you, if it were ever to leak that Luciano is your witness, he would not live to take the stand. Believe me, I am against this madness."

Emanuel's mind was reeling, but he had to take one last shot at Domino. "Why? Just give me one good reason why he's doing it."

"He told you-for his son, for Michael Luciano."

"Is that it?"

Emanuel was not prepared for the rush of anger that made Domino's cheeks flush.

"Paul Carolla saw to it that Michael Luciano was introduced to heroin while the boy was studying in the States. Then, when he became an addict, they shipped him back and flaunted him like a beaten whore to the father who worshiped him. Carolla did that to a beautiful boy because Michael's father refused to deal in narcotics." Domino's hand clenched into a fist. "Yet the don never gave way. You have the proof now; the man who was in this room tonight is one of the most highly respected legitimate exporters of goods from Sicily, and he paid the price. He paid for it with the life of his son."

Domino paused, shook out a silk handkerchief, and wiped his mouth before continuing. "Michael was his father's son, and he fought back. At the time of his death he was cured of his addiction. But his killers injected him with enough heroin to kill five men. Even that did not satisfy them; they tortured him, beat him, until even the mortician could not repair his features. Don Roberto carries all this in his heart; he blames himself for that broken body, for the terrible things that were done to his beautiful son."

Emanuel watched as Domino wiped his eyes. The old man was speaking as if the tragedy had just occurred.

"Why, if he knew all this, did Luciano wait? His son has been dead more than twenty years."

Domino gave Emanuel a disdainful look. "Because he has two more sons."

"Yet now, all these years later, he is prepared to jeopardize his life and the safety of his family. I don't understand."

Domino tucked his handkerchief away and smiled, but his eyes were ice cold.

"You are not one of us, you could not understand. Call it revenge, call it the end to a vendetta, but I guarantee that Paul Carolla is finished if you get Luciano on the stand. Capich'?"

Domino excused himself, and again the door opened to some unseen signal. The two men who had brought Emanuel to the meeting were waiting for him.

Emanuel arrived back at his apartment to find one of his guards washing down, yet again, the main entrance. Red stains could be seen on the cloth as the man wiped the door. Emanuel sighed. Once or twice a week a dead cat was pinned to the door, its guts hanging out, pitiful legs pinned as if crucified.

"Another cat? They carry on like this, and there won't be one left in the neighborhood."

The guard shrugged. "This one's a bit different," he said.

Emanuel looked, not even sickened anymore. "Oh, yes?"

"Yes, it's yours."Q

W^ophia Luciano sat beside her husband, Constantino, watching the road, knowing that within moments they would reach the brow of the hill from which they could see the sprawling Villa Rivera.

The elder son of Don Roberto Luciano, Constantino had handsome features and blue-black hair that were reminiscent of his father as a young man. But only reminiscent; there was a shyness, a gentleness to him that were even more evident when he spoke, for he was afflicted with a slight stammer. Sophia waited for him to tell their children they were "home"; it annoyed her that her husband always referred to his father's house as "home" when they had lived in Rome for the past eight years, but she said nothing.

Below them now, sparkling in the February afternoon sun, the Villa Rivera seemed bathed in golden light, which spread across the tiled roof, the swimming pool, and tennis courts. White curtains billowed from the painted shutters and caught the breeze along the veranda.