Elizabeth Street - Laurie Fabiano [136]
“Zia, what’s wrong?” asked Frances, concerned.
“I’m fine. I just need air. You stay here.” She fanned herself on the way out of the church.
Domenico stood at the open door and nodded his head in the direction of the vestry, meaning the crook was inside collecting the payoff. Giovanna went outside to the alley entrance while Domenico stayed at his post. At least two minutes passed. Was there another exit? She was beginning to panic when she saw Domenico nod, indicating the man was coming. There was an alley on either side of the church. If the Blackhander came her way, she could easily pull him in. If he went in the other direction, she would have to run to reach him before he passed the alley. Domenico nodded again, this time to the left, indicating he was exiting on the side opposite Giovanna. His nod gave her the precious few seconds she needed.
A foot before the alley entrance she flung out her arm, grabbed the man’s neck from behind, and dragged him into the alley. She held him so tight he was choking. He tried to pry her arm from his neck until she drew the blade to his chin. His hands dropped, and for a moment Giovanna was unnerved when she looked into his face and realized it was the “cripple” from Washington Square.
“Be quiet. Say nothing or I’ll slit your chicken neck,” Giovanna hissed.
Everything about the man quieted except his eyes, which he desperately tried to roll backward in an attempt to see his attacker. Giovanna’s enormous belly was pressed so tightly against his back that she knew he must feel the baby kicking. He was so short that his head was pulled back onto her breasts.
“Listen, clown, I know who you are and I know who your boss is. You tell him this. You tell him that there are three sealed envelopes waiting to go to the police, the mayor, and the newspaper with details about the killing of Mario Palermo and the bombing of Bank Pati. If anything, anything, happens to my daughter, to me, or to anyone in my family, someone has been instructed to deliver these letters. The evidence will hang you all. Do you understand, cafone?”
The man tried to nod but couldn’t move his head in Giovanna’s death grip. “If you understand, stomp your foot.”
His foot stomped.
Giovanna slowly let go, and by the time he jerked around to face her she had her gun pointed at him. “Go. Take the money. And take the message.”
The man was frozen.
“Go, you phony cripple, go!” Giovanna commanded, knocking him in the head with the gun before he fled. “Va al diavolo!”
After tucking the knife and gun back into her waistband, she repinned her hair, took a few deep breaths, and exited the alley, practically falling to the steps of the church. No sooner had she got there than she realized Domenico was gone. “I knew it! I should not have trusted him!” her voice screamed in her head.
The recessional hymn sounded on the organ; the priest was the first to exit the church. “Signora! Are you alright?” He hurried to Giovanna on the steps.
“Sì, Father. It’s difficult with the baby, that’s all.”
“Zia!” Frances and Mary came running.
“Girls, you shouldn’t leave your mother.”
Giovanna defended them. “No, no, Father, I didn’t want them to miss mass.”
“God would forgive them. Children, take your mother home to bed.”
“Clement’s not here. He went with Papa to the cafe,” greeted Frances from the stove, where she was frying meatballs, as Domenico walked into the apartment.
Giovanna slumped in relief. Her wait for Domenico had been interminable.
“Zia almost fainted in church, Domenico,” announced Mary.
“Girls, go ask Zia Teresa if we can eat together at her house. I’m too exhausted to have the meal here.”
“Mary can go, Zia. I’ll finish this.”
“No. I don’t want her walking alone. Go.”
“Va bene.” Frances reluctantly