Elizabeth Street - Laurie Fabiano [73]
“Cos’è successo?” asked Rocco, confused. His wife never stood still or looked frightened.
Giovanna didn’t have the strength to hide the letter. She took it from her dress and handed it to him.
The drawings were for the benefit of illiterates like Rocco, whose face turned purple. He slammed the paper and his fist onto the counter.
“What have you decided?” asked Lucrezia, handing back the letter to Giovanna.
“I want to pay something.”
“And Rocco?”
“He says he will sleep in the store—he threatens to kill him with his own hands.”
“See, if you were still a midwife you wouldn’t be blackhanded, because they would know you had no money.” Lucrezia’s stab at levity failed, so she continued. “What about bringing the letter to Petrosino?”
“You saw what happened to Paparo’s store! They brought the letter to Petrosino. Besides, Petrosino may be Italian, but he’s still the police. Rocco would never allow it.”
“What about DeCegli?”
“For what reason? So he can negotiate the payment?”
“Do you want me to talk to my husband?”
“No! Lucrezia, please say nothing. Forget I told you!”
It was possible the thief was smarter than Giovanna thought, because the next time that he visited, only Giovanna was in the store. Rocco had sworn to spend every minute in the shop, but Giovanna knew that was unlikely for a man who had spent his entire life outside.
“Signora, is your husband here?”
“No.” Giovanna used her foot to feel under the counter for the wood pole that Rocco had spiked with nails.
He turned to go. “Let him know I was here, I have business with him.”
“You want money from him.”
The man turned back around. Giovanna could tell he wasn’t comfortable dealing with a woman, but the mention of money was too strong a lure.
“How much do you want?”
“Fifty dollars a week for protection.”
“That’s too much. We don’t have that kind of money.”
“But, signora, I see your business. It’s a good business. Surely you want to protect that.”
“We can pay ten dollars.”
“For you, signora, I will take the ten dollars. And when your business gets stronger, you’ll want more protection.”
He stood there staring, and Giovanna realized the stronzo wanted the money now. She grabbed ten dollars from the cash box and put it on the counter.
Taking the money, the thug said, “Today is Friday. I’ll see you next Friday, signora.”
TWENTY-ONE
Lorenzo noticed that Rocco had not said one word throughout the entire Sunday dinner. His comments were always rare, but usually he at least complimented Teresa on her meal. Giovanna and Rocco had not exchanged words or glances, but that, too, wasn’t out of the ordinary.
“How are piano lessons going?” Lorenzo asked the girls.
His stepnieces answered excitedly, but he barely heard them. Instead, he studied his sister.
Giovanna did not notice Lorenzo’s scrutiny because she was focused on avoiding eye contact with her husband. Rocco still had not spoken to Giovanna. On Friday, when he counted the money at the end of the day, Giovanna was forced to tell him about the payment. Rocco hadn’t known where to direct his rage. One minute he was yelling at Giovanna, the next he was cursing the lazy schifosi. He swung his spiked wood at the invisible enemy. Giovanna had let him rant and didn’t debate the issue. But after having spent her first day since the letter arrived not looking over her shoulder or jumping at every sound, she also knew that on the following Friday she fully intended to pay the thief another ten dollars.
While Rocco was furious, he was even more frustrated. Frustrated that he couldn’t protect his family and frustrated that another man’s money put his wife in this position of power.
On Friday, Giovanna took the ten dollars from the cash box and laid it on the counter when the Blackhander arrived. A short, fat bug of a man was with him this time. The moled man pocketed the money and commented, “I take it you’ve had no problems, signora?”
Giovanna waved her hand, both ignoring and dismissing him.
“Good day,