Omerta - Mario Puzo [106]
The next day Astorre flew out to Chicago with Mr. Pryor and consulted with Benito Craxxi. He brought them up to date and then asked, “Is it true that Don Aprile killed my father?”
Craxxi ignored the question and asked Astorre, “Did you have anything to do with inspiring the attack on Cilke’s family?”
“No,” Astorre lied. He lied to them because he did not want anyone to know the depth of his cunning. And he knew that they would have disapproved.
“And yet you saved them,” Don Craxxi said. “Why?”
Again Astorre had to lie. He could not let his allies know he was capable of such sentimentality, that he could not bear to see Cilke’s wife and daughter killed.
“You did well,” Craxxi said.
Astorre said, “You haven’t answered my question.”
“Because it is complicated,” Craxxi said. “You were the newborn son of a great Mafia chief in Sicily, eighty years old, and head of a very powerful cosca. Your mother was very young when she died in childbirth. The old Don was in extremis, and he summoned myself, Don Aprile, and Bianco to his bedside. The whole of his cosca would tumble at his death, and he was worried about your future. He made us promise to look after you and chose Don Aprile to take you to America. There, because his wife was dying and he wanted to save you any more suffering, he placed you with the Viola family, which was a mistake, because your foster father turned out to be a traitor and had to be executed. Don Aprile took you into his home as soon as his trouble had passed. The Don had a macabre sense of humor, and so he arranged to have the death labeled suicide in the trunk of a car. Then, as you grew older, you showed all the traits of your real father, the great Don Zeno. And so Don Aprile made the decision that you would be the defender of his family. So he sent you to Sicily to be trained.”
Astorre was not really surprised. Somewhere in his memory was a picture of a very old man and a ride on a funeral hearse.
“Yes,” Astorre said slowly, “and I am trained. I know how to take the offensive. Still, Portella and Tulippa are well protected. And I have to worry about Grazziella. The only one I could kill is the consul general, Marriano Rubio. Meanwhile, I have Cilke hounding me. I don’t even know where to start.”
“You must never never strike at Cilke,” Don Craxxi said.
“Yes,” Mr. Pryor said. “That would be disastrous.”
Astorre smiled at them reassuringly. “Agreed,” he said.
“There is some good news,” Craxxi told him. “Grazziella, in Corleone, has requested Bianco in Palermo to arrange a meeting with you. Bianco will send you word to come within a month. He may be your key.”
Tulippa, Portella, and Rubio met in the conference room of the Peruvian consulate. In Sicily, Michael Grazziella expressed his profoundest regret that he was unable to attend.
Inzio opened the meeting without his usual South American charm. He was impatient. “We must solve the question: Do we get the banks or not? I’ve invested millions of dollars, and I am very disappointed in the results.”
“Astorre is like a ghost,” Portella said. “We can’t get at him. He won’t take more money. We have to kill him. Then the others will sell.”
Inzio turned to Rubio. “You’re sure your little love will agree?”
“I will persuade her,” Rubio said.
“And the two brothers?” Inzio asked.
“They have no interest in vendetta,” Rubio said. “Nicole has assured me.”
“There is only one way,” Portella said. “Kidnap Nicole and then lure Astorre out to rescue her.”
Rubio protested, “Why not one of the brothers?”
“Because now Marcantonio is heavily guarded,” Portella said. “And we can’t fuck around with Valerius because army intelligence will come down on us, and they are a vicious bunch.”
Tulippa turned to Rubio. “I will not hear any more of that bullshit from you. Why should we risk billions of dollars to go easy on your girlfriend?”
“It’s just that we tried that trick before,” Rubio said. “And remember, she has her bodyguard.” He was being very careful. It would