Omerta - Mario Puzo [107]
“The bodyguard is no problem,” Portella said.
“Well, I’ll go along with you as long as Nicole doesn’t get hurt,” Rubio said.
Marriano Rubio set things up by inviting Nicole to the annual Peruvian ball at the consulate. On the afternoon of the ball, Astorre came to visit her to tell her he was going to Sicily for a brief visit. As Nicole bathed and dressed Astorre picked up a guitar that Nicole kept for him and crooned Italian love songs with his hoarse but pleasant voice.
When Nicole came out of the bathroom, she was completely naked except for the white bathrobe over her arm. Astorre was nearly overwhelmed by her beauty, which was hidden in her everyday dress. When she reached him, he took the bathrobe and draped it around her.
She moved into his arms and sighed. “You don’t love me anymore.”
“You don’t know who I really am,” Astorre said, laughing. “We’re not kids anymore.”
“But I know you’re good,” Nicole said. “You saved Cilke and his family. Who is your informant?”
Astorre laughed again. “None of your business.” Then he went into the living room to avoid any more questions.
That night Nicole attended the ball accompanied by her bodyguard Helene, who had a better time than she did. She understood that Rubio, as host, could not pay her special attention. But he had arranged for a limo for the night.
After the ball, the limo took her to the front of her apartment. Helene got out first. But before they could enter her building, four men surrounded them. Helene bent down to her ankle holster, but she was too late. One of the men fired a bullet into her head, forcing her crown of flowers to bloom into blood.
At that moment another group of men came out of the shadows. Three of the attackers fled, and Astorre, who had discreetly followed Nicole to the ball, had her behind his back. The shooter of Helene had been disarmed.
“Get her out of here,” Astorre said to one of the men. He held the gun on the killer and demanded, “OK, who sent you?”
The killer seemed unafraid. “Fuck you,” he said.
Nicole saw Astorre’s face go cold just before he fired a bullet into the man’s chest. He strode closer and grabbed the man by the hair as he fell, then fired another bullet into his head. At that moment she saw what her father must have been. She vomited over Helene’s body. Astorre turned to her with a regretful smile on his lips. Nicole could not look at him.
Astorre brought her up into her apartment. He instructed her on what to tell the police, that she had fainted as soon as Helene was shot and had seen nothing. When he left, she called the police.
. . .
The next day, after arranging an around-the-clock bodyguard for Nicole, Astorre flew to Sicily to meet with Grazziella and Bianco in Palermo. He followed his usual route, flying first down to Mexico and there boarding a private jet to Palermo, so there would be no record of his journey.
In Palermo he was met by Octavius Bianco, now so well groomed and elegant in the Palermo style that it was hard to remember him as a bearded and ferocious bandit. Bianco was delighted to see Astorre and embraced him with affection. They were driven out to Bianco’s villa at the seashore.
“So you’re in trouble in America,” Bianco said in the villa’s courtyard, which was decorated with statues of the old Roman Empire. “But I have some good news for you.” Then he digressed to ask, “Your wound. Does it give you trouble?”
Astorre touched the gold chain. “No,” he said. “It just ruined my singing voice. Now I’m a croaker instead of a tenor.”
“Better a baritone than a soprano,” Bianco said, laughing. “Italy has many tenors anyway. One less won’t hurt. You are a true Mafioso, and that’s what we need.”
Astorre smiled and began to think of that day so long ago when he went swimming. Now, instead of the sharp sting of betrayal, he only remembered how he felt when he woke up. He touched the amulet at his throat and said, “What’s the good news?”
“I have made peace with the Corleonesi and Grazziella,” Bianco said. “He was never involved in the killing