Omerta - Mario Puzo [108]
Astorre felt relief. His task would be easier if he did not have to worry about Grazziella.
“Tomorrow, meet us here at the villa,” Bianco said.
“He trusts you that much?” Astorre asked.
“He must,” Bianco said. “Because without me here in Palermo, he cannot rule Sicily. And we are more civilized today than when you were here last.”
The next afternoon Michael Grazziella arrived at the villa, and Astorre noted he was dressed in the ultrarespectable mode of a Roman politician—dark suit, white shirt, and dark tie. He was accompanied by two bodyguards dressed in a similar fashion. Grazziella was a small man, courteous, with a very soft voice—you would not have guessed he was responsible for the murders of high-ranking anti-Mafia magistrates. He gripped Astorre’s hand and said, “I have come here to help you as a token of my deep esteem for our friend Bianco. Please forget the past. We must begin again.”
“Thank you,” Astorre said. “It is my honor.”
Grazziella motioned to the guards, and they walked out onto the beach.
“So Michael,” Bianco said. “How can you help?”
Grazziella looked at Astorre and said, “Portella and Tulippa are too reckless for my taste. And Marriano Rubio is too dishonest. Whereas I find you a clever man and qualified man. Also, Nello is my nephew, and I learned you spared him, no small thing. So there are my motives.”
Astorre nodded. Beyond Grazziella, he saw the black-green waves of the Sicilian sea and, glinting off them, the dull deadly rays of the Sicilian sun. He had a sudden feeling of nostalgia, and a pang because he knew he had to leave. All this was familiar to him as America could never be. He longed for the streets of Palermo, the sound of Italian voices, his own tongue in a language more natural to him than English. He returned his attention to Grazziella. “So what can you tell me?”
“The syndicate wants me to meet with them in America,” Grazziella said. “I can inform you as to the whereabouts and the security. If you take drastic action, I can then give you refuge in Sicily, and if they try to extradite you, I have friends in Rome who can stop the process.”
“You have that kind of power?” Astorre asked.
“Certainly,” Grazziella said with a little shrug. “How could we exist otherwise? But you must not be too rash.”
Astorre knew he was referring to Cilke. He smiled at Grazziella. “I would never do anything rash.”
Grazziella smiled politely and said, “Your enemies are my enemies, and I pledge myself to your cause.”
“I assume you will not be at the meeting,” Astorre said.
Grazziella smiled at him again. “At the last moment I will be detained: I will not be present.”
“And when will this be?” Astorre asked.
“Within a month,” Grazziella said.
After Grazziella left, Astorre said to Bianco, “Really, tell me, why is he doing this?”
Bianco smiled at him in appreciation. “How easily you understand Sicily. All the reasons that he gave were valid. But there is a primary motive he did not mention.” He hesitated. “Tulippa and Portella have been cheating him out of his correct share of the drug money, and he would soon have to go to war over that in any case. He could never tolerate that. He thinks highly of you, and it would be perfect if you wiped out his enemies and became his ally. He’s a very clever man, Grazziella.”
That evening Astorre walked along the beach and thought about what he should do. Finally the end was coming.
Mr. Pryor had no worries about controlling the Aprile banks and defending them against the authorities. But when the FBI flooded New York following the assassination attempt on Cilke, he became a little concerned about what they would dig up. Especially after Cilke’s visit.