Omerta - Mario Puzo [110]
“I have to be back after a week,” Rosie said. “I have to take some tests for my doctorate.”
“Don’t concern yourself,” Mr. Pryor said. “You will not have to worry about missing your tests. I promise. Have I ever failed you?” His voice was sweetly avuncular. But he was thinking, what a pity that Rosie would never see America again.
They drank coffee and ate the pastries. The nephew again refused refreshments though Rosie begged him prettily. Their chat was interrupted when the phone rang. Rosie picked it up. “Oh, Astorre,” she said. “Are you calling from Sicily? Mr. Pryor told me. He’s sitting right here having coffee.”
Mr. Pryor continued to sip his coffee calmly, but his nephew rose from his chair and then sat down again when Mr. Pryor gave him a commanding look.
Rosie was silent and looked questioningly at Mr. Pryor, who nodded at her reassuringly.
“Yes, he was arranging for me to meet you in Sicily for a week,” Rosie said. She paused to listen. “Yes, of course I’m disappointed. I’m sorry you had to come back unexpectedly. So you want to talk to him? No? OK, I’ll tell him.” She hung up the phone.
“What a shame,” she said to Mr. Pryor. “He had to come back early. But he wants you to wait here for him. He said about half an hour.”
Mr. Pryor reached for another pastry. “Certainly,” he said.
“He’ll explain everything when he gets here,” Rosie said. “More coffee?”
Mr. Pryor nodded, then sighed. “You would have had such a wonderful time in Sicily. Too bad.” He imagined her burial in a Sicilian cemetery, how sad that would have been.
“Go down and wait in the car,” he told his nephew.
The young man rose reluctantly, and Mr. Pryor made a shooing motion. Rosie let him out of the apartment. Then he gave Rosie his most concerned smile and asked, “Have you been happy these last years?”
. . .
Astorre had arrived a day early and been picked up by Aldo Monza at the small airport in New Jersey. He had, of course, traveled by private jet under a false passport. It was only on impulse that he had called Rosie, out of a desire to see her and spend a relaxing night with her. When Rosie told him that Mr. Pryor was in her apartment, his senses raced with the signals of danger. As for her trip to Sicily, he understood Mr. Pryor’s plans immediately. He tried to control his anger. Mr. Pryor had wanted to do the right thing according to his experience. But it was too big a price to pay for safety.
When Rosie opened the door, she flew into his arms. Mr. Pryor rose from his chair, and Astorre went to him and embraced him. Mr. Pryor concealed his surprise—Astorre was not usually so affectionate.
Then, to Mr. Pryor’s astonishment, Astorre said to Rosie, “Go to Sicily tomorrow as we planned and I’ll join you there in a few days. We’ll have a great time.”
“Great,” Rosie said. “I’ve never been to Sicily.”
Astorre said to Mr. Pryor, “Thanks for arranging everything.”
Then he turned to Rosie again. “I can’t stay,” he said. “I’ll see you in Sicily. Tonight I have some important business to do with Mr. Pryor. So start getting ready for your trip. And don’t bring too many clothes; we can go shopping in Palermo.”
“OK,” Rosie said. She kissed Mr. Pryor on the cheek and gave Astorre a long embrace and a lingering kiss. Then she opened the door to let them out.
When the two men were out in the street, Astorre told Mr. Pryor, “Come with me to my car. Tell your nephews to go home—you won’t need them tonight.”
It was only then that Mr. Pryor felt a little nervous. “I was doing it for your own good,” he said to Astorre.
In the backseat of Astorre’s car, Monza driving, Astorre turned to Mr. Pryor. “Nobody appreciates you more than I do,” he said. “But am I the chief or am I not?”
“Without question,” Mr. Pryor said.
“It was a problem I have been meaning to address,” Astorre said. “I recognize the danger and I’m glad you made me act. But I need her. We can take some risks. So here are my instructions. In Sicily, supply her with a luxurious house