Omerta - Mario Puzo [65]
This was extraordinarily foolhardy. When Fissolini seduced his nephew’s wife, he destroyed his leadership of the cosca. Because in the Mafia’s separate clusters, to maintain power, one must put family above all. What made the situation even more dangerous was that the wife was the niece of Bianco. Bianco would not tolerate any vengeance on his niece by the husband. The husband inevitably had to kill Fissolini, his favorite uncle and the leader of the cosca. Two provinces would engage in bloody strife, and it would decimate the countryside. Astorre sent word to the Don asking for his instructions.
The reply came: “You saved him once; you must decide again.”
Aldo Monza was one of the most valued members of the cosca and the extended family. He had been one of the men spared death by the Don years earlier. So when Astorre summoned him to the Don’s village, he came willingly. Astorre barred Bianco from the conference with assurances that he would protect the daughter.
Monza was tall for a Sicilian, nearly six feet. He was magnificently built, his body molded by hard labor since he was a child. But his eyes were cavernous and his face barely covered with flesh pulled so tight his head looked like a skull. It made him seem particularly unattractive and dangerous—and, in some sense, tragic. Monza was the most intelligent and most educated of Fissolini’s cosca. He had studied in Palermo to be a veterinarian, and he always carried his professional bag. He had a natural sympathy for animals and was always much in demand. Yet he was as fiercely dedicated to the Sicilian code of honor as any peasant. Next to Fissolini, he was the most powerful man in the cosca.
Astorre had made his decision. “I am not here to plead for Fissolini’s life. I understand that your cosca has agreed to your vengeance. I understand your grief. But I am here to plead for the mother of your children.”
Monza stared at him. “She was a traitor, to me and my children. I cannot let her live.”
“Listen to me,” Astorre said. “No one will seek vengeance for Fissolini. But the woman is Bianco’s niece. He will seek vengeance for her death. His cosca is stronger than yours. It will be a bloody war. Think of your children.”
Monza gave a contemptuous wave of his hand. “Who knows even if they are mine? She is a whore.” He paused. “And she will die a whore’s death.” His face became illumined with death. He was beyond rage. He was willing to destroy the world.
Astorre tried to imagine the man’s life in his village, his wife lost, his dignity betrayed by his uncle and his wife.
“Listen very carefully,” Astorre said. “Years ago Don Aprile spared your life. Now he asks this favor. Take your revenge on Fissolini as we know you must. But spare your wife, and Bianco will arrange to have her and the children go to relatives in Brazil. As for you personally, I make this offer with approval from the Don. Come with me as my personal assistant, my friend. You will live a rich and interesting life. And you will be spared the shame of living in your village. You will also be safe from the vengeance of Fissolini’s friends.”
It pleased Astorre that Aldo Monza made no gesture of anger or surprise. For five minutes he remained silent, thinking carefully. Then Monza said, “Will you continue payment to my family cosca? My brother will lead them.”
“Certainly,” Astorre said. “They are valuable to us.”
“Then after I kill Fissolini, I will come with you. Neither you nor Bianco can interfere in any way. My wife does not go to Brazil until she sees the dead body of my uncle.”
“Agreed,” Astorre said. And remembering Fissolini’s joyful, jolly face and roguish smile, he felt a pang of regret. “When will it happen?”
“On Sunday,” Monza said. “I will be with you on Monday. And may God burn Sicily and my wife in a thousand eternal hells.”
“I will go with you back to your village,” Astorre said. “I will take your wife under my protection. I’m afraid you may be carried