Omerta - Mario Puzo [91]
“Well, you always wanted to play with the big boys,” Astorre said. “And you certainly do that. As a lawyer, you’ve scared almost as many people as your father.”
“He wasn’t as bad as the press and the FBI painted him,” Nicole said angrily.
“OK,” Astorre said soothingly. “Marc was kidnapped last night by Timmona Portella. Not to worry though. I went out and got his brother, Bruno. Now we can bargain.”
“You committed a kidnapping?” Nicole said incredulously.
“So did they,” Astorre said. “They really want us to sell them the banks.”
Nicole almost shrieked, “Then give them the fucking banks!”
“You don’t understand,” Astorre said. “We give them nothing. We have Bruno. They hurt Marc, I hurt Bruno.”
Nicole was looking at him with horror in her eyes. Astorre stared at her calmly, and one hand went up to finger the gold collar around his neck. “Yeah,” he said, “I’d have to kill him.”
Nicole’s firm face broke up into creases of sorrow. “Not you, Astorre, not you too.”
“So now you know,” Astorre said. “I’m not the man to sell the banks after they killed your father and my uncle. But I need the tape and the document to make the deal go through and get Marc back without bloodshed.”
“Just sell them the banks,” Nicole whispered to him. “We’ll be rich. What does it matter?”
“It matters to me,” Astorre said. “It mattered to the Don.”
Silently Nicole reached into the safe and took out a small packet, which she placed on top of the folder.
“Play it for me now,” Astorre said.
Nicole reached into her desk for a small cassette player. She inserted the tape, and they listened to Cilke reveal his plan to entrap Portella. Then Astorre pocketed everything and said, “I’ll have it all back to you later today, and Marc too. Don’t worry. Nothing will happen. And if it does, it will be worse for them than for us.”
A little after noon Astorre, Aldo Monza, and Bruno Portella were seated in a private dining room at the Paladin restaurant in the East Sixties.
Bruno seemed not at all worried about being a hostage. He chatted cheerfully with Astorre. “You know, I lived all my life in New York and I never knew Central Park had a zoo. More people should know that and go see it.”
“So you had a good time,” Astorre said in a good-humored voice, thinking that if things went badly, Bruno would at least have a pleasant memory before death. The door of the dining room swung open, and the owner of the restaurant appeared with Timmona Portella and Marcantonio. Portella’s broad figure with its well-cut suit almost masked Marcantonio behind him. Bruno rushed into Timmona’s arms and kissed him on both cheeks, and Astorre was astonished to see the look of love and satisfaction on Timmona’s face.
“What a brother,” Bruno exclaimed loudly. “What a brother.”
In contrast, Astorre and Marcantonio shook hands, then Astorre gave a half hug and said, “Everything is OK, Marc.”
Marcantonio turned away from him and sat down. His legs had gone weak partly with relief at his safety and partly because of Astorre’s appearance. The young boy who loved to sing, the intense yet joyous youth so carefree and loving, now appeared in his true form as the Angel of Death. The power of his presence dominated Portella in his fear and bluster.
Astorre sat down next to Marcantonio and patted his knee. He was smiling his affable smile as though this were just a friendly lunch. “Are you OK?” he asked.
Marcantonio looked directly into Astorre’s eyes. He had never before noticed how clear and merciless they were. He looked at Bruno, the man who would have paid for his life. The man was babbling to his brother, something about the Central Park zoo.
Astorre said to Portella, “We have things to discuss.”
“OK,” Portella said. “Bruno, get the fuck out of here. There’s a car waiting outside. I’ll talk to you when I get home.”
Monza came into the dining room. “Take Marcantonio to his house,” Astorre said to him. “Marc, wait for me there.”
Portella and Astorre now sat alone across from each other at the table. Portella opened a bottle of wine and filled his glass.