The Last Don - Mario Puzo [224]
“Where’s the proof?” Cross said. “Who says I killed Dante?”
“I do.” It was the Don who spoke. “Understand: I have pronounced you guilty. There is no appeal from that judgment. I brought you here to make your plea for mercy, but you must justify the killing of my grandson.”
Hearing that voice, the measured tone, Cross knew that everything was over. For him and Lia Vazzi. But Vazzi already knew. It had been in his eyes.
Vincent turned to Cross, his granite face softened. “Tell my father the truth, Cross, it’s your only chance.”
The Don nodded. He said, “Croccifixio, your father was more than my nephew, of Clericuzio blood, as you are. Your father was my trusted friend. And so I will listen to your reasons.”
Cross prepared himself. “Dante killed my father. I judged him guilty as you judged me guilty. And he killed my father out of revenge and ambition. He was a Santadio in his heart.”
The Don did not respond. Cross went on. “How could I not avenge my father? How could I forget my father was responsible for my life? And I had too much respect for the Cleri-cuzio, as my father had, to suspect your hand in the killing. Yet, I think you must have known Dante was guilty and did nothing. So how could I come to you to redress the wrong?”
“Your proof,” Giorgio said.
“A man like Pippi De Lena could never be surprised,” Cross said. “And Jim Losey at the other end is too much of a coincidence. There is not a man in this room who believes in coincidence. All of you know Dante was guilty. And Don, you yourself told me the story of the Santadio. Who knows what Dante planned after he killed me, as he surely knew he must. Next, his uncles.” Cross did not dare to mention the Don. “He counted on your affection,” he said to the Don.
The Don had laid his cigar aside. He face was inscrutable but held a touch of sadness.
It was Petie who spoke. Petie had been the closest to Dante. “Where did you dump the body?” Petie asked again. And Cross could not answer him, could not get the words out of his mouth.
There was a long silence and then finally the Don raised his head to all of them and spoke. “Funerals are wasted on the young,” he said. “What have they done to celebrate them? How have they inspired great respect? The young have no compassion, no gratitude. And my daughter is already crazy, why should we compound her grief and erase hopes for her recovery. She will be told her son has fled and it will take years for her to know the truth.”
And now it seemed that everyone in the room relaxed. Petie came forward and sat on the sofa beside Cross. Vincent, behind the bar, raised a glass of brandy to his lips in what could have been a salute.
“But justice or no, you have committed a crime against the Family,” the Don said. “There must be a punishment. For you, money, for Lia Vazzi, his life.”
Cross said, “Lia had nothing to do with Dante, for Losey, yes. Let me ransom him. I own half the Xanadu. I will transfer half that ownership to you as payment for me and Vazzi.”
Don Clericuzio seemed to ponder this. “You are loyal,” he said. He turned to Giorgio and then Vincent and Petie. “If you three agree, I will agree.” They did not answer.
The Don sighed as if in regret. “You will sign over half your interest but you must move out of our world. Vazzi must return to Sicily with his family, or not, as he pleases. That is as far as I can go. You and Vazzi must never speak together again. And I order my sons, in your presence, never to avenge their nephew’s death. You will have a week to arrange your affairs, to sign the necessary papers for Giorgio.” Then the Don spoke in a less harsh voice. “Let me assure you that I had no knowledge of Dante’s plans. Now, go in peace and remember I always loved your father like a son.”
When Cross left the house, Don Clericuzio got out of his chair and said to Vincent, “To bed.” Vincent helped him up the stairs, for the Don now had a certain weakness in his legs. His age was finally beginning to ravage his body.
EPILOGUE
Nice, France
Quogue
ON HIS LAST