BELLA MAFIA (67 page)

The operator informed him that the caller had asked for Gennaro, but there was no reply from his room. "He requested that in his absence any calls should be passed on to your room, Mr. Pirelli. Do you wish to take the call?"

Pirelli reached for a cigarette. "Sure, who is it?"

"The caller would not give her name, Mr. Pirelli."

"Put the call through."

A husky voice asked if he was Detective Gennaro.

"No, it's me, Sophia. It's Joe."

There was a long pause. Then: "Joe?"

"Yes. I'm here on an investigation; we came together."

"I was asked to call; he wants to see me."

Pirelli paused and inhaled deeply, letting the smoke drift from his nostrils. "I want to see you, too."

She did not reply. Eventually he asked, "Sophia, are you still there?"

"Yes . . ."

"I can't discuss Gennaro's case, you understand?"

"Of course . . . Well, I'll call him tomorrow. I'm sorry I called so late."

"It's not that late. . . . How are you?"

"I'm fine."

He had to warn her. "Sophia, he'll ask your whereabouts the night we went to the opera. He knows we were together, but nothing more. ..."

Again he waited. When she spoke, her voice was faint. "Is it about Nino Fabio?"

"You know about him?"

"I know. I called his office. They told me."

"I guess that's what he wants to talk to you about."

"Why?"

"I can't really discuss it."

"No, I guess not."

"I'll come to see you with him."

"Oh, are you on the case, too?"

"No, but I'll be with him."

"When does he want to see me?"

"As soon as possible."

"Tomorrow?"

"Yes . . . about nine?"

Again there was a pause. "Make it a little later. My sister-in-law and mother-in-law are going out shopping later, so the apartment will be empty. It will be easier to talk."

"Okay, how much later?"

"About eleven?" said Sophia.

"I'll tell Gennaro."

There was another long pause. Then Pirelli said, "I have missed you, Sophia."

Silence. "You hear me?" he said.

"Yes, I hear you. ..."

"I'll see you tomorrow morning then?"

"Is there a reason for you to come tomorrow?"

"Yes, I have some questions I need to ask you."

"What about?"

"It would be best to tell you when I see you."

"Until tomorrow then." Her voice was very soft.

"I still love you," he said quietly. But she had hung up.

Teresa stared hard at Sophia. "Well? That wasn't Gennaro?"

Sophia shook her head. "No, it was Commissario Pirelli; they're together. They are coming here at eleven."

"Yes, I heard. Did he say why they wanted to see you?"

Sophia lit a cigarette. "Nino Fabio's been murdered."

Teresa gasped, "What? They think you had something to do with it?"

Sophia shrugged. "They think it was robbery, but I was seen at his warehouse, so I guess they have to question me."

Teresa squinted. She was not wearing her glasses. Sophia's face seemed blurred. "What are you going to do?"

"Well, be here, you heard me. I can join you wherever you're all going for the weekend. Right now I'm tired. I'm going to bed."

Teresa watched her leave the room. Sophia never ceased to amaze her; she appeared unruffled by the fact that the police were in New York. Teresa was relieved that she, for one, would have left by the time the police arrived.

Sophia tossed and turned, unable to sleep. Finally she crept from her room and went to make herself a cup of tea. Did they know about Johnny? She knew they couldn't suspect her . . . or could they? They? This was Joe, Joe Pirelli. . . . She thought of the comfort he had given her, the warmth of him, the gentle way he had made love to her. Was she the real reason he had come to New York? Did he really love her? Love . . . The very word seemed alien. Too much had happened in the past year to contemplate being loved.

The kettle boiled, and she was about to pour the water into the teapot when she heard a sound. Turning, she saw Rosa creeping down the hall, fully dressed.

"Rosa?"

Rosa was so startled she froze. When Sophia came out into the hall, she gasped, "You frightened me."

"I couldn't sleep. I'm making a cup of tea. Do you want one?"

Rosa whispered guiltily that she was just going for a walk and started toward the front door. Sophia caught her hand.

"No, Rosa, don't go to him."

Rosa jerked her hand free. "I don't know what you are talking about. I just wanted to go for a walk!"

"It's after twelve, you shouldn't be in the street alone."

Rosa's face hardened. "You want to tag along with me?"

"No, Rosa, but you are not leaving the apartment. If you try, I shall call Teresa."

Rosa sighed angrily. "It's like a goddamn prison in here, everyone watching every move you make."

"It won't be for long. Besides, you're all going on a trip tomorrow."

"And you're not coming?"

"No, I'm staying behind. I have to talk to this Detective Gennaro."

"What do the police want?"

Rosa followed Sophia into the kitchen.

"It's about Nino Fabio, you know, the designer I worked with. He was found murdered, and they have to question everyone who saw him the day it happened."

Rosa leaned against the wall. "It seems you're unlucky."

Sophia poured two cups of tea and opened the fridge for the milk. "What do you mean by that?"

"Well, it's obvious, isn't it? Everyone near you gets bumped off."

"Is that supposed to be funny?"

Rosa's eyes glittered. "I'm not laughing. I'd say it was unlucky that you had a scene with Nino."

Sophia banged the sugar bowl down on the table. "I was not having a scene, as you call it, with Nino, nor am I interested in Johnny. And if you had any sense, you wouldn't be either."

Sophia looked at the girl's moody face and could have slapped her. Instead, she sat down and began to drink the hot tea. Rosa joined her, grudgingly, but did not drink hers. For a time they sat in silence. Rosa twisted the chain with the diamond teardrop at her neck, then rubbed the cold stone across her lips.

"That's very pretty."

"Yes . . . Johnny gave it to me."

"I know." Sophia reached out to touch Rosa's arm, but the young woman moved away. Sophia sighed. "Rosa, maybe you feel something for Johnny, but—"

Rosa interrupted. "What business is it of yours?"

"None, but I do care for you, and . . . just listen to me."

Rosa pushed her chair back, but Sophia gripped her hand. "Maybe it's because we have been so trapped in this place, so closeted together, that you feel more for him than you would in normal circumstances."

Rosa's voice was a hoarse, bitter whisper. "Normal? You think it's normal for a girl my age to be a virgin? To have a marriage arranged for her? To know you were sold like a side of meat . . . And to know that as soon as all this is over, Grandma and Mama will try to marry me off to someone else they think suitable. Well, I am going to be free! I have my own money, and I can do what I like when I like. I can go with whoever I like, and nobody can tell me any different, not you, °not anyone. I just want someone, I want—"

Her face crumpled, and she bit her lip. She hugged herself, rocking slightly. "I thought Emilio loved me, the way he kissed me. . . . He said he loved me when all the time he was Just doing what Grandpa told him to. . . ."

Sophia slipped her arms around Rosa. "He did love you, you know it. I remember the day we went into Palermo, do you? The day before the wedding, the day before—"

Rosa turned her face away. "Am I likely to forget?"

Sophia shook her head, and her voice filled with pain. "No ... I mean, when we all were going shopping and you didn't want to come. As we drove out of the villa, we saw the two of you, sitting close together. ..."

Tears spilled down Rosa's cheeks, and she clung to her aunt. Her voice was choked with tears. "He touched me, he touched my breasts, he touched me, and I wanted to feel him. . . . I unbuttoned his shirt, and I slipped my hand inside. . . ."

Sophia kissed the top of Rosa's head, with soft, whispered sounds of comfort, then knelt beside her. "You are so beautiful. . . . Let me tell you, those feelings, that warmth running through your body, the heat, as if it were going to burst your heart—"

Rosa nodded. "Yes . . . Yes, he was so warm ..."

"I'll tell you a secret. I have never told anyone this before, and you must promise me never to tell anyone. Promise?"

Rosa nodded, and Sophia pulled her chair so close that their heads almost touched. "I used to be a waitress, did you know that? It was when I was even younger than you, fifteen. I had to work because my mother was an invalid. I was so skinny, my clothes were all hand-me-downs, and I don't think I had a new pair of shoes until I was eighteen. . . . Anyway, I worked in a coffee shop, and one day a group of young boys came in. They were teasing me, and one of them put out his foot to trip me when I was carrying a loaded tray of dishes. I fell, and all the plates and cups shattered. They laughed, it was so awful, because I couldn't help crying, as I crawled around on the floor picking up all the pieces. ... I knew the manager would make me pay for the damage."

"But it wasn't your fault!"

"I know, but that's the way it was. And after work, sure enough, he deducted the breakages from my pay. I was crying my heart out, leaning against the wall near the bus stop. . . Then this boy—I had seen him once or twice; but the customers were mostly rich kids with their flashy Lambrettas, and they never noticed me. But this boy did. He came up to me and put his hand on my shoulder, asked if I was all right. I was embarrassed because I had really seen him, you understand? He was the handsomest boy and well known, his family very rich. . . . I used to dream about him, and there I was, all red-eyed from weeping. He was so caring, so understanding. The next day I discovered he had paid for the damage, so the manager had to repay me.

"He used to come every day after that and sit outside, and he'd always smile at me. He left me very big tips. . . . And then, one day, he asked if I would like to meet him when I was free."

Rosa realized that Sophia was no longer telling her the story; she was talking to herself, looking straight ahead.

"We used to meet in an orchard. I'd ride my bicycle, and he would be sitting on an old, tumble-down wall, waiting for me. He was my first love. I loved him. . . . Mama tried to persuade me to bring him home to meet her, but I was ashamed of the apartment, even ashamed of my mama. . . . But I wouldn't let him make love to me because in my dream he married me, in my dream I was accepted by his family."

Rosa waited. Sophia was still, her hands clasped, resting on the table in front of her.

"What happened?"

Sophia slowly flattened her hands on the tabletop. "One night he came to see me. He threw pebbles at my window, and I crept out to join him. I was wearing just my slip, and I was barefooted, but I went because I was afraid he would wake Mama and the neighbors."

Rosa leaned forward. "Did he sleep with you?"

Sophia turned to her. Two tears, as clear as the diamond Luka had given Rosa, trickled down her cheeks. "Yes, yes, he did.. . He'd come to tell me he was going away, perhaps for two years. He promised to come back for me, promised to write to me. . . He gave me a keepsake; it was a little gold—"

She lifted her hand, and it was as if she were seeing the little gold heart on its fine chain.

Rosa touched Sophia's hand; it was ice cold.

In a soft, low whisper, Sophia continued. "He never came back, never wrote to me. I never saw him again." As if waking from sleep, she turned slowly to Rosa. "I loved him, I loved him so very much. His touch, his kisses are still inside my heart; they never fade. ..."

"But you loved Constantino; you married him. Was it the same?"

Sophia smiled and shook her head. "No, but it was a sweet love, a good love. And believe me, it was returned. . . ."

Rosa smiled. "He was rich, he was a Luciano, so in the end your dream did come true. You married and were accepted by the great Luciano family. . . . Was this boy's family as well known?"

Sophia didn't reply, and Rosa smiled and whispered, "Tell me how you met Constantino."

Sophia shook her head. "No, I think I have told you enough for one night. You must go to bed. Sleep tight. . . . Maybe you will have sweet dreams now."

Rosa kissed Sophia's cheek and yawned, but it was not until she was almost out of the room that she turned back and whispered, "Thank you. Shall I turn the light out?"

Sophia nodded, and the room went dark. She waited to hear Rosa's door close. Then she stretched her arms out across the table and rested her cheek against the cold surface. She could feel her heartbeat against the table. All the years in between vanished as she whispered, "Michael, we had a beautiful son, a perfect baby—"

She sat up suddenly, her hands pressed against the table. He would be a grown man now. What did she think she could do for him? Give him money, make him a Luciano? She said aloud to the dark room, "You are still dreaming, Sophia. Stop it, stop it right now. . . . The past is over. Forget it. Live your own life."