“The truth?”
“Usually the best choice. Not always.”
“The truth is that I had a feeling you were planning to tell me something about my father that I didn’t want to hear. And that is still the case, Dominic. I don’t want to know my father’s secrets.”
“There is one secret that I think would delight you.” He turned to the woman, who now rose to her feet. Lucy found herself facing an attractive, impeccably dressed woman in her forties. “Allow me to introduce you to Anna Jefferson, formerly Anna Lanza.”
Lucy held out her hand. A beautifully manicured hand accepted hers.
“Lucy Hendricks—” she glanced at Dominic and added “—formerly Lucy Cappelli.”
Anna’s eyebrows migrated upward. She turned to Dominic. “Father, you always said—!”
“Later, my girl. Later.”
As Lucy puzzled over this exchange, Ricki appeared. She took in the sociable scene before her.
“Lucy?”
Lucy realized this was going to take some explaining. Months ago, she’d revealed to Ricki in a telephone call that Dominic had contacted her. Later, she’d been forced to come up with a story. Once again it had come down to necessary lies. She’d told Ricki and Jeff that she’d only met the man twice. The first time, he had visited her and offered his personal word that Jack had never been involved with the Lanza Family. The second time had been on the night of the storm, when Dominic and Carlo had shown up at her house and helped her and Kevin to safety.
“I think we’ve had a little joke played on us here, Ricki.”
“What joke?”
“This is Dominic Lanza…”
Ricki’s eyes widened.
“… and his daughter, Anna. And”—she leaned theatrically against the big man—“this is Carlo, who carried Kevin through the flood on the night of the storm.”
Her sister appeared momentarily mollified. But this was Ricki, and she wasn’t born yesterday.
“Our family is very grateful for that, Mr. Lanza—for keeping Lucy and my nephew safe. But that raises questions.”
“Why we helped Lucy and Kevin, why we’re here now, and why we want to see Joseph.”
“Yes!”
“Lucy has said that your father is ill.”
“He is.”
“Is this a terminal illness?”
Ricki swallowed.
Lucy answered for her. “Stage four emphysema. His doctor calls it a grim, stalking death.”
“That’s why we are here. Anna has only met your father once. It was a long time ago, and she deserves to meet him one more time. It is important to Anna, even though she doesn’t know the full story, and I believe it will be important to your father.”
“I don’t understand.” It was Lucy who spoke, but she was clearly speaking for Ricki as well.
“You will. Both of you should be there for this reunion.” He looked at Lucy, then at Ricki. “Will you take us to him?”
The sisters exchanged a look.
“Michael can take over the bar,” Ricki said. “I’ll call Dad.”
* * *
There was a big SUV parked in the lot behind the Bronte. Carlo drove. When they arrived at Joseph Cappelli’s apartment, Carlo waited for everyone to get out and then he drove away.
“Better not to draw attention to your father’s residence,” Dominic explained to Lucy.
“I thought the car was a rental.”
“It is. And this is the digital age.”
They went inside.
When Lucy saw her father yank his oxygen line from his face; when she saw him jump from his chair with a burst of energy she hadn’t seen him display in months; and when she watched him and Dominic kiss each other’s cheeks, all her fears came back. All her fears that her father had once been a Lanza soldier, a loyal and valued servant of a Mafia don, and that now she was going to hear the worst.
Her confusion increased when her dad turned to Anna.
“This is Anna?” His eyes filled. “This is really you?”
Anna burst into tears. “Yes, it’s me, it’s me! Dear Joseph!” She hugged Lucy’s father tightly. “Thank you for my life!”
The embrace lasted a few seconds too long. Dominic broke the spell.
“Joseph…”
Joseph looked up from Anna’s shoulder. Before him stood his two daughters, their expressions a clash of shock and fascination.
“The time has come for Erica and Lucinda to know the truth.”
Lucy had a frightening thought …
Are you our real father?
… followed by another, equally chilling:
Is Dominic our father?
Joseph Cappelli collapsed back into his chair. His hands trembled as he tried to refit his cannula. Ricki finally intervened to help. When it was done, he said, “Please. Everyone sit. Coffee?”
The three women shook their heads. Dominic said nothing.
Joseph tilted his head back, taking in an extra few breaths of oxygen. Then he looked at his daughters and said, “First of all, our name is not Cappelli. It’s Tartaglia.”
34
It took Joseph Tartaglia much less time to tell his story than it did for Lucy and Ricki to absorb the impact of it all.
He told them about his life in Sicily; about his life as a picuneri in the sulfur mines; about the merciless mine owners, about the soccorso morto, and about the boys, the exploited carusi and their ruined lives. He told them about the day his little friend Peppino died in the mine. He told them about his utter dejection and his helpless rage—still an indelible memory after forty years—as he trudged along Via Roma’s narrow corridor toward his dismal home.
He’d been passing the forecourt of Chiesa Madre when it happened. The incident that had changed his life.
The incident that had changed all their lives.
“They were Mafiosi. They dressed like priests, but I knew right away what they were. And they had Anna.” His eyes locked on hers. “You were a beautiful child, screaming with terror. One of them punched your mother. I heard her nose break.”
“I remember,” Anna said. “I remember that man hitting Mama.”
“Your mother…” Joseph looked suddenly confused. He turned to Dominic. “Chiara? Where is she?”
“Gone, Joseph. It was a long illness.”
“So, a mercy?”
“Yes, a mercy. In the hospital, she made me promise. She made me promise to find you, and to thank you. I do that now. I do that now for Chiara.”
“And I do that now for me,” Anna added.
“Find me? But, Dominic, you always knew where to find me! Your messenger…”
“Cowan.”
“And those other men. All the visits. That extra money, for the renovations.”
“Yes. But I stayed away. I wanted to keep you safe. You, and your family.”
Alarm bells went off in Lucy’s head. She butted in. “So, what’s different now?”
“A lot, Lucinda. I will explain later.”
Lucy had spent enough time with Dominic to recognize the warning. She segued quickly so Ricki wouldn’t ask questions. “Okay, but will one of you please explain what happened that day?”
“There were three men,” Dominic said. “They were sent by the Mazzaras to abduct Anna. She was only five. I had just stepped into the church to take a look. Anna and her mother were outside. Your father saw what was happening. He killed two of the men with his miner’s pick and rescued Anna.”
“You helped,” Joseph interjected, looking suddenly uncomfortable.
“I came out of the church a few seconds too late,” Dominic explained. “The man who attacked my wife was about to shoot your father. I took care of him.”
“The driver,” Joseph said. “Are you saying he died?”
“Brain hemorrhage. Your pick handle.”
“I didn’t know.”
“You never asked.”
Ricki interjected. “Let me get this straight! You killed people?”
“They were trying to kidnap a little child, Erica. I had to stop them!”
Lucy looked at Dominic. “You said somebody sent those men.”
“Antonio Mazzara. He was the head of a Sicilian group that was allied with certain … business rivals of my uncle in New Jersey. They were planning to use Anna as a hostage in order to extort control over some of our operations.”
“Don’t try to dress it up, Mr. Lanza!” Ricki blurted. “This was part of a war between two crime families, wasn’t it?”
“If you wish.”
“Why were you in Sicily in the first place?”
“Visiting family. And getting some suits made. Valguarnera is renowned for its tailors—last year one of them was hired to make clothes for the Pope. I would not have taken Chiara and Anna had my visit been for … business purposes.”
“So, I’m guessing that because of our father’s intervention, he became a target of the Mazzara family.”
“Correct.”
“Is the Mazzara family still in business?”
“Yes, but much diminished. The Italian carabinieri and their judicial police have been unusually effective in the last few years. Antonio and his three top capos are doing life in Opera Prison in Milan.”
“With assistance from you, perhaps?”
“You’re very perceptive.”
“Tell us the rest, Dad,” Lucy said. “You’re a miner with a pregnant wife, and now your name’s on a Mafia hit list. What happened next?”
“Dominic embraced me and asked my name. He said he’d clean up the mess.” Lucy shot a look at Dominic, who responded with the shadow of a smile. “He knew I would be a marked man, so he told me to run home, get my wife, grab whatever we could carry, and meet him at an address on Via Toscana. When we got there, a doctor was treating Chiara. Two of Dominic’s men drove us to a casolare near Gangi, in the Madonie Mountains. We stayed there for nearly a month.”
“We used our contacts in Palermo to arrange new identities,” Dominic said. “That’s how you became Cappelli. My Uncle Tommaso used a friend in the U.S. government to secure immigration clearances for Joseph and Giulia to enter the States. We gave Joseph money to start a new life. Both of you may have had your suspicions, but I want you to know that your father never worked for us. He and your mother made their own decision to settle in Florida. You know the rest.”
“We don’t know the rest!” Lucy replied heatedly. “We don’t know what happened to our grandmother! You and Mom always said she died before the immigration papers came through. A heart attack, you said! But last year you told me Nonna gave her life to keep us safe! All of us! What did you mean by that, Dad? What did she do?”
“Your mother and I … we wanted to bring her with us. Dominic offered to get her the right papers, a new identity, all the clearances. But she refused to leave. She refused to leave the country—” his voice faltered “—a country that had abused her and ground her down from the day she was born. She would only agree to move away from Valguarnera … back to Bronte. But after she moved, she started getting reports from our relatives about strange men asking about her. She knew the Mafiosi’s methods—she knew that if they found her, they would torture her to find out where I was. So she changed her mind and decided to join us. I had a phone number for Dominic. He started working on the paperwork. But the Mazzaras found Nonna first.” Tears welled in his eyes. “It was weeks before we found out what happened.” Words caught in Joseph’s throat. He waved a hand at Dominic.
“Your grandmother had moved into a cottage on the outskirts of Bronte. Our people in Palermo were taking care of the rent. But the Mazzaras eventually found out where she was staying.”
“How?” Lucy asked.
“Mazzara had a man in Palermo’s cosca. He was flushed out later.” He resumed his narrative. “Every night before she went to bed, your grandmother spread snail shells on the floor inside her front and back doors. It’s an old Sicilian trick, and it worked. She heard them coming. She had a lupara—a shotgun. She killed two of them, and then ran out the back door. But there were more men waiting. When they grabbed her…” He hesitated. “Your Nonna was a brave woman.”
“Tell us!” Ricki demanded.
“She had a grenade. Where she got it, no one knows—thousands of them were stolen from the Allied Forces after the 1943 invasion. When they grabbed her, she pulled the pin. The blast killed her, and two more of the men.”
“She would never have given us up,” Joseph said, proudly and through his tears. “That bastard Mazzara sent five men after her, and only one of them walked away.”
“Not for long,” Dominic said. “We found him.”
After a second of uncomfortable silence, Ricki asked, “What about over here?”
“Over here?”
“You said the Mazzara family is weakened in Italy. What about in the States? Are they over here?”
“They have a presence, but it’s almost invisible. They work through one of the New York families.”
“Invisible…” Lucy said. “Isn’t that what you want to be?”
Dominic shot her a warning look. Addressing Ricki, he continued: “If you’re asking if there’s any danger to your father today, after forty years, I would say the risk is very low.”
* * *
They ordered Chinese and stayed for dinner.
While they were waiting for Carlo to deliver the takeout order, Dominic and Joseph sat together on the patio, talking in low tones. When they returned inside, Lucy noticed Joseph’s demeanor was even more somber than usual, and Dominic’s expression was cold and thoughtful. When the food arrived, Anna took her leave. She hugged each of them, kissed Joseph on both cheeks, and left with Carlo.
“Why didn’t she stay?” Lucy asked quietly, after she’d gone.
“He’s taking her to the plane. Anna lives in Houston. She’s married to an architect and they have two teenaged boys. She needed to get home.”
“So, she’s not part of your world.”
“I didn’t want her to be.”
“You said, ‘the plane,’ not ‘the airport.’”
“One of my companies leases a jet.”
“Nice.”
He shrugged. “Being rich costs money. Which brings me to another subject…” He addressed her father, who was sitting at the other end of the table, poking at a container of ginger beef. “Joseph, do you have any interest in seeing home one last time?”
“Home?”
“Sicily. Valguarnera … and Floristella. The mine property has been converted into a historic park.”
“The whole valley?”
“Everything. The calcuroni, the decentiria—everything preserved as it was. Except, now, there are trees, Joseph. A forest.”
“There were no trees when I worked there. Nothing. Just heat and sweat and death.”
“The baron’s palazzo is still standing, up on the hill.”
“That family…” Joseph’s voice was bitter, his memories grim and far away.
“I have a Gulfstream. It’s on its way to Houston right now, but it will be back on the apron at Kendall by morning. If we leave tomorrow night, we’ll be in Catania early on Monday.” As he continued, Lucy felt him give her leg a warning squeeze under the table. “Lucinda should come as well. To take care of you, and make sure you take your medications.”
“Maybe … maybe it is time I visited my mother’s grave.”
Joseph had answered too quickly, and Ricki was no fool. Her eyes cut back and forth between the two men. “Okay,” she demanded, “what’s this really about?”
Silence.
Lucy was no fool either. She recalled the two men’s expressions when they came in from their private conference on the patio. She realized that their last exchange had been rehearsed.
“Sister…”
“What?”
“I’m not sure myself, but I don’t think you want to know.”
Ricki searched faces. “Fuck … the past is coming back,
isn’t it?” she asked. No one answered. After a few seconds, she grumbled, “Guess I’m taking care of Kevin.”
Later, as they were leaving, Dominic took Lucy aside. “Mr. Olivetti…”
“What about him?”
“You’re more than friends again, aren’t you?”
Lucy sighed. Apparently nothing escaped this man.
“Don’t call him tonight.”
“Why?”
“I’ll explain tomorrow … Carlo will find you.”
35
The entrance to The Barnacle Historic State Park lay directly across the street from the Bronte. Just after ten on Sunday morning, Lucy threaded her way along the park’s familiar pathways. She knew these trails; she had played here as a child. As she eased past stands of moss-draped live oak, poisonwood, and slash pine, she was aware that Carlo was somewhere behind, watching for followers. That such a possibility existed was itself a bit unsettling, but she duly paid for a day pass and strolled on, playing tourist. She paused occasionally, pretending to read botanical information signs, glancing at the trail behind her.
She was actually enjoying the intrigue. You’re getting too comfortable with this stuff, she thought.
She meandered past the meticulously preserved residence of nineteenth-century yacht designer Ralph Munroe, whose oddball nickname for his home, “The Barnacle,” had supplied the park with its name. From here on, the bush and hammock terrain yielded to a vast manicured lawn that ramped down to the shoreline of Biscayne Bay, five hundred feet away. In the distance, a half-dozen day-sailers swung on their moorings in the shallows.
Dominic Lanza was waiting on a weathered bench that appeared to have been dropped at random near a dense stand of bamboo. As she approached, he said, “Good morning,” and patted the seat next to him. Lucy sat.
“Why am I here?”
“Patience. First, we wait for Carlo.”
They sat in silence. After a few minutes, Carlo appeared. As he sauntered past them, he gave Dominic a quick nod. He took up a position on another bench, forty feet away.
“You’re here,” Dominic said, gazing at the bobbing sailboats, “because we have unfinished business.”
“Tait and Scarlatti?”
Storm Rising Page 23