But the line went dead.
“Who was that on the phone?”
Lucia De Cicco turned in surprise as Mario entered the kitchen from the foyer. His hair, face and black leather jacket were dripping from the rain. In his hand was the gallon of ice cream she asked him to get.
“I asked who that was.”
“It was no one,” she said. “Whoever was there hung up.”
She moved away from the phone, carefully wiping clean from her face any sign of the anger she felt only moments before. Lucia knew that if she was going to keep her husband, she would have to still whatever rage and jealousy was within her and pretend a woman by the name of Leana Redman didn’t exist.
“You know I don’t want you answering the phone,” Mario said as he removed his coat and shoes. “Not after what happened last week.”
It was a moment before Lucia could dispel the image of the three dozen black roses she received by messenger. “I don’t want to talk about that.”
“Don’t you think it’s time we did?”
“As a matter of fact, I don’t.”
In her bare feet, she crossed the room and took the ice cream from her husband’s hands. For years, she was a woman who moved with the confidence beauty inspires, but now she seemed oddly aware of it and herself.
“What kind did you get?”
“Heath Bar Crunch,” he said. “And don’t change the subject. We’re going to talk about this.”
She went to the large island that dominated the center of the kitchen, removed two bowls from a cupboard, a silver spoon from a drawer. As she began scooping the ice cream into the bowls, she looked at Mario, then over at the phone, which was across the room. Mario took the stool opposite her. She sensed him staring at her and said, “Look, Mario. I’ve spoken with your father, I’ve talked to your brothers. As far as I’m concerned, what happened last week never happened.”
“But it did happen.”
She focused on the ice cream.
“You were sent a death threat, Lucia. Somebody wants to kill you and we need to talk about it.”
She glared at him. “And for what? Because of something I did? No, Mario. Because of something you or your goddamned family did. How do you think it makes me feel knowing I might be dead in a week because of my association with this family?”
“That’ll never happen-”
“Really?” she said. “You can promise me that? You can promise our children that?”
“Lucia, please.”
“Look,” she said. “You wanted to discuss this, so let’s discuss it. I want to know what you’re going to say to the children when they see their mother shot dead because she wanted to open a window for some air. How are you going to explain the holes in my body? The blood on my face? I’m scared to death and you haven’t once comforted me. I lie in bed at night wondering when I’ll be able to leave my home again, but realize I might never be able to because it could mean my death.”
Mario was about to speak when the phone rang. Lucia looked at her husband, saw him turning on the stool.
She knew who was on that phone. She began to cross the room, but Mario was suddenly beside her, intercepting.
“You’re not answering it,” he said. “Forget it.”
He reached for the receiver at the same moment Lucia asked him not to answer it. But Mario did answer it, a brief conversation was held, and he hung up the phone, furious.
“You lied to me,” he said. “That was Leana who called a few minutes ago. She’s in trouble. She said you hung up on her. Why?”
“You know why.”
“That isn’t an excuse.”
“I’m your wife. I don’t owe you an excuse when another woman calls-especially that woman.”
“Like hell you don’t,” he said. “She’s in trouble.”
He reached for his jacket and put it on while stepping into his shoes. He was angry with her, but he would deal with it later. Leana needed him.
“Where are you going, Mario?”
“I’m meeting her at a shelter on Prince Street.”
“No, you aren’t.”
“Lucia-”
“I’ll call your father,” she said. “I’ll tell him where you’re going.”
“You can do whatever you want. My father knows the situation. He knows I’d only be going to help her.”
“Not if I tell him differently.”
Silence hit the room.
Mario looked at his wife and thought of all the years he had wasted with her; all the years that were gone and he could never get back. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked.
“It means I’ll tell him you’re sleeping with her,” she said. “It means I’ll tell him I caught you in bed with her. That the children caught you in bed with her.”
Mario took a step toward her.
Lucia stood firm. In her eyes was a defiance that would not be shattered by intimidation. “He trusts me more than he trusts you. He’ll believe it all and he’ll kill her. He told me so himself. He’ll kill her, Mario.”
“You’d actually do that? You’d destroy my relationship with my father. You’d lie to have an innocent person killed?”
There was no hesitation when she said, “You’re fucking right I would.”
Mario knew that whatever love and respect he once felt for her was gone. He was finished with her. “Then I suggest you pick up the phone and start dialing, Lucia, because I’m leaving.”
He stepped past her and moved toward the door. Lucia went to the phone. Hands trembling, her pride and her marriage threatened, she picked up the receiver and started dialing.
“I’d give some thought to that, Lucia,” Mario said from the door. “Because if any harm comes to Leana or myself, I swear on my mother’s grave it will be the biggest mistake of your life.”
When Leana arrived at the shelter on Prince Street, she found it crowded with men, women and children. Volunteers circulated with hot coffee and sandwiches, soup and rolls. Fluorescent lights winked and buzzed, casting a harsh glow on an even harsher reality.
She went to the rear of the shelter, chose a seat at the only empty table and watched the entrance. She wanted to see Mario come in, wanted to watch him walk toward her, wanted to feel the reassurance his presence would bring. Only then would she feel reasonably safe.
As she sat there, her thoughts turned to Michael and she wondered, as she had throughout the day, where he was and why he hadn’t phoned or come by the apartment. Although only a day had passed since they were together, she was surprised by how much she missed him.
A woman carrying a pot of hot coffee and a bag of Styrofoam cups stopped beside her table and sat down. “You’re new,” she said. “My name is Karen. Welcome.”
Leana felt self-conscious. She didn’t belong here. Her father was one of the richest men in the country. This woman’s time should be spent with someone who needed the attention. “Thank you,” she said.
“Would you like some coffee? You look cold in those wet clothes.”
“No, thank you,” Leana said. “I don’t want to be any trouble.”
“It’s no trouble at all. Here. Let me pour you a cup.”
“But I didn’t come here for that. I came here to meet someone.”
The woman lifted her head. Leana noticed her noticing the expensive clothes she wore, the diamond and gold watch Harold gave as a Christmas gift and suddenly wished she was somewhere else.
“I see,” the woman said. She poured Leana a cup of coffee anyway and handed it to her. “Look,” she said. “We all have problems. If you feel uncomfortable accepting this-which you shouldn’t-maybe you’d like to give a donation when you leave. But that’s up to you. This coffee will warm you up and, if nothing else, that makes me feel good.”
She stood. “Now, how about a blanket while you’re waiting for your friend?”
Leana was touched by the woman’s kindness. “I’d love a blanket,” she said.
When she was alone, she l
ooked more closely around the shelter. Leana knew that for many of these people, what they were eating here was probably their first meal of the day. In a corner of the room, she saw one of the volunteers bathing a young child while its mother, preoccupied with her other two children, looked on. She wondered where this woman and her children would sleep tonight. Had they found space at a shelter, or was it the street for them after this?
She took a sip of coffee and knew that Mario chose to meet here on purpose. Even now, with a threat against her life, he refused to let her forget how fortunate she was.
When the woman returned with the blanket, Leana wrapped it around her shoulders, thanked her and asked, “Where do these people go at night, once they’re finished eating?”
The woman leaned against the table. “By now all the shelters are full,” she said. “And so they go back to their spots on the streets.”
Leana looked across the room. She could not imagine that woman and her children sleeping alone on the streets. “How do they survive there? How do they live?”
“Many don’t survive there. Many don’t live.”
The woman said it so matter-of-factly, Leana was taken aback. “Those children over there with that woman. Do they go to school?”
“Some do. But even if they don’t, that doesn’t mean they’re not bright. Every child you see in this room-except for the smaller ones-knows how to take care of himself. If they are hungry and there isn’t a food shelter nearby, then they know which restaurants throw out the cleanest trash. If they want a bed for the night, they know to start looking early at the shelters instead of looking late. If they have no money, they either beg, borrow or steal-usually steal.” The woman shrugged. “It’s a way of life for them,” she said. “While some are angry as hell at the system, you’d be surprised by how many have accepted their situation.”
Leana couldn’t imagine accepting any of this. She couldn’t imagine living without a home, or going to bed hungry, or sleeping in a cardboard box. She couldn’t imagine picking through a garbage can for food.
She looked around the room and a feeling of shame overcame her. Had she really had it so bad as a child?
There was the sound of a door being shut and Leana looked up to see Mario coming toward her. Never in her life had she been more happy to see him.
“That your friend?” the woman asked.
“Yes,” Leana said. “That’s my friend.”
“You’re a lucky woman. He’s one of my favorite people. Do you realize he comes here once a week with either a carload of food or a check to buy food?”
“It wouldn’t surprise me.”
The woman left and Leana kept looking at Mario, who was now weaving through the tables.
“My car’s outside,” Mario said, after giving Leana a hug. “I want you to come with me. We’re moving you out of your apartment.”
Leana hadn’t expected this. She began to protest. “But where will I go?”
“That’s taken care of.”
“There’s got to be another way, Mario. I love that apartment.”
“More than your life? Let’s go.”
Reluctantly, Leana went with him. As they left the shelter and stepped into the night, the two men waiting outside the entrance fell in step behind them. Leana knew that these men, like herself and Mario, were armed.
Traffic was barely moving on Prince. Cars were double-parked and people were cutting through traffic. Mario’s black Taurus was parked at the street corner, shimmering in the falling rain.
They sat in the back, Mario’s men in the front. The moment the door was shut behind them, Leana reached over and held Mario tightly. “It’s going to be all right,” he said. “Just do as I say.”
“I’m scared.”
“There’s no need to be. Just do as I say.”
They rode in silence, each secure in the other’s arms. She put her head on his shoulder.
“On the phone you mentioned a note,” Mario said. “I want to see it. Do you have it with you?”
“It’s at my apartment.”
“Along with the gun?”
“No. I have that with me.”
He was pleased by this. He released her from the embrace and asked to see it.
Leana removed the gun from her inside jacket pocket. It felt cold and heavy and threatening in her hands. She gave it to Mario. “Is it loaded?”
He checked. “It’s loaded. Where do you live?”
Leana told him. Mario leaned forward and gave the driver directions. He wanted that note. Before killing Eric Parker, he planned on nailing it to the man’s forehead.
After securing the apartment, Mario told his men to wait for them in the hall. “We won’t be long,” he said. “Make sure no one comes near here.”
He closed the door and looked across the room at Leana. She was removing the note from her bedside table. Watching her now, he felt the same deep love, the same strong physical attraction, the same sense of wanting to protect her, that he felt when they were together for those brief six months.
He thought of Lucia then and realized that whatever love he once felt for her was nothing compared to the love he felt for Leana. And how could it ever compare? With Leana, love came naturally. With Lucia, their lives had been arranged by their fathers from birth. It always was known that Antonio De Cicco’s first-born son would marry Giovanni Buscetta’s first-born daughter.
For Lucia Buscetta, the marriage was a welcome event-her attraction to Mario De Cicco was great. For Mario, the marriage was a cruelty imposed on him by his father. At the age of eighteen, he was told to marry a young woman he barely knew, let alone loved. Then, as now, there was nothing he could do about the arrangement.
At least not while his father was alive.
“Here it is,” Leana said.
“Let me see it.”
Leana waited until he finished reading it. “Well?”
“When were you sent this?”
“A little after nine-thirty this morning.”
“Who gave it to you?”
“A messenger?”
“What did he look like?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Try to remember.”
She thought back. Although only hours had passed since she’d seen the man, she was surprised at how difficult it was to conjure an image of him. “He was blond,” she said. “And he had an earring.”
“Was it the guy who chased you that day in the park?”
“No,” Leana said. “That man had dark hair. And, besides, I’d never forget what he looked like.”
“What kind of earring was this messenger wearing?”
“A small gold hoop, I think.”
“Which ear?”
“Right. No, left.” She looked at him. “Left.”
“Was he tall?”
“He actually was kind of short.”
“Did he seem nervous?”
“Not at all. He actually was impatient, as if he had a thousand other errands to run.”
“What else can you remember?”
“Nothing. It happened so quickly, I’m surprised I remember as much as I do. Why is this so important?”
“It’s important because whoever delivered this note and that gun to you might be the man who’s been hired to kill you.” He saw fear cross her face and said, “Look-why don’t you start packing? The sooner we’re out of here, the sooner you can move into your new apartment.”
He leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek, then on the lips. She was scared and his heart went out to her. “I promise you’ll like it. It has lots of windows and high ceilings and hardwood floors and a kitchen that’s bigger than this whole apartment.”
“What good will a big kitchen do me?” Leana said. “I can’t cook.” She thought of all the terrible pots of coffee she had made for Michael and said, “I can’t even make a pot of coffee without screwing it up.”
“So?” Mario said, smiling. “We’ll drink tea. And you don’t have to worr
y about dinner. I’ll cook for you-just like old times. Okay?”
Leana thought of his wife and children, thought of all the times they had been separated in the past because of them, and decided that she didn’t want it to be like old times. It was time for her to have something real. A relationship with Mario couldn’t be. Circumstances would always prevent it. She made the mistake of falling in love with a married man and foolishly thought that something good would come from it.
Her mind went to Michael. What would he think when he came here and found her gone? She had no way of getting in touch with him. Michael always called her. On her cell, it always said that his was a private number. Worse, they always met at her apartment. For the first time, she realized how absurd that was. They were together so much and yet he hadn’t given her his number or told her where he lived.
Mario placed his hand on her arm. “We should leave,” he said. “Is there anything you want to bring with you?”
Leana went to a bureau across the room.
She pulled out shirts and pants and shorts and underwear, tossing them all into the suitcase Mario held open for her. She didn't see the clothes. She didn't see what personal items she tossed into the bag. She saw only Michael and Eric, Louis, Celina and her parents, and could not believe how much her life had changed in the two short weeks since the opening of The Redman International Building.
She wondered if her life would ever be what she’d dreamt it to be and decided it would. I will make it, Leana thought. I will make it to the top. And then a thought occurred to her. If I live.
“You ready?” Mario asked.
“There’s something I want to give you,” she said, walking the few steps to her bed. Hidden beneath it was a locked metal box. Leana lifted it onto the bed and removed a key from her bedside table. She unlocked the box. Inside were pictures of her mother and her father and Celina, old letters from old friends-and the $25,000 check Philip Quimby gave her in exchange for the counterfeit jewels.
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