I couldn’t venture to guess what Vincent Costello had done in the last seven days. I wasn’t supposed to give it much thought. Yet as I stood there seeing him with his family, I fought the moisture again pooling in my eyes. Whatever he’d done and decisions he’d made had been for family. He’d survived the storm, and now he was getting his reward.
Taking a deep breath, I turned to the sitting room. There seated beside her uncle was my wife. He appeared healthy, his cheeks full with color as her hand rested upon his knee and Lennox leaned over him in an embrace. At first, I couldn’t speak, not until a hand landed on my shoulder.
“Oren,” Rose said. “Mille grazie.” She palmed one of my cheeks and kissed the other.
“Thank you? I’ve felt a little helpless. I don’t think I deserve thanks.”
She shook her head. “You’re a good man. In a family, every job is important. You helped save my Carmine, my family. I’ll never forget what you did, and nothing means more to me than my famiglia—niente.” She nodded toward Carmine and Angelina across the room. “You’re a good husband and father. How hard would it be for you to let someone else watch over them if you knew there was danger?”
I nodded, knowing where she was going. “The only one I’ve trusted is Testa.”
“My boy, he trusted you. You weren’t helpless. You did what he couldn’t as he dealt with other things.”
My lungs filled as my chest expanded. “Thank you, Rose.”
I turned as Carmine stood. The vision was like a miracle. Step by step he came toward me until he offered his hand. I stared for only a millimeter of a second before shaking his. I couldn’t recall the last time he’d shaken my hand, maybe before our wedding or after Lennox’s birth. Maybe never. His strong grasp was solid as if he hadn’t recently cheated death.
“Angel, Bella, children...” Rose called. “Come to the kitchen. Dolci.”
I smiled, knowing she wouldn’t need to call Lennox twice for desserts as he, Luca, and Luisa hurried toward their prize.
“Come,” Carmine said, “Vincent and I will share. For you only.” He looked to Jimmy and Testa. “Go have dolci, then watch over us. We’re fine in the office.”
Jimmy nodded.
I followed Carmine and his son into Carmine’s office.
Vincent broke the rhythm of our shoes upon the hard floor as we stepped beyond the threshold; slapping my shoulder, he said, “Thank you. I missed them.”
“They missed you.”
His smile was weary. “I couldn’t worry about them. I had to do what needed to be done. That house of yours...I thought it was overkill when you built it. Not anymore.”
“We didn’t have any threats. They were safe.”
“You did,” Carmine said.
“What?” I asked, turning to Carmine.
The boss shook his head as he sat behind his desk and leaned forward. “They didn’t make it to your property. I’m sure you would have handled it if they had. You couldn’t have known, but twice our men stopped predators before your fortress was tested. We had a few men we trusted watching.”
“I don’t think they could have made it in.”
“The important thing is that we never found out.”
“Yes,” I agreed.
“Sit down, Oren,” Vincent said. “I know you think you were left out, but it was for a reason. That cop was watching you—the one outside. He’s not good at hiding. We needed you with the women and children. Not a demotion but an important role. This...” His hands moved about. “...what happened...” His eyes closed in reflection as his head shook. When the dark stare met mine, he continued, “It was a bloodbath, and that hasn’t been who you are.”
“We’re not ready to ask that of you. Not yet,” Carmine said.
The addition to his sentence gave me pause, yet I did as he’d earlier instructed and sat. Between Vincent and Carmine, I was able to fill in the blanks to the story I thought I knew.
“I’m telling you something that very few will hear,” Carmine said. “I made a mistake that I don’t want you or Vincent to ever make. I put blind trust where it didn’t belong. We’re all family, but we still need to keep our eyes open. I’m alive because Vinny didn’t stop. He warned me. I didn’t listen, not completely. I didn’t want to believe that someone I trusted with my secrets and my life, in my home, someone I’ve known since before either of you were born...I refused to see that he would betray that trust.”
“Gioconda,” Vincent said.
I nodded, this confirmation a staggering punch to my gut. What Carmine was saying was true. I knew how much faith had been put in Carl Gioconda. I sometimes wondered why Carl’s distrust of me wasn’t taken more seriously by Carmine, though I would never have questioned that aloud.
Vincent and Carmine went on to tell a magnificent and haunting tale of betrayal and deception. They couldn’t be sure, as Gioconda never fully confessed, but the night of our housewarming party, Vincent believed that Gioconda was already laying the groundwork for the takeover. Our talk on the shore of the sound was simply to feel me out. Since Gioconda had always proclaimed to not trust me, he threw me a line to see if I’d bite. When I didn’t, he moved on. Apparently, his distrust of me ran deep. He neither trusted me to support the Costellos nor to turn against them.
Gioconda relied not only on greed, but on debt. Over the years, he’d helped soldiers and their families in times of financial need. Many of the loans were known to Carmine, but not all. That in itself was a violation of family policy. The boss was entitled to a kickback on all points collected. If Gioconda had been collecting taxes and not paying his due, he was in the wrong. That was the rumor Vincent had heard in passing, the reason his defenses were up and ears were open long before this eruption.
As Carmine and Vincent spoke, I got the picture of a man wanting more than he had. Gioconda claimed to side with Carmine against the sale of illegal drugs, yet in dark alleys and backrooms, he spoke to capos and soldiers, enticing them with the potential income that they were currently denied because of Carmine’s convictions. Morelli had been the one who went to Vincent and told him what some of his crew had been saying.
Morelli, Stefano, and Jimmy were all eyes and ears, collecting intel. They were aware that things were happening, but not the depth, or that it was about to come to blows.
Gioconda had been the one who saved Buono Greco from his initial debt. It was a win-win until Greco couldn’t pay. The points continued to multiply. The amount became insurmountable. Buono paid with his life, believing that the payout from insurance and a lawsuit would relieve his financial obligation. It didn’t happen, leaving his family still in debt. Gioconda made Lorenzo a deal. If the boy had succeeded in killing Carmine, the debt would have been cleared. Not only that, but once the coup was complete, Lorenzo would have been set for life as one of Gioconda’s trusted soldiers.
It wasn’t Gioconda who shared his plans but Lorenzo—before he ate his own bullet. I’d heard that Vincent could be very persuasive.
Buono’s wife liked the money her husband made gambling. Since he’d died, she’d found a little salvation in a bottle. The rest of her time was reportedly spent in search of a new breadwinner. Lorenzo claimed that the only reason he’d agreed to the plan was to save his sister. He went to his death without giving up her location. The Costellos have been looking for her for the last week, but so far, she’s the missing piece.
Everyone else involved in the coup had been dealt with. The final death toll of Costello soldiers would take some time to rebuild. Besides the four lost in the alleyway, there were over a dozen more. Vincent didn’t ask for loyalty. It was or it wasn’t. Anyone with evidence that Vincent felt placed them on the side of Gioconda, on the side of changing the Costello legacy forever, was no longer a problem. Many of the bodies had yet to be discovered. Vincent was certain that some never would be.
“Not enough left,” he said.
“Four?” I questioned when their story stilled.
“Four?”
Vincent repeated.
“You said there were four in the alley. Stefano, Bruno, and Nicholai. Who was the fourth?”
“You shouldn’t know him. According to Jimmy, he was waiting, knew they’d get thrown out.”
“I wasn’t sure of the number I saw.” My earlier question spurred another. “Stefano?”
“A true, trusted soldier,” Carmine said. “The coroner’s report said he died in his sleep.”
Vincent scoffed. “Apparently, with a little incentive, they missed the fact he had a hole in his chest. The most important thing is, Theresa will be taken care of.”
“Things could have gone so differently,” I said.
Vincent nodded. “You sending Testa out...they didn’t expect that.”
Testa hadn’t shared the entire story, yet I recalled him telling me he would if I ordered him to. I hadn’t. I’d taken the information he’d given me. He hadn’t lied, only shielded me. One day I may ask, but for now, he had been right. I would sleep with the knowledge that sending him for the car helped save the Costello family.
The next Thursday, in front of family during drinks at Evviva’s, Carmine called on family for retribution for his friend. Gioconda’s body had surfaced, inside his car, found at the bottom of a pond. Carmine claimed that he would find the snake who’d murdered Gioconda and tried to take over his family. He would find justice.
The capos and soldiers clamored with agreement. Their boss was alive and strong, proclaiming not only his strength, but the strength of the family. Gioconda was identified as being involved with the Grecos but not in his true role.
The elaborate charade cast a shadow of suspicion on Gioconda while saving the Costellos from admitting that over a dozen people were no longer breathing because of them. Carmine was alive, strong, and in control. Those in the know understood that when the day came for Vincent to take over the Costello family, his advancement would not be simply nepotism but because he’d earned it. He’d saved the family.
As I listened during drinks, I became acutely aware that somehow even when it hadn’t felt as though I was inside, I was. A week earlier I’d been in his office: I was inside Carmine Costello’s inner sanctum. I’d also done my job. Caring for the women and children whom he and Vincent loved was my inside job.
I’d been dead wrong when I’d assumed I wasn’t helping the family. I’d be dead if I hadn’t.
As drinks continued, glasses were raised in memory of Gioconda and the fallen soldiers as low murmurs of agreement and question lingered in the smoky air.
“His killer will be dealt with,” Carmine said. “I will always remember Carl as a friend and ally. Any other talk will not be permitted. We are family, and we take care of those who take care of us. Blood in. Blood out.”
“Blood in. Blood out,” everyone repeated as my eyes met Testa’s, and we lifted our glasses in agreement with the boss.
“Now another toast,” Carmine said. “To Stefano De Luca, one of the truest men I’ve ever known.”
Each person Carmine deemed worthy received a salute. Finally, Carmine announced that with the passing of Gioconda, Pipi Morelli was the newly appointed Costello consigliere.
I grinned, realizing that I never knew Morelli’s first name. My inside status was in a forever ebb and flow.
Lennox busied himself with one of those computer games that kids held in their hands while their eyes stayed glued to the small screen and the world passed them by; Angelina, meanwhile, literally watched the world passing by outside our car as we drove home from a gathering at the Costello brownstone.
Time had done what it continued to do...the clock ticked second by second as days and weeks caused the turning of another page on our calendar. More winters passed and seasons changed. It had been three years since Carmine’s shooting. While the event would be paramount in all our memories, the subject was no longer discussed as we all moved forward with our lives.
And yet the deception and betrayal that Carmine and the Costello family had endured lingered omnipresent, often visible as a shadow of concern sprinkled with uncertainty in the darkness of the boss’s eyes. He’d faced death and overcome. The battle wasn’t his alone. He’d lost more than one friend to his own orders. He’d been hurt, not only physically but also his soul had taken a hit. The experience marked him, leaving him darker than the man he had been. It wasn’t that he had been open and friendly before, but now he was even less so. His true and seemingly only joy came with his family. Today marked a special occasion. It was Luisa’s First Communion. We hadn’t been able to attend the church service, but we arrived in time for the party.
The little girl I’d lifted from Scopo’s backseat was now six years old and extremely bright. The nuns had prompted Vincent and Bella to allow her to advance a year ahead in school. Despite her intelligence, or maybe because of it, she was filled with as much energy as her brother. Luca was now nearly eleven and Lennox ten. Each year the boys grew another year closer to the age of Lorenzo Greco at the time of his death. Knowing that their adulthood was around the corner filled me with concern.
After riding for what seemed like hours in silence, I asked Angelina a question. In reality we were barely out of the city on our way home to Westchester County. Nevertheless, the silence had begun at the Costello brownstone, and I hoped by initiating conversation, I could get her to talk. “Are you sorry?”
With her elbow against the bottom of the car’s window, Angelina turned my way, her expression furrowed as if she either hadn’t heard or understood me. Finally, she replied, “I think you are going to need to be a little more specific about what I may or may not be sorry about. I’m sorry we missed church today with the family. I’m sorry that a phone call of yours couldn’t be done at a more appropriate time than Sunday morning. Luisa has only one First Communion, and we missed it. Do you want me to go on about other things I may be sorry for?”
Damn. Silence was my better option. Maybe someday I’d learn.
Momentarily I closed my eyes while still maintaining my bearing of the road. I didn’t want to argue, yet now I at least had a better idea of what I’d done. The call had come at an inopportune time, but that didn’t lessen its importance. It was a conversation I couldn’t miss. It was with the boss of the Bonetti family. Vincent had coordinated the call. He didn’t know when Benny Bonetti would call. The timing hadn’t been planned. One didn’t simply say to a don, sorry, I have plans.
I looked at my wife. “I guess that answers my question. I think I wondered if you were sorry we moved out here. Every time we go back, I feel like you hate me more.”
“I don’t hate you, Oren, for making us a home. For that...I’m not sorry.” She turned her head to the backseat. In the rearview mirror, I could see the headphones over Lennox’s ears. Her voice took on a more natural tone. “I look at him and I’m not sorry. I know it was right. There’s something about Luca—a look. I can’t really place it. It’s his father’s, my uncle’s, and it was my father’s. I see it in my cousins and in family friends and associates. Our son doesn’t have that.” Her chest rose and fell as she took a deep breath. “His biggest concern is if he’ll get to pitch this year in Little League. He’s in the major league.”
I opened my eyes wide. I didn’t follow sports, but everyone knew the pitcher was a big deal. There were times I was relegated to the discussion with other men in our neighborhood at backyard gatherings. I remembered when I was a kid, my father was up in arms about the Dodgers leaving Brooklyn. It was something he never got over, refusing to support the Yankees. That did little for my love of the sport. Nevertheless, I was a talker, a negotiator. I brushed up on stats and could talk Yankees or Red Sox if necessary. Personally, I’d prefer a nice debate about distribution versus manufacturing, but I played the role of suburban husband when I had to for Angelina. And while there was appeal in rooting for the underdog, since the Red Sox hadn’t seen a series win in going on eighty years, the Yankees were usually the topic of conversation.
Was my son
really that inclined to pitch? “Will he?” I asked.
“Quite possibly. He was drafted from the minors. At ten years old, that’s a big deal. Maybe sometime you should see him play. He’s good.”
“I will. Just let me know when his games are.”
“Right. I hope you don’t mind that I wait to tell him until I see the whites of your eyes. I’ve watched too many times as he’s looked up at the stands and been disappointed.”
My knuckles blanched as I gripped the steering wheel tighter. “Just say whatever you want to say. You’ve been pissed off at me over something since the party.”
“I’m not pissed at you! It’s not always about you.”
My head nodded, her tone confirming my original observation.
“I’m not,” she went on. “I’m sad. And it’s upsetting when you disappoint Lennox.”
My gaze shot back to the rearview mirror. If he were listening to what we were saying, he wasn’t showing it. “What is he playing in the backseat?”
“It’s a Game Boy.” She laughed. “But don’t call it a game. It’s a system. He’ll correct you in a second.”
“He’ll correct me?”
“Yes.” Angelina laughed. “In a heartbeat. I’m pretty sure he takes after his father.”
I was thinking his mother but whatever. “So...a Game Boy is what?” I was up on a lot of technology, but kids’ toys aren’t really my thing. Cellular telephones, however, were amazing. No longer a bag plugged into the car, my latest cellular phone was the size of a pack of cigarettes, fit into a pocket, and flipped open like a prop from Star Trek. “It looks like a fancy calculator.”
“Oren, really? He’s ten. Why would he be staring at a calculator? We got it for him for Christmas almost a year ago and it’s been practically attached to his hand ever since. It’s a small console that plays games. He can control what happens. Right now he’s obsessed with baseball. I would bet he’s playing the newest MVP baseball game.”
The Price of Honor: The Making of a Man Page 22