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“Rosa,” he said. “It’s you.”
“Ciao, Gaetano.” Her voice rang out. “Nice to see you looking so fit.”
“You’re looking well yourself, Rosa.”
An elderly woman, small and stringy-thin with a pouffy coif of hair dyed white blonde and lots of bling appeared behind him. “Who on earth is…oh. It’s you. My God, Rosa. You got so big.”
“Ciao,Tittina,” Zia Rosa replied. “You shrunk.”
“Nobody calls me Tittina anymore,” the other woman said. “Not for the last sixty years. I never liked it. I’m called Connie now.”
“Call yourself what you want,” Zia said. “I know who you are.”
“Zia,” Kev hissed. He gave her arm a warning squeeze.
“You haven’t introduced your friends, Rosa,” Don Gaetano said.
Zia Rosa flapped her hand in their direction. “The two blond ones are my nephews,” she said. “The other one is a friend.”
“So.” Michael gave them smile. “What can we do for you folks?”
Zia Rosa ignored him. “I need to talk to you ‘bout something important.” she said to Gaetano. She paused. “You gonna invite us in?”
Don Gaetano stepped back, with ill grace, and gestured for them to enter. Zia Rosa stepped in the towering foyer, which had a three story ceiling with vast solarium windows and skylights on the top. From an iron brace about fifteen feet up, a huge wrought iron chandelier hung, full of electric candles, all of which blazed in the day’s gloom.
“Ehi.” Zia Rosa stared up at the chandelier. “That’sNonno’scandeliera. The one from the salone in the country house, back home.”
“It certainly is.” Costantina’s voice was triumphant. “Gaetano and I went to Brancaleone on vacation nine years ago. I brought it back.”
“Who said you could have it?” Zia Rosa demanded.
Costantina bristled. “Who said I couldn’t?”
“Zip it, goddamnit, Zia,” Kev hissed. “Focus!”
“Come into thesalone,” Don Gaetano said, waving them into a lavish living room, furnished in blazing white with touches of gold, bronze and beige.Don Gaetano seated Zia Rosa at one end of a couch, and looked at the rest of them. “Sit down, all of you,” he said, dropping into the chair nearest Zia Rosa. “Connie, could you get us some coffee? And some of your deliciouspitta ‘nchiusa?”
Costantina flounced out of the room, muttering to herself. Petrie declined to sit, situating himself behind the couch. Sean stood beside him. Kev was across from them, checking out Michael Ranieri, who had also stayed on his feet. He stood behind his father, rocking on his heels, hands clasped behind him. No doubt fondling the pistol under his shirt, Kev figured. A fair enough guess, since he himself was doing the same thing.
“This ain’t a social call, Gaetano,” Zia Rosa said.
“Oh, but you have to taste Connie’spitta ‘nchiusa,Rosa,” Don Gaetano said. “They’re unbeatable. Just likeNonnaused to make.”
Zia Rosa let out a grunt. “Whatever.” She opened her purse, and dug around in it until she pulled out the crumpled envelope, the one that held Tony’s letter. “We’re here to talk about this.”
Don Gaetano stared at it, grimly. “I heard about Tony’s passing.”
“Figured you would,” Zia Rosa said.
“I thought the whole thing was finished,” he said heavily.
“I told you.” Costantina was in the entryway, laden with a tray. “I told you she’d screw you over first chance she got.”
“Mamma, please,” Michael snapped.
Zia Rosa gave Costantina a slit-eyed look, then turned her gaze back to Gaetano. “I thought it was over, too,” she said. “I woulda never done anything with this letter, Gaetano. Not if you left us alone. But that bastard’s got my boy again, hear me? Same sonofabitch as before. You leaned on him twenty years ago, and we got him back. I need you to lean on him again. Cause if they hurt him…” She slapped the letter against her hand. “This goes out. All the copies, like Tony said.”
Connie marched over to the couch, and set the tray down on the glass coffee table with a rattling thump. She poured a dollop of espresso from the pot into each of six cups. There was a heap of something that looked like tarts, with gleaming candied fruits and nuts in their centers.
