The Scarlet Thread (30 page)

Clara went back to join her father. She wondered what he wanted to talk about; not marriage again. Not after she'd told him plainly that she would never tie herself to another man. Her mother had been in tears. He had been angry. She had stormed out and gone home, only to call them within the hour and apologize. She never let a quarrel last. She needed them too much, especially her father. Luisa spoiled her and fussed over her. It was nice to be pampered, having special food cooked for her, a bed always ready in case she felt like staying.

But her relationship with Aldo had changed and deepened over the last year. She was more than just his little girl, to be petted and protected. Subtly, she felt, he had accorded her a status that was unusual between father and daughter. He asked her opinion about people in his business. He talked things over with her, which was extraordinary. He explained some of their investments, coaching her on the financial side of their interests in the garment trade.

“You should learn to read a ledger,” he'd said one day. “You should understand money and how to make it work for you.”

Clara had never bothered with such things. Her father had managed whatever money he had settled on her, and then it was Steven's responsibility. She spent it; she didn't concern herself with managing her own investments. She wouldn't have known how. But now she was beginning to. Aldo had taught her a lot, and she was a quick and intuitive pupil.

He was sitting in his usual chair, coat off, collar unbuttoned, soft slippers on his feet. He looked up and said, “Come and sit down, Clara.”

She lit a cigarette; she had started smoking heavily. “What is it? Mama said you wanted to talk to me. Is something wrong?”

“No, no. Nothing's wrong, Clara. Give me the ashtray.” He had a thin black cigar, which was his indulgence after a good meal. He drew on it and tapped off the ash. He said, “You know how old I am?”

“Seventy-three. That's not old.”

“It's old enough,” he countered. “I've been thinking. What happens to everything when I go? I've no son, no close relation of my own blood to take over from me. Only you, Clara. Only you.”

“It's not my fault. I know you wanted a boy.”

“It wasn't God's will,” he answered. “When you married, I thought that was the answer. I thought you'd have children, there'd be a grandson.”

Tears came into her eyes. She said bitterly, “Don't reproach me. I tried, and you know it. If it wasn't God's will for you, it wasn't for me either.”

“It doesn't matter,” Aldo said. “I could have had a stupid son. Instead I have a clever daughter. Very clever. I've been watching you, Clara, seeing how you learned things, how you think. You know something? You think like a man when it comes to business.”

“I think like you've taught me,” she retorted. The tears had gone. There was a little color in her pale face.

He smiled at her. “Yes, but you think for yourself mostly. That's what I like best about you. And what you don't know you're not too proud to ask. You've always been a determined girl. And you've got as much guts as any man.”

He paused. “I want you to run the business when the time comes,” he said. “You can do it. You can look after what I've made and maybe make it bigger.”

She got up and came to him. She knelt by his chair and lifted his hand and kissed it. She held it against her cheek.

“Oh, Papa. Do you really mean it? How could I do it? There's never been a woman at the head of one of the families.”

“That's not the question,” he said. “Look at me, Clara. Tell me the truth. Can you do it? Can you be a son to me as well as my daughter?”

“I can,” she answered. “I know I can.”

He nodded. He stroked her sleek black hair for a moment. “I think so too. But there's one problem. You've just said it yourself. The only way the family and the other families will accept a woman is if she has a husband. You've got to marry, Clara. A man will save their pride. They'll take orders from him even though they know the orders come from you. There's no way around that.”

She got up slowly. He looked up at her. She knew that expression only too well. No argument, no backtracking. He had made a condition that must be accepted unconditionally.

“A man will take over from me,” she said after a pause. “He'll want to be the boss.”

Aldo grunted, puffing on the cigar. “Not if we choose the right one.”

She turned quickly. “You've chosen somebody for me?”

“It must be your choice,” he said. “It must be a man who pleases you.”

“You think you've seen one?” She was sarcastic.

“How about Bruno Salviatti,” he said. “I heard the two of you paired off at our party. In fact,” he added, seeing a blush creep into her face, “you went off alone for quite a while.”

Clara stood her ground. “He made a play for me. He had his hand up my skirt, and I let him. I didn't think anyone would notice. It meant nothing to me. He's pretty-looking, and I'd had too much champagne. There are hundreds like him, hanging around the trattorias and waiting for
la bella fortuna
to smile on them.”

Aldo was amused by his daughter's embarrassment. She'd picked up Salviatti and used him as he used his big-breasted blondes. She'd been alone for a long time. He knew her blood was as hot as his; she was no virgin. She didn't have to be chaste, only discreet.

He said, “If he pleased you, he'd be a good choice. He'd count his blessings and do what he was told. And he's fine-looking. A lot of women would envy you.”

She didn't answer immediately. Bruno Salviatti: broad chest, small waist, thick curly black hair and big dark eyes. He'd count his blessings, just as Aldo said. Good clothes, money, a chance to swagger as the macho man married to the Don's daughter. He'd brought her to a rapid and violent sexual climax and been ready for more. She'd pushed him off and dismissed him.

She thought for those few moments, and Aldo didn't interrupt. She would never love a man like Bruno. She would never suffer on his account, because she would always despise him. The roles would be reversed. She would be the dominant partner. If it wasn't Bruno Salviatti, it would have to be someone like him. And she would end up as the power behind the Fabrizzi family.

Aldo was offering her everything he would have offered a son. There were millions of dollars in securities abroad, property investments, and the huge income from the rackets. And her father was right. She would need someone like Bruno to front for her. The families would never accept a woman. No man could take orders from her without losing face. Otherwise, when Aldo died the Fabrizzi empire would be divided piecemeal among the other families. She had come to know and admire her father's subtlety, the ruthlessness of his dealings. He had shown her a new and exciting world. A man's world, closed to women. If she did what he asked, it would be her world. The nursery and the kitchen were not for her. They never had been, once her marriage to Steven failed. Bruno Salviatti. It wasn't much to ask in exchange for what was offered. He'd warm her bed and do what he was told.

“I'll see him again, Papa,” she said. “If I like him, then why not?”

He got up and came over to her. He placed both hands on her shoulders. She was still far too thin.

“I want you to be happy,” he said. “You're all I have in the world.”

“You're all
I
have,” she said. “You and Mama. I want to work with you now. I won't think about afterwards. That's going to break my heart. We'll be together. We'll do it together.”

He embraced her. It was a moment of deep emotion for both of them.

He spoke very quietly to her. “I didn't invite the Falconis to our anniversary. I must make it up to them,
cara mia
. I must invite them to your wedding. I'll make you a present of them. Lucca, Piero and the cousin Spoletto. How would you like that?”

They gazed into each other's eyes.

“I'd like it,” she said. “But I want
him
. I want to see him dead.”

“You will,” he promised. “Only have patience. Wherever he's hiding, when he hears what's happened to his family, he'll come back.”

She shook her head. “So we can kill him? Not Steven. He'll come to strike back, and we won't even know till it happens.”

Aldo said gently, “I said you were clever, Clara, but you've still a few things to learn from your old father. It won't be
us
he'll come looking for.”

“Then who?” she asked him.

He gave his brief, cruel smile. “Trust me,” was all he said. “Now go and call your mother and Anna. It's time for that quiz show she likes on TV.”

A month later Lucca Falconi got a call from Aldo Fabrizzi. They exchanged inquiries about each other's health and the well-being of their families, and referred in passing to the state of their business.

“I want to have a meeting with you,” Aldo said. “Just you and me. It's a matter for the old men.” He gave his throaty laugh.

“You want to come here?” Lucca suggested. “You'd be very welcome.”

“No, no. Let's make it a dinner. How about La Scala?”

Lucca sounded pleased. “The food's good. Not as good as Minoletti's, but good.”

Minoletti's was the Falconis' favorite restaurant. They owned part of it, and it was run by a family with close connections. For years, whenever Lucca wanted to eat out or take the family, he had gone there. It had always been like a fortress for the Falconis, especially during the war with Musso.

“You prefer Minoletti's, we can go there,” Aldo said. He sounded disappointed. It was his invitation, after all.

“We eat in La Scala,” Lucca answered. “I look forward to it. And this is business between us, or family?”

“It's family,” Aldo said. “But what's to stop us talking business too? We meet at around seven-thirty Tuesday?”

“I look forward to it,” Lucca said. He put the phone down. “What the hell,” he muttered. “What the hell does that bastard want?”

La Scala was a big, fashionable Italian restaurant famous for its Neapolitan cooking. It was very pricey. Certainly Fabrizzi wanted something if he was prepared to spend that kind of money on a meal.

Lucca took two bodyguards with him. Aldo had two of his men. The two Dons sat at a table chosen because it faced into the middle of the main restaurant. The adjoining tables were allotted to the men protecting them. It was a natural precaution, which they took for granted. Both had enemies among the non-Mafia gangster groups. The Irish in particular had never made a formal peace with Lucca Falconi after the massacre of the five Ryans. Nothing was proved and no charges could be brought, for lack of evidence, but everybody knew.

As the Dons embraced and kissed each other on both cheeks, each thought the other had got older. Their henchmen watched, pretending to be friendly. The manager came to take their order. There were a lot of snapping fingers and hurrying waiters around them. They were important men. Respected members of the Italian-American community. Businessmen, who wore well-cut suits, custom-made shirts and shoes, and flowers in their lapels—a carnation for Fabrizzi, a rose for Falconi. Big contributors to charity. Men of many favors.

“My friend,” Aldo said, “I'm not here to talk about the past. The past is the past, eh? It only brings pain to you and pain to all of us. I want to talk about the future.”

“When you're our age,” Lucca amended, “there's not too much future left. So we make the most of it. I believe in that. So what kind of future are we going to talk about? Yours or mine?”

“Clara's,” Aldo answered.

“Ah.” Lucca nodded. “I know how she grieved. I was so sorry she had been sick. But you say she's better now.”

“She's better. She's a strong girl. But there were times when her mother and me were very worried. Very worried.”

“I can believe that,” Lucca said. “So what about Clara's future?” Money? he wondered. Is that what he's after? She's not getting any more.

“She's been a widow for a year,” Aldo went on. “It's time she had a husband. I think I've found the right man for her. And she likes him. You know Clara: she wouldn't take anyone she didn't like.”

“No,” Lucca agreed. “She wouldn't. As you said, my friend, she's a strong girl. A girl with a mind of her own. Who is this man?”

Aldo pulled his napkin out of his collar. He turned aside politely and belched. “He's not one of our family. He's one of the Guglielmos' young men.”

Lucca removed his napkin. The waiters were bringing them coffee. He asked for Strega. Aldo refused anything more to drink.

“Why a man from the Guglielmos? They're not friends to any of us.”

“No, but why not make them friends? When your son married my daughter, there were advantages for both of us. Clara needed new blood. She met this man in Key West. We had some people down, and he was brought along. She liked him. They got along well. It's the first time I saw my daughter smile in a whole year. It brought tears to my eyes.”

“I have no daughters,” Lucca said, “but I know how a father feels.”

“We talked it over, Clara and me and her mother. I said, You like him, go ahead. See more of each other. Make up your mind, and I'll make up my mind. I checked on him. He's a good boy. His name's Bruno Salviatti. He worked his way up from soldier to capo in the Guglielmos' organization. He's a proper man. You'll like him, Lucca. And that's important to Clara. She said to me, ‘Papa, I want Lucca's blessing.' She said those words. She feels like a daughter to you, you know that?”

“And I love her like a father,” Lucca said solemnly. “She's suffered. We've suffered, you and I, Aldo. But we won't talk about the past. Tell Clara I wish her happiness. Her happiness makes me happy. Tell her that.”