Lynda La Plante
Bella Mafia
© 1990
Prologue
At ten o'clock in the evening on the second day of the adjournment of the biggest Mafia trial in history, one of the chief prosecutors, Giuliano Emanuel, received a telephone call at his office. It was Mario Domino, an old legal adversary from Emanuel's early court days.
Domino wasted no time in pleasantries. He announced that he wanted a private meeting with Emanuel, and if it could take place immediately, it would be to Emanuel's advantage.
"I am parked outside your office. Please tell your security guards to expect me." The car phone went dead.
Emanuel slowly replaced his receiver. He decided he had no option. He warned his guards of the impending visit and returned to his desk.
The trial, intended to be the exorcism of the Mafia's stranglehold on Sicily, had been adjourned almost before it had begun. An open file on Emanuel's desk showed the gruesome reason. On top of it lay a black-and-white photograph of Emanuel's prize witness for the prosecution. He had been murdered. Lenny Cavataio's mutilated body had had the desired effect;witness after witness had withdrawn statements against the most important prisoner, Don Paul Carolla. The prosecution was very much aware that many more might die before Carolla could be brought into court.
Domino entered minutes after his call, and the two old friends clasped each other in greeting. Domino held the embrace to whisper in Emanuel's ear, "I am trusting you, Giuliano. Pray God you do not abuse my trust."
Refusing a drink, Domino sat down and opened his briefcase. "It is of the utmost importance that no one overhears our conversation."
"Mario, I assure you that you can talk freely. My office is checked every day." He watched as Domino withdrew a large manila envelope from his briefcase, opened it, and took out a photograph.
"If you recognize this man, just nod your head. I do not want his name mentioned. One cannot be too sure."
When Emanuel looked at the black-and-white photograph, the hairs on the back of his neck began to prickle. It was Don Roberto Luciano, II Papa-the real "Boss of Bosses," a leader from the past, when the Mafia was considered a force for poor people unable to fight for their rights. He had been a part of the organization for more than fifty years, and no one knew if he was still active. But he was still honored, even revered, in Palermo.
Emanuel handed the photo back to Domino. "I know who it is."
"He is a close friend of mine, and I have acted on his behalf on numerous occasions. He wishes to meet with you but is well aware of the danger to his family should it become known."
Emanuel's mouth felt dry, and he swallowed. "Why does this client of yours want to meet with me?" he asked.
"He will tell you that himself. I think you will find it beneficial, if you can arrange top security for his family and him."
The two men shook hands on their agreement. Domino's client would arrange the meeting place. Emanuel was to expect a call and was to do exactly as instructed. If he deviated from
the arrangements, the meeting would not take place.
The call came two nights later. Emanuel was to leave his home immediately and drive to a warehouse on the waterfront, leave his car there, and walk to the end of Pier 3, where he would be picked up. Alone.
Emanuel obeyed. His stomach churning, he waited on the pier for almost half an hour.
At last a man appeared, seemingly from nowhere, moving soundlessly, and instructed Emanuel to follow him. A second man slipped into place behind them. A third man was waiting in a car a short distance away, with the engine running.
Emanuel was searched before he climbed into the car. No one spoke as they headed back toward town.
The San Lorenzo, a small restaurant, seemed closed, the ground floor in darkness. Emanuel's nerves were in shreds as he followed his two escorts among the neat tables toward an archway. The two men then stood aside, gesturing for him to continue up the narrow linoleum-covered staircase.
A gray-haired man in his sixties was waiting at the top. With a curt nod he ordered Emanuel to raise his hands and proceeded with a body search. Satisfied, he motioned Emanuel to follow him up to the next landing and into a small, elegant dining room hung with red curtains.
There was no one else in the room, but the single table was set for three. The gray-haired man seated Emanuel at the table, poured him a glass of wine, then left.
It was fifteen minutes before Emanuel heard the quiet, unhurried footsteps on the stairs. The door opened, and Domino entered, bowed to Emanuel, and sat down. Without saying a word, he picked up the wine bottle, examined the label, and poured himself a glass.
The moment the glass was full, the curtains were moved aside and a waiter appeared with an elaborate tray filled with silver dishes. His movements were deliberate as he placed the tray on a serving table. Emanuel looked at his watch, then at Domino, and was about to speak when the curtains were drawn aside again and Don Roberto Luciano entered the room.
The photograph had not conveyed the man's aura; even at seventy he was impressive. More than six feet tall, he stood erect, his white hair framing a face with dark, heavy-lidded eyes and a slightly hooked nose.
The waiter hurried to remove the camel-colored cashmere coat draped casually about Luciano's shoulders. Luciano was wearing a pale fawn linen suit, cream silk shirt, and dark blue silk tie in which a diamond pin sparkled.
Luciano went first to Domino, placed both hands on his friend's shoulders, and kissed his cheek. Then he turned to Emanuel, his right hand outstretched. His grip was strong.
Luciano seemed concerned that Emanuel approve of the menu. As they ate the seafood rolled in fresh pasta, Luciano murmured his own pleasure. Throughout the meal the conversation was simply polite, Luciano complimenting Emanuel on his handling of a number of cases, then discussing a mutual friend with Domino, as Emanuel studied il Papa more closely.
Luciano's large, strong hands made almost hypnotic gestures. On the little finger of his left hand he wore a ring with a circle and moon picked out in gold on the blue stone. The nails were square-cut and polished. These were not the hands of an old man.
Brandy was served in balloon glasses, and cigars were lit as the waiter disappeared behind the curtains. Emanuel heard a door's lock click into place. He straightened in alarm, but Luciano placed a comforting hand on his arm. "It is just a precaution. I apologize for this theatricality, but it makes me feel more secure."
The old man who had searched Emanuel now entered the room from the stairs and nodded to Luciano. This door, too, was locked as he left.
From his pocket Luciano took a fob watch, checked the time, and replaced it. Then he rose from the table and sat in a deep, comfortable chair, with a high, winged back. He crossed his long legs and leaned back on the red velvet cushions.
"You must have some idea of why I asked for this meeting. I am prepared to be your main witness for the prosecution, on condition that you protect my family. They must have safe houses, armed guards. I must have your word on this before I give you the evidence that will, I assure you, mean the death sentence for Paul Carolla." Luciano spoke with the confidence of a man used to having his orders carried out.
Domino tapped the ash from his cigar. "Would it be possible for you to arrange such security without divulging my client's name? It is imperative that no one know his identity until the time comes for him to take the stand. This is not just for his protection but for your own. Can you, in your position, organize such security?"
Emanuel knew he could not make such a promise on his own, but he gave his solemn oath that the evening's conversation would remain secret. He coughed to ease his constricted throat before he spoke.