The guards were at the far end of the corridor, holding a whispered conversation.
"Get in here! Move it!" Emanuel yelled.
His office was bugged. How it had been done was immaterial; the most important thing was when. How much of the Luciano tapes, his own phone calls, had been recorded? His face white with fury, nerves on edge, he stared at the word processor. Could someone have tampered with it? Even worse, accessed his disks?
Sophia and Teresa were in the hall of the Villa Rivera, waiting for Graziella. They were going to do some last-minute shopping. Rosa, who had refused the invitation, was sitting in the garden with Emilio.
As the car left the villa, Teresa was close to tears. There was the ornate marquee, the drive bedecked with flowers, all given an air of fantasy in the brilliant sunshine.
Sophia felt it too, and clasped Teresa's hand, turning back to smile at Rosa. Only then did she see the car moving into position behind theirs. She didn't realize that they were being followed until they had left the villa and passed the guards on duty at the gates. All Graziella would say to their questions was that it was what Papa wanted, that the extra hands could be useful for carrying their purchases.
"They had a guard sitting up front with the driver, and then another car trailing them with two more guys. Okay, so Papa's uptight about the trial, but they're all around the place. It's like Fort Knox."
Constantino shrugged. Like Filippo, he had been very aware of the security measures.
They could not discuss it further as their father appeared. To his sons' astonishment he was wearing a pair of carpet slippers.
"Filippo's discovered that old motorbike of his," Constantino told his father. "Do you know, he's got that engine turning over! It was rusty, not been used for ten years, but he's fixed it."
The don sat down in the wicker bucket chair; his long legs stretched out. "I was never very good on the mechanical side. You remember that time I tried to repair your mama's spin dryer? Her best linen tablecloth was spun into shreds." He laughed, shaking his head.
Filippo nudged his brother to broach the subject of the guards. Constantino opened his mouth to ask.
Don Roberto leaned on the rail of the veranda and spoke as if talking to himself. "Strange, during the war I worked in the bomb disposal unit, yet I ruined Mama's tablecloth. They taught me to blow men apart, to destroy buildings, defuse bombs, but I couldn't fix a spin dryer…"
His voice trailed off. Neither of his sons remembered the incident, but he seemed almost unaware of their presence. The days spent recalling the past with Emanuel had made him remember things he had long forgotten. Now he could hear a child's voice calling him: Michael's voice, no older than his grandsons'.
"Papa, Papa…" The don could see the white blond hair, the brilliant blue eyes peering at him over the veranda. "Papa, Papa, come for a ride with me, ride with me! Look, it's my very own bicycle!"
"You want a ride on my bike, Papa?"
Filippo didn't dream that his father would agree but asked as if it were a dare, not really caring one way or the other. When the don did agree, he became protective, suggesting that perhaps his father should just watch. But nothing would dissuade the don. Lifting his leg, he positioned himself awkwardly on the pillion. "You think I'm too old? I ever tell you about the time Michael and I rode into town on his Lambretta?"
He saw the way Filippo's face changed as he turned away and snapped, "I am not Michael, Papa, and this is a motorbike. You want a ride or not?"
Gently the don put his arms around his son's waist. "You take care for me, now…"
Around and around the garden went the old Harley. Theirpapa, his hair standing on end, clung to Filippo, yelling \ sheer enjoyment, waving as they passed the veranda for third time. "This is wonderful! It's wonderful!"
At four-thirty in the afternoon the women returned fi the town to find Constantino sitting on the veranda while lippo played tennis on the lawn with the two little boys i their grandfather. Graziella noticed that one of her beribboi floral arrangements looked very bedraggled, with telltale lo soil around the base, but she said nothing.
Nunzio saw his grandmother and ran to the veranda ste "Grandpa's been on the motorbike, Grandmama-and fell off!"
Graziella gasped, and Constantino laughed. "F fine, Mama…"
Don Roberto called the boy back and demonstrated a s vice, scattering balls all over the lawn. It was all so relaxed tl one of the guards had been cajoled into acting as ball boy. 1 don tapped Filippo on the head with his racket and called Graziella, "You know, this boy is a brilliant mechanic. He paired that old motorbike!"
Filippo twisted his racket, tossed it in the air, then cau£ it by the handle. He saw the name on the side, "Michael L ciano," just as his father put an arm around his shoulder.
"You don't tell Mama about racing those bikes, that a dei But the next race you get me a seat, okay?" He looked clost into his son's face and pinched his cheek. "Is it a deal?"
They shook hands. Then Don Roberto pulled his son in his arms. "I love you… Maybe I've been too hard on yo but we'll work it out. You are my son."
Filippo could not remember ever feeling happier.
It was almost six o'clock. The men were dressing to go o to dinner. The women, who were staying home, sat togeth sorting out the wedding gifts. They had decided to display the on the dining-room table.
Sophia had fussed over the wedding dress, nervous th Rosa would not like it. It was ready to be tried on but was st; shrouded in white sheets.
Bathroom doors banged; their husbands called to each otheThe more the brothers were together, the noisier and more boisterous they became, behaving like young boys, reverting to shouting nicknames and joking.
Graziella smiled at her immaculately dressed husband as she carefully tied his bow tie. "You'll tell them tonight?"
"Yes, tonight."
She held him in her arms. "I feel it, the house opening… Having everyone here has done it, even using Michael's room. We should have filled the house before this… It's over, I know it. It is over, isn't it?"
He kissed the top of her head, which smelled of the sweet violet perfume he always bought her. "I feel it, too, Mama."
She patted the lapel of his dinner jacket into place, even though it sat perfectly. "You have been wonderful with the boys, especially Filippo. He loves you so. They all do, and maybe what you've decided has made you feel free to show your love."
"It is time Michael rested in peace. Maybe they won't love me too much once they know of my decision." There was a hardness to his face.
Her throat felt dry, and she blinked back her tears. "They were his brothers. They'll understand. And they will stand by your decision, as I do."
"They have no option." Gently he cupped her chin in his hand. "Don't be afraid, Mama, and don't tell the women, not yet. Let their men, my sons, tell them. That is the way it should be."
Graziella called to the women that the men were about to leave. Chattering and laughing, they waved casual good-byes, in a way anxious for the men to be gone so they could unveil the wedding gown.
Rosa, wearing a robe, blew Emilio a kiss from the landing. He was about to run to her when Filippo grabbed him.
"Don't you know it's unlucky to see the bride half naked before the ceremony?"
"I'm not, I'm not!" shrieked Rosa. She rushed to Emilio and flung her arms around him. Barefoot, her hair hanging loose and her face flushed with happiness, she kissed his crimson cheeks.
He looked fearfully toward Don Roberto, but the don was admiring Filippo's rather flamboyant dinner jacket. Turning, leaving his arm around his son's shoulder, he called to his grandsons, who peeked through the banister rails. "Sweet dreams, little ones! Now, is everybody ready? My sons ready? Come, we'll leave the women in peace."
Seeing his sons still at the top of the stairs, dressed in matching pajamas and with their faces scrubbed, Constantino could not resist. He leaped up the stairs two at a time, clasped them in his arms, kissed them both good night, and made them promise to be good.