"This is Eduardo Lorenzi from New York."
Lorenzi gave a small bow. "Signora."
The next man was squat, his face shining with sweat, his collar stained. His plump hands clutched at a large white handkerchief. "I think you have met Signor Niccold Pecorelli, a very old and trusted friend, now taking care of the don's interests in Atlantic City. And last, Giulio Carboni, also from the East Coast, who has been assisting me here."
The latter was very much younger than the others but stockily built. He was wearing an open-necked casual shirt and rose-tinted glasses. Graziella glanced around the study; drawers and even the safe door were wide open. Stacked around the desk were files neatly tied with string, obviously ready for removal.
"I shall be in the dining room. If you wish refreshments before you leave, please call Adina." Graziella walked out, leaving the door open and making it obvious that she wanted the men to leave.
She sat in the cool dark dining room in her husband's chair with her back to the shuttered windows. She could hear the men preparing to leave, their hushed voices sounding to her like those of conspirators. Then Mario himself appeared in the dining room.
"I am sorry, Graziella. I was hoping to have everything completed before your return. Don Roberto was conducting international transactions. I am not the only lawyer involved with the businesses, so we had a lot of work to do. They will be handling all the American issues."
She had never seen Mario so hesitant. He looked guilty, mopping his brow with a silk handkerchief. "They have removed only the files necessary-"
She stared at her folded hands. "Perhaps in the future you would be kind enough to warn me if you require access to my husband's study."
"Of course, but I doubt if I will have to intrude again. Forgive me."
He bent to kiss Graziella's cheek, but she averted her face. Hurriedly he retrieved his briefcase from the study, his eyes darting around the ransacked room, making sure there was no trace of incriminating documents. There was not one room in the villa that had not been thoroughly searched. Now he would begin the marathon job of assessing the Luciano holdings, knowing that many of the territories had already been taken over, that someone had already stepped into Roberto Luciano's shoes. He had known the moment he had been approached by the three men Graziella had just met.
Graziella watched Domino drive away before she picked up the heavy package of her husband's tapes. She carried it to the study desk and looked around. The room smelled of the men's cigar smoke and of charred papers… Sure enough, there in the grate were the telltale blackened scraps of paper.
Adina entered with a tray. She had prepared some soup and a small side dish of pasta. "You must eat, signora, just a little."
Graziella nodded, taking the tray and putting it down on the desk. "You may leave now. I can take this back to the kitchen."
"No, signora, I'll stay, if just to make sure you at least take a little soup."
"That will not be necessary, please leave me. And, Adina… in the future you show no one into my husband's study, no one, is that clear? This room will remain locked, no one is allowed in, do you understand?"
Adina closed the door quietly behind her. She paused, listening for the sound of cutlery being used, knowing that Graziella had not eaten for days. As if a ghost crossed her soul, she froze, hearing clearly the deep, warm tones of Don Roberto Luciano. She could not help crying out, and the study door opened.
Graziella's face was white with anger. "Leave me alone. Leave the house now."
Graziella stood in her husband's study, eyes closed, feeling the evening breeze as it dried the tears on her cheek, tears she made no effort to wipe away, as she listened to the don's voice.
"My name is Don Roberto Luciano. I give this statement on the eighth of February, 1987. I have certified evidence to prove that I am of a sane, healthy mind and have a witness to prove that these statements are given freely without any undue harassment or pressure from any quarter. I make these statements of my own will…"
His voice hurt her, pained her. But she had to listen, had to know what her husband knew and what she did not. She would hear exactly how her son had been murdered; she would hear, in those same, warm tones, another side of the man she thought she knew and loved. The eye-to-eye contact made Graziella recoil as if she had been punched in the heart, a reaction so strong that she snapped the silver crucifix chain in her hands.
Even after she returned home, she found no release from the shock. The choking feeling-as if she were being squeezed physically-persisted until she lay in her bed, hugging her husband's pillow. She prayed to Roberto, begged him to give her strength, and as if he were still alive, his strength encouraged her not to give up.
From then on Graziella hardened herself to sit through all the hours of the preliminary trials. And day by day Paul Carolla became more of an obsession with her; she had no interest in any of the other defendants. She sat, shrouded in her widow's weeds, waiting only for the day when Carolla would be brought to the stand. He joked to his guards that she was like a praying mantis, but she was getting to him. He turned his chair so that he could not see her.
Emanuel had made many excuses to delay the meeting with Graziella, but eventually he could no longer put it off. When she appeared at his office, he was impressed by her calmness. He assured her that Carolla would be convicted.
She removed her gloves carefully, straightening each finger, and folded them neatly in her lap. "Will he also be accused of destroying my family?"
"Signora, there is no evidence so far that he was involved in that tragedy. At the time he was in jail."
"He was also in jail when the little Paluso child was murdered, yet I believe he is suspected of ordering the killing. Is that not so?"
"I understand he has been questioned, yes."
"So is he to be accused of my family's murders?"
"If evidence is produced, it will necessitate a separate trial. You must realize, when it became known that Don Roberto was to testify, there would be many who would want to stop him."
"Did my husband's evidence incriminate others?"
Emanuel twisted the cap of his fountain pen on and off, then spoke with care. "He made no accusations against any other named party. He chose only to tell me the pertinent facts surrounding your son's death. He incriminated himself more than anyone else."
"Are you able to use the statements he made?"
The pen twisted and turned in his hands. "Without Don Roberto's presence the statements could be dismissed as circumstantial evidence. This also applies to the statement made by Lenny Cavataio. As I explained to your husband, all the evidence contained in the Cavataio statement was contested by the defense counsel as hearsay… Don Roberto knew this; it was the sole reason he chose to offer himself."
Graziella leaned forward, her black-gloved hand resting on the edge of his desk.
"First, I would like to have the tapes my husband made. Would that be possible?"
Emanuel nodded. They had been transcribed to computer files. But he was not prepared for her next words.
Sitting upright in her chair, her hands folded in her lap, she said, "I wish to offer myself in my husband's place. I am prepared to be a witness for the prosecution."
She paused, searching his face for a reaction, but all she saw was that the nervous hands twisting the fountain pen had become still. Emanuel rose from the desk and walked to the window. He parted the slats of the blind a fraction and peered out.
"Did you discuss the statements with your husband, Signora Luciano?"
"I did not need to. I am fully aware of the facts. I am prepared to be your witness; I am prepared to repeat in court everything my husband told you."