Mercenary (Gangsters of New York #3) - Bella Di Corte Page 0,62
family will be thrilled, since we didn’t attend the wedding.”
“The pleasure is all mine,” I said.
He nodded and then released my hand. He gestured toward the waiting car. “We will talk on the way.”
The conversation was general on the way to Corrado’s grandfather’s house. We would be attending the funeral the next day, even though it was reported to be the day after. The family did not want the press coverage.
“Tito arranged the—” Uncle Carmine looked at me and then cleared his throat “—meeting with Silvio on the day the funeral is supposed to be held.”
Corrado squeezed my hand at this. I had not realized that my palms had gone cold until he did.
Uncle Carmine pulled something out of his suit pocket. A smallish box. He handed it to Corrado from across the car. Corrado opened it. It was a ring made for the little finger, with a “C” stamped into the gold.
Corrado stared at it, not removing it from the box.
“Your grandfather was going to give you that,” he said. “As you know, it was his. Something special to him.”
Uncle Carmine watched as Corrado slipped it on. Something about it satisfied the old man. He did not say the words, maybe because I was in the car, but I could hear them as if he had spoken them out loud.
“Welcome home, Don Capitani.”
It was the only official act I’d probably ever see.
Corrado took my hand, and none of us spoke again as we made our way deeper into the city that never sleeps.
Black iron gates opened after the car pulled into the drive. A second after we were through, they closed automatically. I had a burning urge to turn around and look, to see if there was a way out once in. I held my face straight, though, my eyes rising to meet the towering mansion that grew bigger the closer we came to it.
In this affluent area of Staten Island, it seemed a place by itself, with hardly any other “houses” around. The land was protected on all sides, leaving this mansion to stand on its own.
The driver took the turn around a horseshoe driveway, Corrado’s side facing the front door, and parked.
Corrado kept my hand tightly in his as we made our way inside.
The furniture and the decorations were all something that reminded me of my nonna’s house, except the feeling in this…mansion…was completely different. I did not feel warm, but almost chilled to the bone. I used my free hand to rub my arm, thankful for the long sleeves.
The lights were dim, candles burned in numerous areas, and I could hear whimpers, but I could not tell where they were coming from.
Corrado led us to the kitchen, where his nonna sat, wearing all black, dabbing her eyes with a tissue. When her eyes met his, she whispered, “They killed him in cold blood.”
I stood back when he went to her, and I was faced with an entire kitchen full of women who stared at me harder than the men who had come to welcome their new Don home. One in particular, a plain-looking woman who tried too hard not to be, stared at me with red-rimmed eyes that were more evil than sorrowful.
As I did with the men, I looked at each one of them, letting them know that I was not intimidated.
“Alcina.”
Then and only then, when Corrado’s nonna called my name, did I look away.
She wiped her eyes and then stood to embrace me. She and I had gotten along when I had met her for our wedding. She seemed like a decent woman with a good heart.
“Alcina.” She patted my cheeks, her hands cold. “I’m so glad you came.” She glanced at Corrado, but her eyes quickly returned to mine.
I took her hand in mine, trying to warm it up some. “I am so sorry about your husband,” I whispered.
Her eyes filled with tears. She nodded at me. “Thank you,” she said. Then, with a few women following her, she left the kitchen. I could hear their footsteps moving up the stairs.
Corrado took my hand again, his face hard, and we followed the women.
A picture at the top of the stairs stopped me from going any further. It was a picture done in oil of three girls. I ran a finger along the elegant gold rim and then looked up. Corrado was staring down at me from the top of the stairs.
“My aunts,” he said, his voice gruff. “My mother.”