I thought you were only running away from yourself,” he said gently. “But in reality you’re running away from the ghost of Costanza.”
She said nothing until, at long last, he hung up.
LYCAON’S CURSE
“MATTIA IS DEAD,” SAID Alessandro that evening, before Rosa could say a word about her conversation with Trevini.
She was holding a steaming double espresso, not her first of the day, and her whole body felt as if creatures of some kind were scrabbling under her skin.
They were standing on the terrace of the Palazzo Alcantara, with its panoramic view over the olive groves and out to the west. The tall palm fronds rising to the sky in front of the stone balustrade rustled in the darkness, and the pump of the swimming pool gurgled quietly, the light of the underwater lamps bathing part of the west facade in wavering brightness. The mild evening air was filled with the song of the cicadas.
“They found his body yesterday,” said Alessandro. “Burnt, lying in a Dumpster.”
“In Crown Heights.”
“You know about it?”
“Trevini called. He told me.”
Slowly, he nodded. “And of course he tried to pin the blame on me.”
Rosa emptied her cup of coffee in a single gulp, and placed it on the top of the balustrade. “Is he right? Did you have anything to do with it?”
“You’ve already asked me that question. And I answered you.”
“Were you telling the truth?”
“Would you sooner believe Trevini than me?”
“Oh, come on. I can’t just leave it hovering in the air between us.”
He sighed gently and looked out at the plain again. The countryside was almost immersed in night. Miles away, the lights of a village glinted. Up in the starlit sky, the signal beams of a solitary airplane blinked on and off as it flew silently north.
“When I told you that I had nothing to do with the assassinations, you said—”
“I said it was too bad. I know.”
“Did you mean it?”
She nodded without hesitation. “Do you think I’ve never wished them dead? I’ve hoped, often enough, that they’d perish miserably.”
“It’s possible that Mattia was still alive when they set fire to him.”
She took his hand, and gently drew him close. “He wasn’t there. Mattia wasn’t one of them.”
“What makes you so sure?”
Could she be sure? What would she see on the second video? Who would she recognize? Only Michele and Tano? At the moment, she wasn’t certain if she would ever watch it.
Alessandro’s gaze was grave and dark. “Did you ask Mattia? Or did he deny it on his own?”
“Neither.”
“Then you don’t know that he was innocent.”
“He saved my life!”
“And I’m not responsible for his death. Whatever Trevini claims.”
Had she really thought that Alessandro was lying to her? She fought down her guilt. “Okay,” she said after a while. “Who was it, then?”
His expression told her that he was reluctant to give her the truth. Rosa saw the trouble in his eyes. She stroked his hair and kissed him, just because all of a sudden she felt like it.
“The Hungry Man,” he said.
“I thought he was still in prison.”
“As if that ever stopped any capo from handing out death sentences.”
“But why would he do that? What business of his are your American relations?”
“His business is mainly to do with me.”
She stared at him. The grief in his eyes, the sorrow in his voice touched her. And slowly, she began to see where all this was going.
“The Hungry Man will soon be out of prison,” he went on. “That’s not just rumor; it’s only a matter of time. Someone in high places—very high places—has seen to it that the inquiry into his appeal was reopened. And everyone can guess the outcome.”
The Hungry Man—everyone called him that; no one used his true name—had been the predecessor of Salvatore Pantaleone, the capo dei capi whom Rosa had known. For decades he had ruled the Sicilian Mafia with an iron fist, until he was brought to trial and imprisoned almost thirty years ago. He had been as good as forgotten for a long time, and then, a few years earlier, new rumors began circulating. Ever since, it had been said that the return of the Hungry Man was imminent, that he had influential allies in all the European centers of power, people who ensured that the verdicts condemning him for the worst of his crimes were overturned and sentences for the other charges shortened. Pantaleone was dead; the position of capo dei capi was vacant. Who would be the new boss of bosses? Power struggles were going on