BELLA MAFIA Read Online Free PDF Page A

that."
    "She's a lawyerl Teresa knows the import licenses better than me!" He sighed, knowing he had no comeback. "Ah, what the hell, I never wanted to be in New York. You think this kid Emilio's gonna take my place?"
    His brother gave no answer.
    Filippo was close to tears. "Papa never contacts me. He's been in New York and not even called to see me, and now this . . . No matter what I've done wrong, I should have been part of this Lenny business." He began to weep. "I remember, I remember that night when he told us . . . about Michael."
    Filippo was referring to the night six weeks after Michael's death, when their father had discovered Constantino's intention of marrying Sophia. Constantino had begun to call on her without his father's permission and, while Don Roberto was away from home, had brought Sophia to the villa. None of them had been prepared for their father's rage.
    His fury terrified them and centered on the fact that they had allowed a stranger, albeit a young girl, into the house. It was against the rules; no one outside the immediate family was ever allowed within the walls of the family home. The don's anger had become a tirade against his sons. Apparently out of control, he had ranted and raved until, finally, he had told them the truth about their adored elder brother, Michael.
    The two brothers sat silent now, immersed in their memories of that night. Michael had been their hero, their champion, their shining example. He was not only athletic but academically brilliant, and to his father's pride he had won a coveted place at Harvard. But then he had, mysteriously, returned home halfway through his second year. They had believed he was suffering from a virus. On the night of his return he had collapsed and been rushed to the hospital. Weeks later he was sent to the mountains to recuperate, but he never came back. The virus, they had been told, had killed him.
    He had been buried with a funeral befitting the eldest son of a don. The grief had consumed them all and darkened the house. Their mother had been bereft, and their beloved papa had changed before their eyes. His head of thick black hair had turned gray overnight; the lines of his face had deepened with pain. But worst of all was his frightening silence. It had lasted until the night they both remembered, the night he had released before them such anguish it had struck them dumb with fear.
    He had told them at last that Michael Luciano had been murdered. The so-called virus was a heroin addiction, carefully arranged by Paul Carolla because Don Roberto Luciano had persistently refused to cooperate with him, refused to use his legitimate export company as a cover. Luciano had told Constantino and Filippo that they were as vulnerable as Michael. Michael was a warning.
    The don had initiated his sons that night, teaching them the codes of the Mafia. He had told them, without emotion, how many had already paid the price for their involvement in Michael's murder, had urged them to keep their brother's soul alive in their hearts, never to forget the need to make his killers pay. He had made them promise never to tell their mother what had taken place that night or how her beloved firstborn son had died.
    In confirmation of their obedience, they had kissed the ring worn by their father, the ring that Paul Carolla coveted. But when he had drawn them into his arms, they had felt only terror.
    Filippo's shoulders shook as he wept. Constantino tried to comfort him.
    "Look, they got Carolla banged up on so many charges the odds are stacked against him. He'll never get free. They'll drop the murder rap against him, but in the end he's finished. Maybe it'll let Michael's ghost rest in peace. I hope so because if you want the truth, I've had him on my shoulder too long."
    "I thought I was the only one who felt like that, like I had to live up to him and I was never good enough. I thought it was just me. . . . You know, it got so bad I hated him."
    Constantino opened