The Price of Honor: The Making of a Man Page 11

  The opposite was true for the families. The loss of income brought on by the improved economic state was part of the reason for the influx of illegal drugs. If people didn’t have a reason to borrow money, drugs gave them one. The plan was simple: give people a motive that didn’t go away and a need that continued to grow. Supply them with an addiction that required feeding at any expense.

  Drugs were similar to gambling, with the added physiological dependence. It wasn’t only the psyche that needed, but the body itself.

  Carmine’s mindset to stay clear of heroin was keeping the Costellos out of the fray, but the fallout was potentially too big to avoid. The increased stress on the street as well as in meetings was palpable. Thursday nights were growing tenser with each passing week. Though recently the Luchis had shouldered the brunt of the arrests, within each family there was the potential of unrest. The grand jury that Carmine had talked about came to pass. Thankfully, the Costellos were left unscathed. No subpoenas. Nevertheless, there was a sense lingering in the air that the luck wouldn’t last forever.

  Some of Carmine’s capos were talking. Though no one dared go against the boss, there was discontent with the perceived loss of income. It was true that many of the Luchis were paying the price for the drugs, but it was also evident that over the water in New Jersey there was an income stream difficult to miss.

  Courtesy of Gioconda’s uncertainty, I was on the outside looking in. Even from my view, it didn’t take a mind reader to know what was happening. Angelina kept me up to date on the local and national news. And then there were the less obvious signs: the exchanged looks and terse greetings. On Sunday afternoons, I was supplied with just enough information to feed and fuel my concerns.

  Soldiers were being watched while others had gone missing. The stakes were too high for insubordination, and as tensions built, everyone was suspect.

  There was even talk of defection. It seemed unfathomable that it could happen from one of the made men, but the idea of a soldier breaking ranks to earn more money was a valid possibility. If one man thought he could earn more or advance faster with the Luchis or Bonettis or...the list went on, then what was to stop him?

  And yet that defection could also come with secrets, ones that no family wanted shared with another. In my mind, it was the reason for some of the recent MIA.

  Dead men didn’t talk.

  This unease was what propelled me to ask for around-the-clock security for Angelina. I didn’t know how Morelli took it, and the deal was costing me a fortune—after all, Testa was losing out on some of Morelli’s income. Nevertheless, Franco Testa willingly took the position I offered. Perhaps it had helped that the offer didn’t come from me. One doesn’t simply tell Carmine no. That went for Testa and Morelli. It was a relief to know that I could assure Angelina’s safety at any hour of the day or night, no matter where I was or if I was delayed. The money it cost paled in comparison to the sense of security.

  “Pop,” Vincent said on Sunday afternoon in Carmine’s home office, “the family’s strong.”

  “Yes,” Carmine replied, moving his gaze between Vincent and me. “Precautions. I think it’s time.”

  I bided my time, listening more than speaking.

  “Precautions?” Vincent asked. “Gioconda says we should keep it steady.”

  Carmine nodded, taking a puff of his cigar and blowing it out as he leaned back. “I know what he thinks. I think too.

  “Talk to us, Oren,” Carmine said, turning to me. “It’s been nearly nine months since your wedding. Word is that Peterson only gave you a glance. He moved on.”

  “The Luchis are more exciting to watch than I am,” I said, relieved that it was true.

  “Good. Luchi may be exciting, but exciting is also stupid. I told Ricardo that.” Carmine swatted away the smoke encircling him. “He ignored me. Now look. He said I live in the past, and we need to change with the times. That’s where Gioconda was right. It’s also where he’s wrong.” He looked at me. “The times...they’re good to you, right?”

  I wasn’t confident enough to know what Carmine was thinking—or even saying. All I could do was answer honestly. “Yes. I’ve done as you said. Demetri Enterprises is clean and growing.”

  Clean was a relative term, and in relative terms, Demetri was clean.

  It wasn’t spotless, but nothing was.

  I still owned property used for illegal activities. I no longer collected the daily or nightly receipts, but I still collected my share of the tax—a considerably smaller share than went to Carmine. The extra money went into the books as rent or filtered in under other possible earning streams. Everything balanced. Even if the feds created a storm, I’d have no red flags waving for their attention.

  “But more money is always needed?” he asked.

  I shrugged. “Of course. That’s the goal.”

  “Taking care of our Angelina and now your child, that’s the goal?”

  “Yes.”

  “Enjoy sleep while you can,” Vincent interjected, momentarily derailing the serious tone of the conversation. After all, this was Sunday afternoon, not Thursday night. The three of us were family in the true sense of the word.

  Carmine smirked with a quick nod of his chin. “You didn’t let your momma or me sleep either. Karma, sì, it’s true.”

  Vincent laughed. “It’s worth it. He’s going to be a little me. Strong. So strong already. A fighter. I know it.”

  I sat back and listened as Vincent and Carmine extolled the attributes of Vincent’s recently born son, Luca. I wasn’t sure how at merely a month old, Luca’s potential was a certainty to his father and grandfather, but to hear them talk, the two of them already had his résumé and future all figured out. I couldn’t help but think about the conversations Angelina and I had. Many nights we stayed up late in our bed talking about her concerns—rightful concerns—over our child’s future.

  We didn’t know the sex, so a daughter was still possible. However, Angelina was proof that a daughter didn’t assure a reprieve from the business of the Costello family.

  She’d experienced the devastating side as a child. As we looked out into our future, neither of us wanted that for our sons or daughters. Especially with the current sense of another war permeating the air.

  My fears regarding Angelina the night I couldn’t reach her may be considered by some as nonsense. Women and children were respected. It’s the way of the LCN. Yet times were changing, including the respectability and honor. Often the unsuspecting or innocent were used as a warning. That was what had happened with Angelina’s mother. What better warning to Carmine than to harm two of his own.

  Bella and Angelina, as well as Luca and our child, were vulnerable. It was fact.

  The reason we didn’t yet know the gender of our unborn child was because when the doctor asked if she wanted to know, Angelina declined. Like many other recent disappointments, that was my fault. I was supposed to have been present at the appointment, but instead, it was Franco who drove her. A meeting I had scheduled for an hour ran longer than expected. The dividend was impressive. It was a proposal to purchase a foundering chain of restaurants, a fast-food chain. The last thing I was interested in was the fast-food business, but the underlying potential was too good to cut the meeting short. The real estate alone was invaluable.

  That didn’t matter to my wife. To her it was simple. Once again, I’d failed. Though an ultrasound wasn’t an entirely reliable procedure to discern gender, the technicians or doctors usually tried their best. However, since I wasn’t present at the appointment, Angelina chose to not learn what they might have assessed. She said she’d wait, and we’d find out together when our baby came into this world.

  Into this world.

  There was so much meaning in that simple phrase.

  This planet.

  This continent.

  This country.

  This city.

  This family.

  This world.

  We’d stayed true t
o our decision to attempt to break the chain of family expectancy for our child in another way. Instead of following tradition in naming our son or daughter, Angelina scanned books of baby names. She vowed that our child would have his or her own unique name, one that would give choices, not repeat the ways of those who came before.

  We’d mentioned our possibilities to Rose and Carmine. Though they didn’t know our reasoning, they chose not to argue with their niece, and for that I was elated.

  “Oren.” Carmine’s deep voice brought me back to reality.

  “Yes, sorry. I was thinking about our baby.”

  He smiled and nodded. “More family. It’s what a man dreams of. I wish my brother were here to see his daughter and grandchild. Angelina is beautiful. You make her happy. I see it in her eyes.”

  I knew the answer was ‘not recently, I hadn’t.’

  Among my many failures, I hadn’t kept my promise about calling before missing a dinner. I could say I tried, but then she’d ask me how difficult it was to pick up a phone. She was right. If only each fight ended like the one a few months back.

  They didn’t.

  Recently, I’d even found our bedroom door locked when I arrived home after eleven o’clock. It’s an old house. I didn’t doubt that I could kick it in, but then again, it would need to be repaired. Another purchase in our future was a new couch. The one we owned was fine for sitting, but it didn’t work well for sleeping an entire night.

  Instead of answering Carmine truthfully, I opted for a Costello enigma—answer in riddles. “She’s radiant. She makes me happy, and I do my best.”

  “It’s not easy when you never know what to expect,” Vincent said, shaking his head. “Since you took my advice from before, and you remember...” His eyebrows moved up and down. “Here’s more. Don’t expect those hormones to calm down as soon as the baby’s born. I’m not sure Bella will ever be totally happy again.”

  “You’ll figure it out,” Carmine said dismissively. “They’re women. Buy her something nice. Now, back to what I was saying: Ricardo Luchi is stupid. It starts at the top. He makes mistakes and takes chances. It moves down the line. That’s what they’ve done. They’re hurting us all.

  “The Costellos, we’ve been smart. We need to stay smart. Because of their mistakes, the feds...they’re watching everyone. Wires and invasion of privacy.” His palm slapped the desk. “It’s like this isn’t America anymore. That’s why other than Evviva’s, we talk here. No one gets in here to plant bugs—and makes it out. We take no chances of being overheard.” He looked to Vincent. “Remember that.

  “I worry that Ricardo’s carelessness will affect more of us. We’ve talked—the others and myself. I’m not alone in these concerns. There’s unrest all around, like I haven’t felt since Angelo, God rest his soul.”

  I sat taller at the sound of Angelina’s father’s name.

  “I’ve decided,” Carmine went on, “that for our family, it’s time to invest in the future.”

  “Invest?” I asked. “Do you want me to help?”

  “You’re family. I don’t need to ask.”

  “No,” I replied. “I’m offering. How can I help?”

  “Invest in Demetri.”

  “I am. I have been.”

  “No, we will,” Carmine said. “Some cash invested here and there. Vincent and I spoke about the different companies you own or have a piece of...so many. It’s perfect. Many people have one or two. You have many. The bigger ones, keep completely out of everything at this point. Too easy to alert someone. It’s the small ones for now. And we have friends. What Bonetti said you did for him, we know you didn’t. But this won’t be one balloon. We have a fucking factory full—a goddamn circus.

  “The clean ones, they can help our friends. But the books must remain spotless. Those will be the businesses the feds watch. Let them watch. They’ll find nothing.”

  I knew enough about money laundering to understand how Demetri could help. His request didn’t surprise me. I’d been warned it was coming. I guess I was just happy it had waited.

  That was the past.

  Game on. It was my court and Carmine’s ball. The only objective was to win.

  Time continued to tick away and before long, snowflakes and cold replaced the green grass and humidity. The one-year anniversary of our wedding was an occasion of celebration. Despite the continued unrest, Carmine insisted that it be a family affair. Along with him, Rose, Vincent, Bella, and Luca, Angelina and I appeared the happy close family as we dined at Giovanni’s, the small family Italian restaurant where I’d proposed. It wasn’t only appearance. We were family, and it was getting increasingly difficult to know who to trust.

  Although I knew Angelina was concerned about the tension, she was absolutely radiant in her emerald green dress with the high waist that did little to hide our nearly nine-months-along, growing beach ball of a baby.

  “Mio angelo,” I whispered as Carmine raised his glass of wine. “Have I told you today you’re gorgeous and I love you?”

  Her smile bloomed. “Tesoro, you are my only love.”

  I laid my palm over her stomach. “Not for long.”

  Our baby pushed against my hand, causing both of us to smile.

  “To family,” Carmine said, his cheeks glowing in the flickering candlelight as he looked about the table.

  We all lifted our glasses.

  “I look around, and my heart is full,” he said as he toasted. “Two years ago, Bella and Oren weren’t part of us. A year ago, we didn’t have Luca. And soon...” He smiled toward Angelina and I. “Another baby. Our Angel, I know that your parents are smiling. I know my brother. He’s celebrating in heaven with us tonight.”

  I squeezed my wife’s hand as we all drank.

  It may have been an outward sign of our family unity, but Carmine had also taken precautions. The usual crowd was missing. We had the entire restaurant to ourselves. Throughout the evening, the wine and food continued to be served as Giovanni made sure everyone was happy, and no one went without.

  It was difficult to not feel the surroundings for what they were, a private family celebration. Despite the costs currently being paid in the field—the loss of some recent soldiers and even what Carmine was asking me to do with Costello funds—this, sitting around this table with Angelina by my side, was what I’d wanted. As Luca slept in his mother’s and then his grandmother’s arms, I knew that despite our concerns, I wanted this sense of belonging for our son or daughter, too.

  When the evening finally ended and as I helped Angelina with her coat, Carmine tipped his head to the side hallway.

  “Give me a minute,” I whispered in Angelina’s ear.

  She smiled, holding Luca as Bella gathered the array of items they’d brought with them, which by the way, seemed like an extraordinary amount. We’d learn soon enough if all of it was necessary.

  “Watch over her,” Carmine said in his deep stage whisper.

  I nodded.

  “No,” Carmine said. “I know the baby’s coming. Stay with her. I trust Testa, but yet I don’t. Right now...we don’t know. Stay close. Be ready. I have a meeting next week. Things...” He looked around. “...I can’t say, but nothing is as important as my family. Besides Testa, Vincent will find you a few more. He has Dante watching Bella and Luca. We all need to know our backs are being watched.”

  I knew I couldn’t ask for particulars, but that didn’t stop the questions from forming. All I knew with some certainty was that the pot of New York families had been simmering and the boil was coming.

  Testa pulled the car to the curb as snow fell, melting on the concrete. I scanned the buildings across the street and up and down the block, not knowing if it was better with fewer people on the street in the winter or worse. The glow of the streetlights as the white fluffy flakes fell left me chilled in a way weather never had.

  I’d managed to postpone a few meetings. Christmas was approaching and everyone’s schedules were affected. It wasn’t until a li
ttle over a week later when I woke early one morning to Angelina’s distant cries that my world went out of kilter.

  I patted the empty bed beside me, sitting up and looking about our dark bedroom. “Angelina!”

  “I-in here...”

  I jumped from the warm blankets and hurried toward the bathroom. With the door partially opened, I found Angelina kneeling on the floor, a dampened towel in her hand.

  “What?”

  Her eyes opened wide just before her face scrunched in pain.

  I fell to my knees. The floor was slippery yet sticky. “What is it?”

  “I think it was my water.”

  “Your water?”

  “Oren, my water broke. Our baby’s coming.”

  I couldn’t imagine what it was like to give birth. All I knew with some certainty was that watching the woman you love, the person who means the most to you in this world, in pain was possibly one of the worst experiences of my adult life—and it had a lot of competition.

  I’d go without sleep. I’d drive Vincent to a location, knowing that I didn’t want to see what happened within. I’d sit under the dark stare of Carmine Costello. Hell, I’d do anything, sell anything, or buy anything, to take away her pain.

  “Mio angelo,” I said, hours after we’d arrived at the hospital, holding her hand and standing beside the hospital bed in her delivery room. “Take the epidural. Please, I don’t want you to hurt.”

  Perspiration covered her face as I used a cool cloth to wipe her forehead.

  She shook her head. “I can’t. It’s too late now. They say I’m too far.”

  I’d taken the classes, well most of them. I understood the biology, but if there was medicine to help her, one that didn’t hurt the baby, why couldn’t she have it? They’d offered it to her earlier, but now it was obvious her pain was worse. “What do you mean, too far?”

  Her grip of my hand intensified.

  There was a wide belt around her midsection, its purpose to measure things within. The baby’s heart rate was on a television screen as well as a Richter kind of chart, similar to one that measured seismic activity. Currently, the little line was going up and up.