Rage Of Angels Part 39

The jury returned a verdict of not guilty on the charge of murder in the first degree and convicted Vasco Gamb.u.t.ti of manslaughter. It was a stunning defeat for District Attorney Di Silva, and the media were quick to announce another victory for Jennifer Parker.

"Wear your chiffon. It's a celebration," Michael told her.

They had dinner at a seafood restaurant in the Village. The restaurant owner sent over a bottle of rare champagne and Michael and Jennifer drank a toast.

"I'm very pleased."

Coming from Michael, it was an accolade.

He placed a small red-and-white-wrapped box in her hands. "Open it."

He watched as she untied the gold thread and removed the lid. In the box lay a large, square-cut emerald, surrounded by diamonds.

Jennifer stared at it. She started to protest. "Oh, Michael!" And she saw the look of pride and pleasure on his face.

"Michael-what am I going to do with you?"

And she thought: Oh, Jennifer, what am I going to do with you? Oh, Jennifer, what am I going to do with you?

"You need it for that dress." He placed the ring on the third finger of her left hand.

"I-I don't know what to say. I-thank you. It's really a celebration, isn't it!"

Michael grinned. "The celebration hasn't started yet. This is only the foreplay."

They were riding in the limousine on their way to an apartment that Michael kept uptown. Michael pressed a b.u.t.ton and raised the gla.s.s that separated the rear of the car from the driver.

We're locked away in our own little world, Jennifer thought. Michael's nearness excited her. Jennifer thought. Michael's nearness excited her.

She turned to look into his black eyes and he moved toward her and slid his hand along her thighs, and Jennifer's body was instantly on fire.

Michael's lips found hers and their bodies were pressed together. Jennifer felt the hard maleness of him and she slid down to the floor of the car. She began to make love to him, caressing him and kissing him until Michael began to moan, and Jennifer moaned with him, moving faster and faster until she felt the spasms of his body.

The celebration had begun.

Jennifer was thinking of the past now as she lay in bed in the hotel room in Tangier, listening to the sounds of Michael in the shower. She felt satisfied and happy. The only thing missing was her young son. She had thought of taking Joshua with her on some of her trips, but instinctively she wanted to keep him and Michael Moretti far away from each other. Joshua must never be touched by that part of her life. It seemed to Jennifer that her life was a series of compartments: There was Adam, there was her son and there was Michael Moretti. And each had to be kept separate from the others.

Michael walked out of the bathroom wearing only a towel. The hair on his body glistened from the dampness of the shower. He was a beautiful, exciting animal.

"Get dressed. We have work to do."

39.

It happened so gradually that it did not seem to be happening at all. It had begun with Vasco Gamb.u.t.ti, and shortly afterward Michael asked Jennifer to handle another case, then another, until soon it became a steady flow of cases.

Michael would call Jennifer and say, "I need your help, baby. One of my boys is having a problem."

And Jennifer was reminded of Father Ryan's words, A friend of mine has a bit of a problem. A friend of mine has a bit of a problem. Was there really any difference? America had come to accept the G.o.dfather syndrome. Jennifer told herself that what she was doing now was the same as what she had been doing all along. The truth was that there was a difference-a big difference. Was there really any difference? America had come to accept the G.o.dfather syndrome. Jennifer told herself that what she was doing now was the same as what she had been doing all along. The truth was that there was a difference-a big difference.

She was at the center of one of the most powerful organizations in the world.

Michael invited Jennifer to the farmhouse in New Jersey, where she met Antonio Granelli for the first time, and some of the other men in the Organization.

At a large table in the old-fas.h.i.+oned kitchen were Nick Vito, Arthur "Fat Artie" Scotto, Salvatore Fiore and Joseph Colella.

As Jennifer and Michael came in and stood in the doorway, listening, Nick Vito was saying, "...like the time I did a pound in Atlanta. I had a heavy H book goin'. This popcorn pimp comes up and tries to f.u.c.k me over 'cause he wants a piece of the action."

"Did you know the guy?" Fat Artie Scotto asked.

"What's to know? He wants to get his lights turned on. He tried to put the arm on me."

"On you? you?"

"Yeah. His head wasn't wrapped too tight."

"What'd you do?"

"Eddie Fratelli and me got him over in the ghinny corner of the yard and burned him. What the h.e.l.l, he was doin' bad time, anyway."

"Hey, whatever happened to Little Eddie?"

"He's doin' a dime at Lewisburg."

"What about his bandit? She was some cla.s.s act."

"Oh, yeah. I'd love to make her drawers."

"She's still got the hots for Eddie. Only the Pope knows why."

"I liked Eddie. He used to be an up-front guy."

"He went ape-s.h.i.+t. Speakin' of that, do you know who turned into a candy man...?"

Shop talk.

Michael grinned at Jennifer's puzzled reaction to the conversation and said, "Come on-I'll introduce you to Papa."

Antonio Granelli was a shock to Jennifer. He was in a wheelchair, a feeble skeleton of a man, and it was hard to imagine him as he once must have been.

An attractive brunette with a full figure walked into the room, and Michael said to Jennifer, "This is Rosa, my wife."

Jennifer had dreaded this moment. Some nights after Michael had left her-fulfilled in every way a woman could be-she had fought with a guilt that almost overpowered her. I don't want to hurt another woman. I'm stealing. I've got to stop this! I must! I don't want to hurt another woman. I'm stealing. I've got to stop this! I must! And, always, she lost the battle. And, always, she lost the battle.

Rosa looked at Jennifer with eyes that were wise. She knows, She knows, Jennifer thought. Jennifer thought.

There was a small awkwardness, and then Rosa said softly, "I'm pleased to meet you, Mrs. Parker. Michael tells me you're very intelligent."

Antonio Granelli grunted. "It's not good for a woman to be too smart. It's better to leave the brains to the men."

Michael said with a straight face, "I think of Mrs. Parker as a man, Papa."

They had dinner in the large, old-fas.h.i.+oned dining room.

"You sit next to me," Antonio Granelli commanded Jennifer.

Michael sat next to Rosa. Thomas Colfax, the consigliere, consigliere, sat opposite Jennifer and she could feel his animosity. sat opposite Jennifer and she could feel his animosity.

The dinner was superb. An enormous antipasto was served, and then pasta f.a.gioli. pasta f.a.gioli. There was a salad with garbanzo beans, stuffed mushrooms, veal There was a salad with garbanzo beans, stuffed mushrooms, veal piccata, piccata, linguini and baked chicken. It seemed that the dishes never stopped coming. linguini and baked chicken. It seemed that the dishes never stopped coming.

There were no visible servants in the house, and Rosa was constantly jumping up and clearing the table to bring in new dishes from the kitchen.

"My Rosa's a great cook," Antonio Granelli told Jennifer. "She's almost as good as her mother was. Hey, Mike?"

"Yes," Michael said politely.

"His Rosa's a wonderful wife," Antonio Granelli went on, and Jennifer wondered whether it was a casual remark or a warning.

Michael said, "You're not finis.h.i.+ng your veal."

"I've never eaten so much in my life," Jennifer protested.

And it was not over yet.

There was a bowl of fresh fruit and a platter of cheese, and ice cream with a hot fudge sauce, and candy and mints.

Jennifer marveled at how Michael managed to keep his figure.

The conversation was easy and pleasant and could have been taking place in any one of a thousand Italian homes, and it was hard for Jennifer to believe that this family was different from any other family.

Until Antonio Granelli said, "You know anythin' about the Unione Siciliana? Unione Siciliana?"

"No," Jennifer said.

"Let me tell you about it, lady."

"Pop-her name is Jennifer."

"That's not no Italian name, Mike. It's too hard for me to remember. I'll call you lady, lady. Okay?"

"Okay," Jennifer replied.

"The Unione Siciliana Unione Siciliana started in Sicily to protect the poor against injustices. See, the people in power, they robbed the poor. The poor had nothin'-no money, no jobs, no justice. So the started in Sicily to protect the poor against injustices. See, the people in power, they robbed the poor. The poor had nothin'-no money, no jobs, no justice. So the Unione Unione was formed. When there was injustice, people came to the members of the secret brotherhood and they got vengeance. Pretty soon the was formed. When there was injustice, people came to the members of the secret brotherhood and they got vengeance. Pretty soon the Unione Unione became stronger than the law, because it was the became stronger than the law, because it was the people's people's law We believe in what the Bible says, lady." He looked Jennifer in the eye. "If anyone betrays us, we get vengeance." law We believe in what the Bible says, lady." He looked Jennifer in the eye. "If anyone betrays us, we get vengeance."

The message was unmistakable.

Jennifer had always known instinctively that if she ever worked for the Organization she would be taking a giant step, but like most outsiders, she had a misconception of what the Organization was like. The Mafia was generally depicted as a bunch of mobsters sitting around ordering people murdered and counting the money from loan-sharking and wh.o.r.ehouses. That was only a part of the picture. The meetings Jennifer attended taught her the rest of it: These were businessmen operating on a scale that was staggering. They owned hotels and banks, restaurants and casinos, insurance companies and factories, building companies and chains of hospitals. They controlled unions and s.h.i.+pping. They were in the record business and sold vending machines. They owned funeral parlors, bakeries and construction companies. Their yearly income was in the billions. How they had acquired those interests was none of Jennifer's concern. It was her job to defend those of them who got into trouble with the law.

Robert Di Silva had three of Michael Moretti's men indicted for shaking down a group of lunch wagons. They were charged with conspiracy to interfere with commerce by extortion and seven counts of interference with commerce. The only witness willing to testify against the men was a woman who owned one of the stands.

"She's going to blow us away," Michael told Jennifer. "She's got to be handled."

"You own a piece of a magazine publis.h.i.+ng company, don't you?" Jennifer asked.

"Yes. What does that have to do with lunch wagons?"

"You'll see."

Jennifer quietly arranged for the magazine to offer a large sum of money for the witness's story. The woman accepted. In court, Jennifer used that to discredit the woman's motives, and the charges were dismissed.