Somehow, she thought, without her sister here and without her parents approval, it would be quite different. And she wondered again if she’d made a mistake by accepting this job.
It wasn’t until later that evening, while at home and relaxing on the sofa with Michael, that she turned on the television to CNN and learned of the explosion that killed two members of the De Cicco crime Family.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
Antonio De Cicco heard the bitch before he saw her.
In the intensive care unit at St. Vincent’s Hospital, he was sitting at Mario’s bedside, holding his hand, when he heard her voice coming from beyond the closed door. She was firm in her demands to see his son, reminding those doctors and nurses on duty that her father built a children’s wing on this hospital and that if they didn’t let her see Mario now, she would have their jobs by the end of the night.
Angrily, Antonio looked away from the network of tubes coursing through his son’s body and knew that because of Leana Redman, he had lost his daughter-in-law, lost the Family’s trusted lawyer, who was his cousin, and nearly lost his son.
The pain he felt earlier dissolved into fury and resolve. He would crush her, just as he promised Lucia he would.
And yet he couldn’t-at least not here. If he made any scene, any threats in public, there would be witnesses-and the D.A., a man who for years had been waiting to lock his ass behind bars, would be on him the moment Leana Redman was murdered at the opening of The Hotel Fifth.
He sat in thought for several moments, now only dimly aware of the bitch’s presence and her frequently raised voice, before making his decision and reaching for the call button at his son’s side.
He pushed it and waited. When the nurse arrived, he caught a brief glimpse of Leana Redman before the door to his son’s room closed. She was standing at the nurse’s station, her back to him and she was gesticulating with her hands, arguing with one of the doctors.
“Yes, Mr. De Cicco?”
With an effort, Antonio stood and became aware of the trepidation in the young woman’s eyes. “I hear a woman shouting about my son,” he said calmly. “What’s the problem?”
The nurse seemed perplexed. “It’s Leana Redman, sir. She wants to see him.”
“And you won’t let her. That why she’s shouting?”
The woman nodded. “Only the immediate family is allowed to visit.”
“Then throw her the fuck out.”
The woman moved to speak, but then hesitated. “It’s her father,” she said. “He’s done so much for the hospital. We’re afraid that if we do-”
“She’s disturbing the patients,” De Cicco said evenly. “Don’t tell me you’re gonna allow that?” He saw that’s exactly what they planned to do and felt a sharp pulse at his temples.
“Maybe I should speak to her myself,” he said, coming around the bed and moving to the door. “Stay with my son. I’ll be back.”
She was not the same person he remembered from two years ago.
As he stepped out of the room and moved into the corridor, Leana turned to him and he was struck at once by the change in her. Her skin was pale beneath the fluorescent lights, her features were sharpened by age, and there was a wise determination in her eyes that made him pause. She hadn’t possessed that before.
As he neared her, Leana faced him with a defiance that was almost surprising in its strength. Resolve burned in her eyes. Her voice was firm when she spoke. “I’m not leaving until I see him, Antonio.”
She was in love with his son. The woman had just gotten married and yet she was in love with his son. He could see it on her face, hear it in her voice and he was appalled at her nerve. Did she really believe she could tell him what to do? Order him around like he was one of her servants? He felt sick with his loathing of her-and yet his features remained impassive.
“Here’s the deal, cunt. You’re gonna be waiting awhile-like fuckin' forever. You’re not seeing my son.” He looked at the doctor, an older man standing beside Leana. “She has no right to be here,” he said. “If she enters that room, I’ll sue you and this hospital. Is that understood?”
The doctor had no choice but to agree.
Antonio looked at Leana, saw the pain on her face, the hatred in her eyes and wondered if Lucia was right. He wondered if this Redman bitch was sleeping with Mario.
“You’re not wanted here,” he said to her. “Go home to your husband.”
As he walked away, her death came to him.
He had an image of her standing in the center of a crowd, shining, immaculate, her eyes brilliant and glinting in the torrent of cameras flashing in her face, her voice clear and confident as she gave the speech he had been told about that morning.
And then he saw her lifting into the air, toward the chandeliers, her face crumpling as it rose into the halo of her own blood, the hail of bullets ripping from the rear of the room and mangling what had once been her head.
Behind him, her voice was high and thin: “Antonio-”
But De Cicco already was in his son’s room. The door swung shut behind him. For now, he was through with her.
Michael stared at the man standing in his entryway, stunned by the drastic change in his appearance, certain he couldn’t have heard him right. “What did you just say?”
The man, who had flown from L.A. to see Michael, put a finger to his lips and motioned for Michael to follow him out of the apartment and into the hallway. “Hurry,” he whispered. “My plane leaves in an hour and I’m not missing it for you. I’m tired of this bullshit. Your father’s fucking crazy. I’m out of here.”
Suddenly wary, Michael followed the man to the end of the hall, where there was an illumined wall of elevators, a window that overlooked Manhattan and a tall, potted plant that gleamed as though it had just been waxed.
The man went to the window, leaned against it and lit a cigarette. He drew deeply on it, the smoke lifting like a veil in front of his face. His name was Bill Jennings and he was Michael’s business manager-a man Michael hadn’t seen or heard from him since the banks foreclosed on him.
“What’s going on, Bill?” he asked. “You’re not exactly putting me at ease.”
The man exhaled a cloud of smoke. “We can’t talk in your apartment,” he said. “The fucker probably has it bugged. If I hadn’t shaved off my beard and dyed my hair blond, I wouldn’t be standing here right now.”
Michael was losing his patience. “What are you talking about? And what’s this about Santiago?”
The man couldn’t look Michael in the eyes. “He doesn’t exist” he said simply. “There is no Stephano Santiago. Your father made him up to scare you. For the past year, Louis has been making me skim money from your accounts so it would look as if you’d gone broke. He made me suggest that you try gambling at one of his casinos when the banks finally foreclosed. He knew you’d lose and he knew that you’d eventually go running to him once he made you believe the casino was Mafia-controlled.”
There was a tension in the air, a disturbance in the silence. The man glanced at Michael, saw the disbelief on his face and screwed up his own. “Ah, shit, Michael. Santiago doesn’t own Aura-your father does, at least part of it. He arranged for you to be offered that loan, knowing you’d be scared shitless when you lost it all and had to pay back a man by the name of Stephano Santiago. He’s been planning this from the start.”
It wasn’t possible.
Michael thought of the call he received only that morning, the call warning him to do as his father asked and kill George Redman. And then he thought of his dog. “But my dog,” he said to Bill. “Santiago killed him. He left a note saying he’d do the same to me if I didn’t come up with the money.”
