Chapter 1
On a cold afternoon in November, near the small town of Regaleali on the island of Sicily, five black town cars approached a handsome villa. The chauffeurs drove slowly down the narrow road leading to the entry in order not to cause billowing contrails of white dust behind their vehicles and draw attention to their arrivals. This was a scheduled meeting of men powerful enough to require maximum security around all facets of their comings and goings. The choice of November as a good time for the meeting was deliberate, inasmuch as this was the least-popular tourist season and they had less chance of being noticed.
In the midst of hectares of thick vines of various types of grapes, at the end of the narrow dirt road bordered by the flourishing bougainvillea, jasmine, roses and geraniums, rested a handsome pale cream stucco villa usually rented for a week or longer by wealthy tourists. Rosemarie, the great-great-granddaughter of one of the original Cusumano families, was the owner and the manager of the vineyard and the villa, as well as being in charge of preparing the exceptional cuisine. She was also extremely protective of her customers, accepting only cash from patrons who were lucky enough to be accepted as guests. She made every effort to make certain they were treated like royalty during their stay. The better she accommodated her visitors, the happier were their memories and the sooner they returned. Her reputation for the utmost discretion was also well received.
Rosemarie lived alone on the secluded family estate, in a large apartment right off the entry baglio or courtyard, in which grew a giant magnolia tree that bloomed every spring filling the entire area with its redolent perfume. She liked to say her great-grandmother planted that tree even though she wasn’t certain of that, but it made a good story for the tourists. Every year she repainted the bright, cobalt blue glider-swing and the matching tables and chairs inviting lively conversation before and after one of her elegant meals. Royal blue pots of bright yellow daisies and marguerites smiled from all corners of the meticulously swept courtyard and nodded in the soft wind. Nearly all of Rosemarie’s clientele were repeat customers, particularly the five heavy-set men who were gradually filling up the rooms on this particular Monday in November.
As they arrived, Rosemarie made herself busy in the kitchen, preparing the meal her guests’ emissary had ordered ahead of time: pasta with swordfish, tomato and mint, couscous with sardines, fennel and raisins, sweet Marsala estate wine, Merlot or Cabernet Sauvignon, or Sauvignon blanc, fresh-baked bread to dip in dark green olive oil, antipasto eggplant in a rich tomato sauce, thick slices of ripe red tomatoes stacked with mozzarella circles crowned with fresh basil leaves, and always the local olives with the main course, roasted leg of lamb permeated with fresh garlic and rosemary, Rosemarie’s trademark herb. The aromatic cooking odors greeted the tired arrivals and their mental burdens were visibly lifted off their shoulders. Rosemarie greeted each one by name and their chauffeurs departed as surreptitiously as they had arrived, after delivering each man’s travel case to the room he had been assigned. Within an hour of the designated arrival time, the swarthy men were wearing casual sweaters and slacks and talking together jovially, sipping the estate red wine in the royal-blue-appointed courtyard and speaking softly, with some wondering why they had had to meet in person.
These men were high-ranking Mafioso and their leader had a very important reason for meeting in the off-season in Sicily. The choice of venues was deliberately isolated and not at all easy to find and approach without being seen. Armed sentries were stationed at integral points around the villa, hidden in the trees near the perimeter and across from the entrance up on the highway that intersected the narrow dirt lane approaching the villa. Each sentry wore a computer ear piece and a tiny lapel mic on their shirt connecting them to the Mafia leader inside the villa, the one man they had sworn to protect with their lives.
These were sharp businessmen who had earned their positions as leaders by their shrewdness and their business acumen. The Mafia reputation might be one of illegal tactics and brutality but that does not mean the world of business has not learned a great deal from its methods. It is not just one of the most successful criminal organizations in the world but it has been consistently successful in business for a very long time. Even though most of the trades it controls are either totally illegal or more than a little shady, it still uses conventional business practices to remain successful.
The Mafia understands basic economics. It knows, as do most criminal enterprises, that the law has an almost impossible, invisible barrier blocking any efforts to get between the willing buyer and a willing seller. Greed. And above all, cash is king. And hard to trace.
Based on these and other basic tenets of operational procedures, the five men were meeting for one purpose: to review possibilities to add to their coffers and increase their realm of influence and profit. The goal was to infiltrate nursing homes in the United States, slowly and precisely, and manipulate their Profit and Loss statements to the financial advantage of the Italian bosses. The years and months of planning strategies were culminating in this remote corner of Sicily.
Constantin Alexander drained his wine glass and grinning broadly, reached for the wine bottle Rosemarie had opened a few minutes earlier to let the contents breathe. He filled his own glass and motioning with the bottle and raising his eyebrows, offered to pour wine for his companions. Three of the men held their glasses out for refills but the conversation never slowed. A young man from the village had taken up a position at the far end of the driveway and was lightly fingering the strings of a mandolin. The soft melody added to the ambience as the men began to relax.
“I know he’s young, but this kid, this Carlo, hell, we sent him to college in the United States and now he’s got his M.B.A. from Stanford, and believe it, my friends, my brothers, this one is not only book smart, he’s capable of leadership of the highest caliber. He has my blessing.” Sal raised his glass before taking a sip.
“And when will we have the honor of meeting this child prodigy?” Sergio Puntera, always the cynic, carved himself a wedge of mozarella. His narrowed eyes never left Salvatore Falcone’s face.
“In time, in time. He will arrive soon, as I have told you. Now enjoy yourselves. Ah, here comes some delightful nibbles and I don’t mean Rosemarie’s titties.”
The men guffawed, and even Sergio joined in the laughter. Rosemarie lifted a heavy salver over their heads and placed it in the middle of the wooden table. The aroma of the rich garlic and butter sauce whetted their appetites and they salivated in anticipation. The two platters of antipasto were passed around the table and the hungry men filled their small plates with stuffed mushrooms, baked clams, scampi a la Rosemarie and fried calamari. As they ate hungrily, licking their fingers and tapping the rims of their glasses for more wine, Salvatore began to talk in a low voice but with an authoritative tone which no one present dared interrupt.
“Listen, carefully, my brothers.” He looked at his Rolex, the diamonds around the dial shimmering in the sunlight. “Carlo will be here within the hour and I want all of you to be as informed as possible. As most of you know, I have recently returned from The Netherlands, traveling under an alias and with papers proving I am an Italian importer of Dutch chocolate, and by the ton, I might add. So, while visiting with some of our loyal chocolatiers, I made it my business to contact two of our members I knew I could depend on. They provided me with invaluable records of specialists among our extended family to help us strengthen the Cosa Nostra here and in the rest of Europe. We need to make an effort to keep in touch with our brothers everywhere, and frequently. . .you never know when you might need to call on one of them for assistance. . .” He paused a moment to savor a large bite of fried calamari washed down with a half glass of sauvignon blanc. Wiping his thick fingers on the blue linen napkin, he looked at each man in turn. “All of you have your hands full, keeping the Mafiosi in your own areas sharp and loyal to you and . . .to us, the Cosa Nostra. Which of course means ‘Family’ and that is what you have to keep reminding them. Some tend to forget and begin to believe their good luck has been of their own doing!” He laughed from deep in his belly, which triggered laughter from the other men. “So. Back to the subject of this meeting. I have chosen Carlo to be our incognito boss-in-residence and get our new enterprise underway in the United States.”
All the men froze and exchanged glances. “Which new enterprise, Sal?” Sergio and Guiseppe spoke in unison. Rosemarie began placing dinner plates in front of everyone and fresh napkins and silverware, plus several open bottles of the estate red wines. One of her assistants placed the huge soup tureen brimming with her famous minestrone on one end of the buffet against the wall and began ladling the savory concoction into thick white bowls, passing them around. At the same time, the platter of sliced roasted lamb encircling the mound of steaming pasta with swordfish, tomato, and mint arrived, along with more hot bread and creamery butter.
As the men served their plates, Sal continued talking softly, almost as if he were truly a kind and gentle grandfather, not the Godfather of the Sicilian Mafia known for its merciless assassinations of high profile figures, including police chiefs, judges, and politicians.
“Carlo will have another name in the United States: ‘Leo Marconi.’ He will carry identification papers and an international passport showing that to be his real name and he will represent himself as an executive from the home office of an extensive chain of nursing homes, The Haven Group. As an expert accountant, Carlo, or Leo, will travel the southwest and parts of the northeast approving our purchase of smaller nursing homes that are either established or soon will be. We are planning to develop a few from the ground up, and other old, large estates are being considered for remodeling into the kind of facility we’re interested in. The supply of possible candidates for occupancy is growing daily. People are living longer, and the population is increasing exponentially. So Leo will represent himself as an interested investor and we’ll supply him with the means to purchase properties he likes. Once he gets those places staffed with people he has taught our methodology, we will eventually see tremendous profits, leading to even more money for all of us and our families. He will also have to ferret out federal and state inspectors we can convince to overlook any discrepancies we might miss, and that will take money as well. We can charge a service fee for everything, even for bandages used in these places, not to mention any and all kinds of medicines prescribed. This is a win-win situation, gentlemen. The poor old folks in the nursing homes, so near death, will have a bed to die in and their relatives will have a place to put them out of the way, so they won’t bother their busy lives, and the more money they are charged for this service, the less their guilt, right?”
The men nodded and smiled broadly, and thoroughly enjoyed the magnificent dinner Rosemarie had prepared. Just as they finished, the evening breeze became several degrees colder and an inside door slammed with the gusts. The potted yellow daisies shuddered and lost most of their petals and a dark cloud moved in from over the Mediterranean. The electric scent of ozone warned of an approaching storm.
“I hope I’m not late, Mister Falcone. . .”
The men’s heads turned at the sound of the deeply-pitched male voice and standing just inside the entry to the courtyard was an extremely handsome young man with jet-black curly hair, piercing black eyes, and with a tan the color of honey. He stood comfortably in his commanding good looks, wearing a pale blue ultra suede sports jacket over a vanilla cashmere turtle-necked sweater with cream-colored slacks and with one hand in his pants pocket. His eyes had an inner gleam many people have, showing an innate confidence and power unusual for a man of his young years.
“No, no, Carlo, not at all! Come sit down and we’ll have Rosemarie bring you a plate so you can enjoy the best food in Sicily. . . we didn’t eat it all, so there’s plenty left for you, too. Is your driver . . .?”
“Yes, sir. He left immediately after dropping me off, just as you instructed. I left my small valise over there, by the door.”
“Fine, fine. Here, have a glass of this estate red. You won’t believe the richness of the fruit tones and the slight hint of oak. It’s a marvelous merlot, just marvelous. And I’ve saved you a seat, here, at my right. . .”
Carlo took his seat and nodded politely as he was introduced to each of the capos around the large table. The wind had stopped gusting but a few whitecaps were still visible out on the sea; the blue color of the water seemed to have deepened as the clouds banked over the mainland to the east and drifted toward Sicily.
“From now on, Carlo, as I have explained, you will be known as Leo Marconi, an Italian American, an expert accountant, with expertise in nursing home bookkeeping as well as overseeing orders for supplies and medicines. At first, however, you are expected to familiarize yourself with specific areas, mainly in the upscale suburbs of cities like Houston, Austin, Dallas and later, similar locations in Illinois and in California. Get an idea of the segment of the population we want to attract, people that are high achievers and busy making money, lots of it. People that do not have time to become caretakers of elderly relatives! And that’s where we come in. We want to get established in areas that can support the size nursing home we have in mind, an outstanding luxurious place, one they will instantly be attracted to for their loved ones. That’s enough to start with. The future looks bright for us with this new interest, Leo, and we’re fortunate to have someone as impressive as you are to spearhead the project. And I think that deserves a special toast from all of us!”
Salvatore stood up and after filling his wine glass again, raised it toward Leo with a broad smile on his face. The capos at the table raised their glasses as well, and only Sergio Puntera drank without a smile of welcome for the newcomer.
Leo smiled his appreciation and bowed slightly toward each of the men in turn. His black eyes seemed to linger over Sergio a little longer than was necessary but there was nothing overt about the exchange of salutations between the men.
Leo relaxed as they finished the sumptuous meal and in a short time, Rosemarie cleared the dinner plates away and brought out the homemade teramisu, cutting her deep brown eyes toward the handsome newcomer every chance she got. The others had all been here before but the young one was new. Rosemarie poured his demitasse of coffee first and placed it in front of him with a flourish, blushing as his hand touched hers in passing.
“Gentlemen, as soon as you have finished your dessert, we’re going to retire to the sitting room inside for our cigars and sweet passito wine, and a long overdue meeting of minds to catch up with our many business interests. Capeche?” Sal picked up his coffee and preceded the others as they walked inside.
Leo was the last to leave the courtyard, smiling at Rosemarie over his shoulder as he picked up his small travel case and followed the others. Rosemarie watched his shoulders move as he walked away and smiled to herself, as if daydreaming of another place in time, remembering another pair of young shoulders she had loved so long ago.
