Antonio Granelli was under the delusion that his daughter thought he was merely a successful businessman, but over the years, Rosa’s classmates had shown her newspaper and magazine articles about her father and his real business, and whenever the government made an attempt to indict and convict one of the Granelli Family, Rosa was always aware of it. She never discussed it with her father, and so he remained happy in his belief that his daughter was an innocent and that she was spared the shock of knowing the truth.
The truth, if he had know it, would have surprised Granelli for Rosa found her father’s business terribly exciting. She hated the discipline of the nuns at the convent and that, in turn, led her to hate all authority. She daydreamed about her father as a kind of Robin Hood, challenging authority, defying the government. The fact that Michael Moretti was an important man in her father’s organization made him that much more exciting to her.
From the beginning, Michael was very careful how he handled Rosa. When he managed to be alone with her they exchanged ardent kisses and embraces, but Michael never let it go too far. Rosa was a virgin and she was willing—eager—to give herself to the man she loved. It was Michael who held back.
“I respect you too much, Rosa, to go to bed with you before we’re married.”
In reality, it was Antonio Granelli he respected too much. He’d chop my balls off, Michael thought.
And so it happened that at the time Antonio Granelli was discussing the best way to get rid of Michael Moretti, Michael and Rosa came to him and announced that they were in love and intended to get married. The old man screamed and raged and gave a hundred reasons why it would happen only over someone’s dead body. But in the end, true love prevailed and Michael and Rosa were married in an elaborate ceremony.
After the wedding the old man had called Michael aside. “Rosa’s all I got, Michael. You take good care of her, huh?”
“I will, Tony.”
“I’m gonna be watchin’ you. You better make her happy. You know what I mean, Mike?”
“I know what you mean.”
“No whores or chippies. Understand? Rosa likes to cook. You see that you’re home for dinner every night. You’re gonna be a son-in-law to be proud of.”
“I’m going to try very hard, Tony.”
Antonio Granelli had said casually, “Oh, by the way, Mike, now that you’re a member of the Family, that royalty deal I gave you—maybe we oughta change it.”
Michael had clapped him on the arm. “Thanks, Papa, but it’s enough for us. I’ll be able to buy Rosa everything she wants.”
And he had walked away, leaving the old man staring after him.
That had been seven years earlier, and the years that followed had been wonderful for Michael. Rosa was pleasant and easy to live with and she adored him, but Michael knew that if she died or went away, he would get along without her. He would simply find someone else to do the things she did for him. He was not in love with Rosa. Michael did not think he was capable of loving another human being; it was as though something was missing in him.
He had no feelings for people, only for animals. Michael had been given a collie puppy for his tenth birthday. The two of them were inseparable. Six weeks later the dog had been killed in a hit-and-run accident, and when Michael’s father offered to buy him another dog, Michael had refused. He had never owned another dog after that.
Michael had grown up watching his father slaving his life away for pennies, and Michael had resolved that would never happen to him. He had known what he wanted from the time he had first heard talk about his famous distant cousin Antonio Granelli. There were twenty-six Mafia Families in the United States, five of them in New York City, and his cousin Antonio’s was the strongest. From his earliest childhood, Michael thrived on tales of the Mafia. His father told him about the night of the Sicilian Vespers, September 10, 1931, when the balance of power had changed hands. In that single night, the Young Turks in the Mafia staged a bloody coup that wiped out more than forty Mustache Petes, the old guard who had come over from Italy and Sicily.
Michael was of the new generation. He had gotten rid of the old thinking and had brought in fresh ideas. A nine-man national commission controlled all the Families now, and Michael knew that one day he would run that commission.
Michael turned now to study the two men seated at the dining room table of the New Jersey farmhouse. Antonio Granelli still had a few years left but, with luck, not too many.
Thomas Colfax was the enemy. The lawyer had been against Michael from the beginning. As Michael’s influence with the old man had increased, Colfax’s had decreased.
Michael had brought more and more of his own men into the Organization, men like Nick Vito and Salvatore Fiore and Joseph Colella, who were fiercely loyal to him. Thomas Colfax had not liked that.
When Michael had been indicted for the murders of the Ramos brothers, and Camillo Stela had agreed to testify against him in court, the old lawyer had believed that he was finally going to be rid of Michael, for the District Attorney had an airtight case.
Michael had thought of a way out in the middle of the night. At four in the morning, he had gone out to a telephone booth and called Joseph Colella.
“Next week some new lawyers are going to be sworn in on the District Attorney’s staff. Can you get me their names?”
“Sure, Mike. Easy.”
“One more thing. Call Detroit and have them fly in a cherry—one of their boys who’s never been tagged.” And Michael had hung up.
Two weeks later, Michael Moretti had sat in the courtroom studying the new assistant district attorneys. He had looked them over carefully, his eyes traveling from face to face, searching and judging. What he planned to do was dangerous, but its very daring could make it work. He was dealing with young beginners who would be too nervous to ask a lot of questions, and anxious to be helpful and make their mark. Well, someone was certainly going to make his mark.