It was just before 9:00 p.m. when he opened the refrigerator and took the chicken out and put it on the counter, its long neck and head still attached. "You want to make something — a side dish to go with this?"
Angela said, "I don't know how to cook." She came toward him and clinked his glass with hers. 'But I know how to do this," and took a sip.
"An Italian girl who doesn't cook…" McCabe said. "That's got to be a first. In ancient Rome learning to cook was a girl's duty."
"Does this look like ancient Rome?"
"What was your mother thinking?"
"She died when I was young." She put her glass down and pulled her hair back behind her ears. "We lived in a small house, one floor, on the outskirts of Palermo."
McCabe said, "You don't look Sicilian."
"My mother was from Cinque Terra. She had blonde hair. It was just before seven in the morning." Angela paused, took a breath. "I heard a knock on the door and wondered who would be coming to our house so early. I was getting ready for school. We didn't have to wear our uniform that day. I had a new pair of jeans and a blouse, but my mother said I could not wear jeans to the Ave Maria School — even on special days. I heard the door open and then voices, men arguing with my father. My mother told me to stay in my room and went out to see what was happening. I wanted to see, too, so I crept down the hall and peeked into the salon. There were two men aiming guns at my father. One was stocky and losing his hair, almost bald. The other man had a big mustache. That's all I remember, a face with a mustache. They tied up my father and then my older brother, Massimo, who was fourteen, and then my mother. The men made them sit on the floor. I could tell by the way they spoke, their accent, they were not Sicilian."
McCabe said, "Who were they?"
"Calabrians. The bald one kept saying, ' Dove il denaro? Dove il denaro.'"
McCabe said, "Where's the money?"
"My father said, 'What money?' He didn't know what they were talking about. Mustache walked over and put a knife to my brother's throat. I remember my father saying, 'I don't know.' I was more afraid than I had ever been in my life. I could hear my heart thumping in my chest. I thought the men could hear it too. I thought it might explode." She paused and sipped her wine. "The bald man asked my father again for the money. My father said, 'Don't you think I would tell you if I knew.' This time Mustache did not hesitate, put the knife under my brother's chin and cut his throat. My mother screamed and now Mustache moved to her with the knife." Angela's eyes were wet. "My father begged them but it did no good and the man cut her throat. I was shaking. I went back to my room and got under the bed and closed my eyes as tight as I could, and put my hands over my ears." Angela took a breath. "I remember the sounds my father made when they stabbed him — " She paused again. "They thought he was dead."
McCabe said, "They didn't hurt you?"
"They didn't find me. One of the men, I don't know which one, came in my room. I could hear his feet on the wood floor, coming toward me. I put my hand over my mouth. I could see his shoes, ordinary black shoes that were scuffed and needed polish, and the bottom of his dark trousers. That was the scariest time of all, thinking they were going to kill me. I closed my eyes and pretended I was invisible, and a few minutes later I heard the front door close."
"But your father was alive?"
"The men walked out and I could hear him moaning, in agony, shirt covered with blood. I ran to our neighbor's house. An ambulance came and took him to the hospital. He had been stabbed four times and should have died."
"He must be tough," McCabe said. "That's where you get it, huh?"
"A few months later we moved to Rome. Carmella, my nanny, raised me." She picked up her glass, sipped some wine. "You would think an experience like this would have brought me and my father closer together, but just the opposite. I think he has always resented me because my brother was killed and I wasn't. Massimo was his favorite."
McCabe said, "Did he talk to you about what happened?"
"I asked him who the men were and why they came to our house," Angela said. "He wouldn't tell me anything. He's never said a word about it."
"I saw you with him coming out of A1 Moro and I could tell by watching you something was wrong."
"You could see that? Every time I talk to him we argue," Angela said.
"Who were the men with you," McCabe said, "walking behind you?"
Angela said, "The little one is Mauro, my father's bodyguard. He, too, is Sicilian, from my father's village."
"He doesn't look like a bodyguard."
"That's what happens — you underestimate him — and then it's too late. The other man is my cousin from Detroit. Maybe you know him."
"What's his name?"
"Joey Palermo."
"Are you a Palermo too?"
"No, Gennaro."
McCabe was thinking — wait a minute. He remembered the Rome cop, Captain Ferrara, telling him about Carlo Gennaro, the boss of all bosses in Rome. It couldn't be the same family. He said, "Your dad's name isn't Carlo, is it?"
Angela said, "How did you know?"