Bloodline by Warren Murphy Page B

bought it for Tommy. But we’ll get him another one.”
    “Oh, Papa,” Justina said. “You take all the fun out of it.” She looked at Nilo for support, but he only shook his head.
    “No,” he said. “It’s all fun.”
    Near midnight, when Father Mario was getting ready to leave, Nilo asked if they knew a nearby hotel or place where he could rent a room, but his aunt and uncle would have none of it.
    “I have money,” he insisted.
    “Good,” Aunt Anna said. “Hang on to it; you’ll need it.”
    “You have money,” said Tony, “but we have room. What kind of family are we if we turn you out into the street?”
    “You can stay in Tommy’s room,” Justina said, and her father added, “And when Tommy gets home, then we’ll see how things work out.”
    *   *   *
    L ATER, N ILO LAY IN T OMMY F ALCONE’S BED, exulting in the silence. He had been aboard ship so long that the drone of the ship’s powerful engines was a constant, day and night, and the ear became so adapted to it that the mind eventually forgot to recognize it as noise. But here now, it was like being back in Sicily. The apartment was still, and from the street below, at this early morning hour, came not a sound. He could hear his own breathing, and that realization brought a smile to his face.
    America, he had decided, was a wonderful country. His uncle was a simple policeman, but he lived like a king, wearing a suit, with a priest in the family, living in an apartment that had three bedrooms. No one in Sicily, save for the Mafia and the politicians, lived like that.
    It is what I will do. I will become the best of Americans and I will be rich and honored like my uncle Tony.
    He wanted to dwell on that, to roll around in his mind the thought of how well the New York Falcones lived, but he was very tired. And besides, it was difficult to think of anything else except Justina. The thought that she was now in her own room, lying in a bed only a scant few feet from him, almost made him ache with anticipation.
    Maybe she is awake, too, thinking of me. Someday, someday …
    He could not finish the thought; it would have been ungrateful to his uncle. He fell asleep and dreamed of her.
    *   *   *
    I N EXPECTATION OF HIS SON’S RETURN home, Tony Falcone had arranged with other detectives to cover his shifts so he was off for the entire week between Christmas and New Year’s. Justina was also on vacation from school, so the two of them were free to act as Nilo’s guides to New York City.
    For two busy days, the three of them traveled around their neighborhood and the rest of the city, showing Nilo the landmarks, the Statue of Liberty, Chinatown, Greenwich Village, Madison Square Garden, Central Park, even a tour of Tony’s police precinct. Aunt Anna was dutifully invited to join them on their outings but regularly refused. She seemed always to have something to do, either in the kitchen or at the neighborhood parish.
    They were two days of wonderment for Nilo. He had known the United States was big, but until he saw the buildings of New York City he had not realized just how big it was or just how far he had come from his little hometown in Sicily. He also savored the opportunity to be near Justina—in fact, often wishing that Uncle Tony might find something else to do so the two young people could spend some time alone, but that clearly was not to be. Still, they were two wonderful days.
    On the third day, Tommy Falcone returned home.
    *   *   *
    F ROM WHAT HE HAD BEEN TOLD about Tommy’s wounds, Nilo had expected some kind of crippled war veteran, but the young man he met looked the picture of health. He was a little older than Nilo and a little bigger, and like everyone else in the family he seemed sincerely happy to meet a relative from the old country. While neighbors kept streaming into the Falcone apartment to welcome Tommy home from the war, his American cousin always took pains to make sure that Nilo was not left out and