Michael Moretti and Nick Vito watched from the window as Thomas Colfax climbed into his sedan and drove off.

Michael said, “Nick, I want you to get rid of him.”

“Colfax?”

“I can’t trust him anymore. He’s living in the past with the old man.”

“Whatever you say, Mike. When do you want me to do it?”

“Soon. I’ll let you know.”

Jennifer was seated in Judge Lawrence Waldman’s chambers. It was the first time she had seen him in more than a year. The friendly telephone calls and dinner invitations had stopped. Well, that could not be helped, Jennifer thought. She liked Lawrence Waldman and she regretted losing his friendship, but she had made her choice.

They were waiting for Robert Di Silva and they sat there in an uncomfortable silence, neither bothering to make small talk. When the District Attorney walked in and took a seat, the meeting began.

Judge Waldman said to Jennifer, “Bobby says that you want to discuss a plea bargain before I pass sentence on Lorenzo.”

“That’s right.” Jennifer turned to District Attorney Di Silva. “I think it would be a mistake to send Marco Lorenzo to Sing Sing. He doesn’t belong here. He’s an illegal alien. I feel he should be shipped back to Sicily where he came from.”

Di Silva looked at her in surprise. He had been going to recommend deportation, but if that was what Jennifer Parker wanted, then he would have to reevaluate his decision.

“Why do you recommend that?” Di Silva asked.

“For several reasons. First of all, it will keep him from committing any more crimes here, and—”

“So will being in a cell in Sing Sing.”

“Lorenzo is an old man. He can’t stand being confined. He’ll go crazy if you put him in jail. All his friends are in Sicily. He can live there in the sun and die in peace with his family.”

Di Silva’s mouth tightened with anger. “We’re talking about a hoodlum who’s spent his life robbing and raping and killing, and you’re worried about whether he’s with his friends in the sun?” He turned to Judge Waldman. “She’s unreal!”

“Marco Lorenzo has a right to—”

Di Silva pounded his fist on the desk. “He has no rights at all! He’s been convicted of extortion and armed robbery.”

“In Sicily, when a man—”

“He’s not in Sicily, goddamn it!” Di Silva yelled. “He’s here! He committed the crimes here and he’s going to pay for them here.” He stood up. “Your Honor, we’re wasting your time. The state refuses any plea bargaining in this case. We’re asking that Marco Lorenzo be sentenced to Sing Sing.”

Judge Waldman turned to Jennifer. “Do you have anything more to say?”

She looked at Robert Di Silva angrily. “No, Your Honor.”

Judge Waldman said, “Sentencing will be tomorrow morning. You are both excused.”

Di Silva and Jennifer rose and left the office.

In the corridor outside, the District Attorney turned to Jennifer and smiled. “You’ve lost your touch, counselor.”

Jennifer shrugged. “You can’t win them all.”

Five minutes later, Jennifer was in a telephone booth talking to Michael Moretti.

“You can stop worrying. Marco Lorenzo will be going to Sing Sing.”

41

Time was a swiftly flowing river that had no shores, no boundaries. Its seasons were not winter, spring, fall or summer, but birthdays and joys and troubles and pain. They were court battles won, and cases lost; the reality of Michael, the memories of Adam. But mainly, it was Joshua who was time’s calendar, a reminder of how quickly the years were passing.

He was, incredibly, seven years old. Overnight, it seemed, he had gone from crayons and picture books to airplane models and sports. Joshua had grown tall and he resembled his father more every day, and not merely in his physical appearance. He was sensitive and polite, and he had a strong sense of fair play. When Jennifer punished him for something he had done, Joshua said stubbornly, “I’m only four feet tall, but I’ve got my rights.”

He was a miniature Adam. Joshua was athletic, as Adam was. His heroes were the Bebble brothers and Carl Stotz.

“I never heard of them,” Jennifer said.

“Where have you been, Mom? They invented Little League.”

“Oh. That Bebble brothers and Carl Stotz.”

On weekends, Joshua watched every sports event on television—football, baseball, basketball—it did not matter. In the beginning, Jennifer had let Joshua watch the games alone, but when he tried to discuss the plays with her afterward and Jennifer was completely at sea, she decided she had better watch with him. And so the two of them would sit in front of the television set, munching popcorn and cheering the players.

One day Joshua came in from playing ball, a worried expression on his face, and said, “Mom, can we have a man-to-man talk?”

“Certainly, Joshua.”

They sat down at the kitchen table and Jennifer made him a peanut butter sandwich and poured a glass of milk.

“What’s the problem?”

His voice was sober and filled with concern. “Well, I heard the guys talkin’ and I was just wonderin’—do you think there’ll still be sex when I grow up?”

Jennifer had bought a small Newport sailboat, and on weekends she and Joshua would go out on the sound for a sail. Jennifer liked to watch his face when he was at the helm. He wore an excited little smile, which she called his “Eric the Red” smile. Joshua was a natural sailor, like his father. The thought brought Jennifer up sharply. She wondered whether she was trying to live her life with Adam vicariously through Joshua. All the things she was doing with her son—the sailing, the sporting events—were things she had done with his father. Jennifer told herself she was doing them because Joshua liked doing them, but she was not sure she was being completely honest. She watched Joshua sheet in the jib, his cheeks tanned from the wind and the sun, his face beaming, and Jennifer realized that the reasons did not matter. The important thing was that her son loved his life with her. He was not a surrogate for his father. He was his own person and Jennifer loved him more than anyone on earth.

42

Antonio Granelli died and Michael took over full control of his empire. The funeral was lavish, as befitted a man of the Godfather’s stature. The heads and members of Families from all over the country came to pay their respects to their departed friend, and to assure the new capo of their loyalty and support. The FBI was there, taking photographs, as well as half a dozen other government agencies.

Rosa was heartbroken, because she had loved her father very much, but she took consolation and pride in the fact that her husband was taking her father’s place as head of the Family.

Jennifer was proving more valuable to Michael every day. When there was a problem, it was Jennifer whom Michael consulted. Thomas Colfax was becoming an increasingly bothersome appendage.

“Don’t worry about him,” Michael told Jennifer. “He’s going to retire soon.”

The soft chimes of the telephone awakened Jennifer. She lay in bed, listening a moment, then sat up and looked at the digital clock on the nightstand. It was three o’clock in the morning.

She lifted the receiver. “Hello.”

It was Michael. “Can you get dressed right away?”

Jennifer sat up straighter and tried to blink the sleep from her eyes. “What’s happened?”

“Eddie Santini was just picked up on an armed robbery charge. He’s a two-time loser. If they convict him, they’ll throw the key away.”

“Were there any witnesses?”

“Three, and they all got a good look at him.”