“All right.” I related the details of my chance reunion with Uncle Sal, and shared with Mr. Mancuso my thoughts and observations regarding the relationship between Sal and Anthony, then I moved on to my continuing employment interview with the CEO of Bell Enterprises, emphasizing here that Anthony was too dense to understand that I wasn’t leaping at his offer. I also mentioned my thought that the women in Anthony’s life did not treat him like the padrone. Mr. Mancuso smiled at my use of the Italian word, and nodded. I mentioned, too, about telling Anthony that my daughter was an assistant district attorney in Brooklyn.

Mr. Mancuso commented, “So, you have a member of the family in law enforcement.”

Susan, proud mom, chimed in, “She loves her job, and she works twelve-hour days.” She added, “I’m very proud of her.”

Mr. Mancuso smiled, probably thinking, At least one member of this family has gone straight.

We were all bonding now, and I was in the home stretch and way ahead, so I moved on to Anthony’s den and my phone call to Elizabeth and Susan. I would not have even mentioned the phone call to Elizabeth, except that Mr. Mancuso had probably already listened to the tape recording of that call, along with mine to Susan. And, as a lawyer, I know that when you leave something out, or lie to the law, even about a small thing, it calls into question your veracity about other things.

Mr. Mancuso seemed interested that I was in Anthony Bellarosa’s private den, and he asked me to describe it.

So to add a few details to Anthony Bellarosa’s personality profile, and to further justify my social call on him, I said that Anthony kept his father’s books from La Salle Military Academy on his shelves, and that Anthony had a collection of books written by, or about, the Romans.

Mancuso nodded and said, “As I mentioned before Mrs. Sutter joined us, Anthony Bellarosa may have a Caesar complex.” He smiled and added, “Many of them do.” He said to me, “Please continue.”

I was going to move on from the subject of the Romans, but I found it interesting that a man who was basically uninteresting and uncomplicated had this other side to him, and I suggested, “Some of his admiration for the Romans may have to do with what I mentioned before – Anthony is henpecked, and… well, the Romans were macho.”

Mr. Mancuso nodded politely, but I had the feeling he thought I was getting carried away with myself, so to make my point and also to continue my description of the den, I said, “Over the fireplace, he has a reproduction of Rubens’ Rape of the Sabine Women.” I added, in case Mr. Mancuso wasn’t familiar with the classical tale, “The Romans raped the women of the Sabine tribe.”

Mr. Mancuso nodded, and Susan assured me, “I think we understand. Can we move on?”

“All right.” I finished my description of the den, and I was now at the point in my story where I had to tell about seeing Susan’s oil painting of Alhambra in Anthony’s den, and slashing it to ribbons. I hadn’t put this in my statement to the police, and Susan didn’t know about this, and I couldn’t guess at what she’d think or say. Also, I couldn’t determine if this destructive act made me a tough guy or a nut job. So, without putting any spin on it, I simply said, “There was an oil painting on an easel in Anthony’s den, and I recognized it as the painting Susan had done of the palm court at Alhambra-”

Mr. Mancuso interrupted and said to me, “You put your fist through it that night.”

“I did.” I added, “Someone had it restored.”

Susan, who never knew I’d smashed her painting, looked at me, but said nothing.

I got to the point and said, “I took a letter opener and slashed the painting to shreds.”

No one had anything to say about that, so I poured another cup of coffee for myself.

Finally, Mr. Mancuso asked, “Why?”

Good question. I replied, “It was a symbolic act with deep psychological overtones, coupled with a primal belief that my enemy should not possess anything that was associated with, created by, or even touched by my once and future wife.”

Mr. Mancuso seemed deep in thought, as though he were making mental notes for a psychological profile on me.

Susan, I sensed, was looking at me, so I made eye contact with her.

I realized my explanation was a little weird, so I tried a simpler explanation and said, “I was just pissed off at him, and I guess I wanted to leave him a message.”

Felix Mancuso said to me, “Well, I’m sure he got the message, Mr. Sutter. And knowing his type, I’m also sure he has a return message for you.”

“I’m sure he does.”

I concluded my account of Sunday with Anthony by relating, almost word for word, as I’d done with Detective Nastasi, our confrontation on his front lawn, and my telling him that his father was a stool pigeon and was selling out his friends and family in exchange for immunity from prosecution. I did not, however, reveal to Mr. Mancuso, or to Susan, that I’d told Anthony that his father and my wife were in love, and were prepared to run off together – and would have, if Frank hadn’t owed me a favor.

I ended with something I hadn’t said to Detective Nastasi, and hadn’t really focused on before. I said to Felix Mancuso, “Anthony Bellarosa’s eyes, his face, and his tone of voice… If we weren’t standing on his own front lawn, and if he’d had a gun, I think he would have killed me.”

Susan stood, came up beside me, and took my hand.

Mr. Mancuso had no comment, but he also stood and said, “I think it’s time for a break.”

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

Felix Mancuso remained in my office, and Susan and I took our break in the upstairs parlor, long ago converted to a family room, where we would gather to watch television when Edward and Carolyn were young. I don’t know what the prior owners had done with this room, but Susan had faithfully reproduced the feel, if not the actual furnishings, of the room, including some old movie posters that I remembered, though The Godfather seemed to be missing.

Susan opened two bottles of spring water and gave one to me. We remained standing, and I looked out the window at the rain.

Susan said to me, “I have a much clearer picture now of what happened between you and Anthony Bellarosa.”

I replied, “More importantly, I hope you have a clearer understanding of the threat he may pose to you.”

“And to you.”

I replied, “He’s angry at me, and maybe disappointed. But he’ll get over it. This is about you.”

She said to me, “He threatened you, John.”

I didn’t reply.

She asked me, “Why in the world did you slash that painting?”

“I told you.”

“But… why would you want to make him even more angry?”

I looked away from the window and replied, “If you really want to know, Susan, that fucking painting brought back to me your time spent at Alhambra, your affair with-”

“All right. I think you overreacted, but-”

“That was why I put my fist through it ten years ago, and this time, no one is going to have it restored.”

She stayed silent for a moment, then said, “I understand.”

Neither of us spoke for a while, then Susan said, “But what I don’t understand is… I’m not understanding what caused Anthony Bellarosa’s explosive rage… he apparently liked you, and thought highly of you… and then he turned on you and threatened you.” She asked, “Why?”

I finished my water and replied, “As I said to Detective Nastasi, and as I just said to Mancuso – I told Anthony that you and I were back together, and that he and I were through.” I added, “Think of it as… well, a romantic triangle.” I wanted to say, “You know about that,” but I said instead, “He’s not used to being scorned.” I added, “And what really set him off was me telling him that his father was singing his heart out to the FBI.”