Respect by Aleatha Romig
Vincent was another story.
Sometimes in life grieving must wait.
Families such as the Costello family cannot go without structure. No matter the emotions that he had to be feeling, that structure and guidance began at the top.
When we first arrived at the Costello brownstone, Vincent was holding court in his father’s office. Never having been officially made, I couldn’t enter, not until later when the capos were gone. That was all right. While I wouldn’t have turned down the offer to have my name in the family books—refusing wasn’t an option—never yet receiving an offer kept me removed enough that I was still able to sleep at night.
It didn’t mean that I didn’t have demons.
The Irishman was no longer the only person to breathe his last in my presence or because of me, and yet his was the only name I could recall. Mostly, I tried to forget, and if it were possible to never learn a name, I took that option. I was by no means an enforcer such as Jimmy De Niro, nor was my list of forgettable names the quantity of Vincent’s.
I’d simply done what was expected when I was told to do it.
A good soldier, I maintained my place in the family as Angelina’s husband.
Through it all, even without the connections, I hadn’t become immune. Angelina was still married to a man who experienced remorse. It would be more accurate to say that at each show of loyalty, a little more of my heart died.
To keep it beating and pushing the blood necessary for life and even love, I chose to relegate those actions to the dead part of my heart and instead concentrate my thoughts of family on church services, Sunday dinners, and family celebrations. I remembered to seek acts of redemption to counteract ill deeds. Whether providing a life for Silvia Demetri or spending millions to renovate the shipping harbor, each act worked to make a balance.
Many of the men in the house currently in Carmine’s office didn’t need that give-and-take. I did.
It wasn’t like my hands were spotless when it came to Demetri Enterprises. William Ashley wasn’t the only casualty in that wake. Somehow the dirt from those endeavors was easier to wash away.
As the four children—Luca, Lennox, Luisa, and Silvia—gathered in the living room and Vincent and the capos in Carmine’s office, I entered the kitchen to find Rose, Angelina, and Bella.
With Rose’s phone calls complete, the women were sitting around the kitchen table sharing stories, many of which I’d never heard. With tears in their eyes, they each recalled musings of a man who’d never sent me—or anyone else—to take a life. Who’d never told me to always be prepared and carry my gun, nor one who’d ever benefited from the clean money that became that way after finding its way through parts and avenues within Demetri Enterprises.
The man they remembered was different: kind, generous, and loving.
He was the one who’d welcomed me, Bella, and Silvia into the family. He’d rejoiced at the birth of each child and grandchild and mourned when people he loved died. He loved his wife with all of his heart—despite his infidelities—and would have laid down his life for anyone he deemed worthy.
Listening to Rose, I was honored to be there—to be on his list of people he found worthy. It was fulfilling to know that Carmine had trusted me even when his advisor warned against it. Of all the things that Carmine Costello had given me—his niece, approval, trust, and even the care of a young girl who would never know how much he’d done for her—it was Rose’s words that will forever live in my memory.
“He loved you.” Her tear-filled gaze moved around the table. “All of you.” She reached for my hand, covering it with hers. “And he respected you, never doubt that. There were reasons for all of his decisions.”
That was three days ago. Rose’s calls had spurred the support of the parish. We were now gathered in the same cathedral where Angelina and I had married. This time it was without a doubt a precipice in each of our lives.
I scanned our pew: Rose, Bella, Silvia, and me—none of us were born Costellos. Silvia, Lennox, and I had a different last name, yet we had our connection: we had Angelina. Her blood ran through our son’s veins, just as Vincent’s ran through his and Bella’s children. No matter what, in that church, in that pew, we were all part of a bigger family, the center of a bigger purpose. Vincent and Luca were the family’s future, yet at that moment, we were all its present.
My heart ached for each one in our row: Rose, Vincent and his family, as well as Angelina’s and mine. It was never easy to lose a loved one, but when that individual was larger than life, the loss left a gaping hole—an insidious black one. Such as its counterpart in space, what was to be found on the other side was a mystery. It had the potential—and if we allowed it, the power—to suck us inside, leaving our future unknown.
The cathedral grew louder with a respectful din as people murmured and the pews behind us filled to capacity with mourners. While my heart was breaking for us, I couldn’t shake the need to be hyperalert. Weddings and funerals were occasions that forced togetherness. This was also a time of transition for the Costello family; having the nine of us together, we could be considered sitting ducks, targets all in one row for those who meant to do our family harm.
We weren’t targets.
Vincent was many things, but careless wasn’t one of them. Despite the solemn occasion, he had men strategically placed in and out of the church, some more obvious than others. Since the fateful night, whenever I wasn’t with Angelina and our children, Testa was. Currently, he sat one row behind us with Jimmy and Dante, Bella’s driver. No matter where we were, we were well protected.
Extended family, friends, and associates filled the church, and over the last few days, condolences had come from all the families—New York’s as well as those in other cities.
Carmine Costello may not have been well loved by all, but he was well respected until the end.
As Father Mario spoke the eulogy that Rose ensured her husband would receive, the one he deserved, I knew that because of Carmine Costello, I was a changed man. I was different than the young man who’d entered his office nearly seventeen years ago. I’d changed from the one who’d stood at the altar—the one where now a casket sat—to marry the woman he loved.
I wasn’t better, nor was I necessarily worse.
I was different.
Costello 101 thru 400 hadn’t been easy. Nothing valuable ever was.
I’d take NYU a hundred times over in the place of the lessons I’d learned from the family, and yet once learned they could never be unlearned.
With Vincent now the boss, Costello life would be different. Like the changes that had occurred in me, that didn’t mean better or worse. It simply was different.
No one doubted Vincent’s ability. No one challenged his nomination. I hadn’t been there; I wasn’t qualified. I’d heard what I’d heard from this one and that. The nomination had been made by Morelli and unanimously approved.
The decision was approved by more than the men in Evviva’s basement. Vincent had the blessing of every man in the organization. Even those of us unable to vote prayed that the overwhelming support would facilitate a smooth transition. After all, this change in leadership had been in the making since the assassination attempt.
That wasn’t accurate. It had been in the making since Vincent was Luca’s age. In all probability, the next transition was already being fostered. While Lennox was pitching baseballs in Little League and quarterbacking his middle school football team, Luca was experiencing an entirely different education. I didn’t believe he’d made it to Costello 101, but some things didn’t need to be taught when one lived the life since taking his first breath.
One time, Vincent had told me that this life was honorable. He asked if I didn’t want Lennox to be honorable. His argument was that if Carmine had been a doctor, wouldn’t he have wanted the same for Vincent? If he’d been a lawyer? He wasn’t those things.
Carmine was a family boss, and like any proud father, he wanted the same for Vincent
As I peered down the pew, the profile of my son beside his cousin caught my attention. It wasn’t that I didn’t want the Costello way of life for Lennox, not in the sense of family. Truly there was no better family than those beside him. It was the simplicity of what I’d said to Vincent in California. I wanted Lennox to have choices in life. And now, seeing the young lady beside Angelina, holding hands and comforting her new mother, I also wanted choices for Silvia.
Life was about choices. I’d made mine. They both deserved to make theirs, too.
That didn’t lessen the significance of the man in the casket, the one in the front of the church draped in flowers. Carmine had made his choices, too. He’d lived by them, almost died by them, and finally given up the ghost while loving both the consequences of those choices as well as his family. It was more than most men had.
Carmine Costello would always be a part of me. He would forever have my respect.
Later at the brownstone after most of the capos, wives, and friends had left, Vincent called me to Carmine’s office. We weren’t alone as I’d hoped, but the company was familiar: Jimmy, Dante, Morelli, and Testa.
He didn’t waste time, jumping right to the point. “Things are moving fast. I wanted to talk to you directly, hoping you’ll understand.”
His prologue didn’t fully register. My mind was distracted by exhaustion. The last three days had been a string of emotional confrontations connected by uncomfortable obligations. “Okay.” It was all my tired mind could think to respond.
Vincent leaned back in Carmine’s big chair. Besides his youth, the other difference with the picture before me was the lack of cigar smoke emanating from the ashtray still decorating the stately desk. It was one change I found comforting. I never turned down a cigar when offered, but as a rule, I didn’t care for smoking.
“The books have been opened,” he said.
This got my attention. Carmine was gone. There was room on the books for another made man. My eyes narrowed as my brain played the trick that clearer vision could improve comprehension. “Have been?”
“Yes.”
“They’re now closed,” I said in confirmation.
“It isn’t always about qualifications,” Vincent went on. “There was one spot, and many who are qualified.”
“It’s about trust?” I asked, surprised at my own disappointment.
Vincent shook his head. “No. It’s about many things.” He leaned forward with his elbows on the desk, reminding me more and more of his father. His fingers came together, creating a steeple. “They’ll open again. With everything happening, I had to make a decision. It wasn’t easy.” He tilted his head toward Morelli and Jimmy. “Pop made some mistakes, but he was usually a good judge of character.”
We both knew the mistake was Gioconda, but that subject had been closed by Carmine over five years ago.
“I don’t need to lay this out for you, Oren,” Vincent went on. “But I am. Pop trusted you. I’ve trusted you. Never doubt that trust. We’re family, and we’ll keep things as they are—the way they’ve been.” It was code for money and the use of Demetri Enterprises. His proclamation didn’t come as a surprise. I’d never entertained the idea that our system would end. “I’m keeping much of the structure the same. Morelli here and Jimmy…” He motioned their direction. “…they’ll retain their positions. Morelli is a smart consigliere. Jimmy, he’s devoted.” Vincent turned to the couch where Testa and Dante were sitting. “Sometimes when fulfilling what seems like a less spotlighted job, devotion and talent can seem as though it isn’t noticed. But that’s not true. It was recognized.”
I simply swallowed, waiting for the next shoe to drop.
“Dante has been devoted to Bella and the kids. He’s a trustworthy man. He’ll fulfill that duty for you and Angelina as he did for me. We’ve already spoken. He’s ready for the job.”
I turned to Vincent. “Wait. What? Dante is going to be Angelina’s new driver? What about Bella and what about Franco?” Franco Testa and I went back to NYU. I didn’t want to lose him.
“You know what happened in that alley...the night...?” Vincent didn’t finish.
I nodded.
“Jimmy never forgot what Franco did for him, for all of us. The books opened. Franco got the call.”
While my heart broke at the loss of Testa’s service to our family—Angelina’s and mine—my lips turned upward. He deserved this. Being made was an honor. It showed that a man had been weighed and measured and found respected and valued. It told the world that he’d done his part and paid his dues. While I thought I qualified, I knew Franco Testa did. “Congratulations,” I said, meaning it.
“Thanks, boss.”
“Oren,” I said, relieving him of using that title on me.
“Are we good?” Vincent asked.
“Yes, we are. You’ve got a good man in Franco Testa. You won’t be sorry.”
“We’ll see you Thursday for drinks?”
I smiled. It almost sounded like a question. “Of course.” I turned to Dante. “I can drive my family home tonight. Let me talk to Angelina about the change.” I nodded at Testa. “You’ll be missed.”
“Thanks, bo-Oren.”
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” I said to Dante.
“Sure thing, boss.”
As I left Carmine’s office, my mind went over the changes of the last few days as my soul filled with hope. The Costello family would survive under Vincent’s rule. He’d already proven steady under pressure. As I closed the door behind me, I knew he was more than that. He was also fair. I was family—giving me the call wouldn’t have been questioned. But calling Testa was better. No one would claim nepotism; Testa deserved the call, having more than proven himself.
My time would come or it wouldn’t.
I’d spent the last nearly seventeen years trusting Carmine. Now it was time to trust Vincent.
Chapter 35
The family—as a whole—flourished. Vincent understood the past and embraced the future. The latter was a trait his father never fully grasped. The families in general were a different breed before Vincent and I were born. Movies and books romanticized the reality, and over time so had old men’s memories. Similar to the stories of the Wild West, men in dark suits with machine guns in dark alleyways had its Hollywood flair. The truth wasn’t as pretty. There was dirt and grime in the Wild West and Cosa Nostra had that too. Yet through it all, there was a kernel of authenticity that never changed—the devotion, honor, and respect. It may be changing with the times, but the foundation never would.
The RICO trials and feds tried to take away the respectability. Memories dimmed and false news faded away, but some aspects were too steadfast to be easily forgotten.
Oftentimes the dramatized version of our world left out the personal element...the reality that we were family. Each man who met now monthly at Evviva’s had two. For very few of us they were one and the same, but even so, the Costello family consisted of a larger portion than just Vincent’s and Angelina’s families. There were cousins from once-ousted relations that Vincent embraced in a way his father never did.
He believed in unifying where possible—bringing people together. As Carmine aged, his paranoia and difficulty trusting caused division. Vincent made it his mission to build not only bridges, but to fill in fissures and gorges of separation, bringing two and three factions together as one larger, stronger family.
The Rossis—related to the Costellos through Rose’s mother—had been on the fringe of the Costello family. With the new reign, Vincent welcomed his cousins into the fold. Another earner, like me, Michael Rossi had shown loyalty when called upon. He too had two families to consider in every decision, the one as a whole and his wife and children. It was a balance, but we all tried to make it work.
For the families—more specifically, for the Costello family—to survive, prosper, and deserve respect, it needed Vincent. Despite our sadness at los
Gioconda’s betrayal lingered in Angelina’s uncle’s mind. It wasn’t mentioned, but it resided in the dark shadows of his eyes. The bruised chest may have been his only physical injury, and it may have even healed as the colors faded. Yet the psychological injuries he’d incurred stayed with him forever.
The world had been changing around us, and Carmine Costello had remained steadfast.
Perhaps, I sometimes wondered, if maybe on that spring evening when Carmine ascended from this Earth, he knew it was time to pass the reins and that his reign needed to end so the family could live.
I found myself contemplating those questions and many more.
Perhaps seeing Silvia’s adoption through to completion was his final act of redemption. Maybe someday I wouldn’t look at her and recall the man I’d taken away from his young daughter. One day she’d perhaps be my daughter in my eyes as well as on paper. In the meantime, I cared for her, not physically, but she mattered to Angelina, so she mattered to me.
Time marched on...the Costellos and Demetris more than survived: they conquered.
The dreaded Y2K came and went, and yet computers had not taken over the world nor had they brought it to its knees. All of the data for Demetri Enterprises that I’d spent millions of dollars to back up and keep safe was still intact.
The world of technology and computer science was growing exponentially by the day—forget that, by the hour. The small handheld console that Lennox had played in the backseat of our car five years ago had more memory than a NASA computer—one that filled a temperature-controlled room—had in the 1960s. The ones he had attached to a television in his room today held more than the first one we’d installed for Demetri Enterprises. The advances were truly revolutionary.