Page 32 of The Girl from Sicily

32

LUCIA, SEPTEMBER 2004

Dust motes flickered in the sunlight coming through her living room window as Lucia made her way slowly to her desk. She sat down and rested her weary bones, then gave a heavy sigh; she needed to write an important letter, but couldn’t face it yet.

Tears prickled her eyes. She’d been diagnosed with stage 4 ovarian cancer, which had spread to her liver, and she only had months left to live. The devastating news had come soon after she’d found out about Carula and Iain’s tragic accident. Although contact with them had been impossible since Dinu had shown his true colours, Lucia had employed a private detective not long after Jessica was born, and the investigator had kept her up to date ever since.

How she still regretted her actions of thirty-five years ago. Not a day went by when she didn’t wish she could turn back the clock and warn her daughter off contacting Dinu. Lucia’s heart ached. Had she been blind to his faults since they were children, or had he simply deceived her about his real nature? He’d always been hot-headed and it had been up to her to keep him under control. By moving to America, she’d deprived him of her steadying influence, and the dark side of him had obviously taken over completely.

Following her cancer diagnosis, Lucia had got in touch with the same firm of lawyers Gero had used to get the deeds of the baglio transferred to her. She frowned. Before leaving the property to Jessica, she’d had to be sure that Dinu wouldn’t pose a threat.

From long telephone conversations with the notaio, Lucia had learnt that, after her twin brother and Francu had left Villaurora, they’d spent their time forming allegiances, moving constantly around western Sicily, where they were sheltered by Friends – trusted mafiosi who knew that none of the locals, not the old men sitting in their circle of chairs in the square, not the heavily pregnant young mothers struggling with shopping and children, or even the local priest, would ever say a word about strangers in town.

The lawyer had discovered they’d often returned to Cinisi, a small municipality on a promontory, a prosperous and peaceful place between the mountains and the sea, which was under the watchful eye of a Mafia boss who’d taken in many fugitives over the years. Nothing escaped the notice of his gossips and spies. And it was in Cinisi that Dinu had met Vera Bruno, the woman who had become his wife.

Lucia had been surprised to learn that he’d taken Vera to live on the outskirts of Bagheria in a luxury villa. The town was once the playground of the rich, a spot where the wealthy of Palermo built grand summer residences. When Dinu took his bride there, Bagheria was still the playground of the rich – just not the old aristocracy but the new moneyed criminal class.

It was in an abandoned ironworks in Bagheria that Dinu and Francu had started their reign of terror. Lucia had felt sick to the stomach when the notaio informed her that her brother and cousin would give people, whom they no longer considered trustworthy, appointments in the building, and once inside the door, said people would never leave.

How could Dinu have turned so evil? Lucia had asked herself this question so often over the years and she asked it of herself again now. She’d been shocked beyond measure when she’d learnt that, after he and Francu had eliminated their rival bosses, they’d taken over the running of Cosa Nostra.

Francu, maddened with power, moved his entire family away from Villaurora and then began to wage war on the state. His strategy of violence backfired, and he was arrested. He’d died in a maximum-security prison some time ago. When Lucia asked the lawyer if he knew what had happened to Dinu, he’d responded that her brother hadn’t been seen in public for over thirty years, and it was widely believed that he was dead.

In order to be sure of the fact, Lucia had asked the notaio to employ a private detective on her behalf, but given Dinu’s Mafia connections, no one would take on the job. Had her brother really died? The fact that he’d given every impression of having vanished off the face of the earth led her to believe that he had, indeed, passed away. And wouldn’t she sense him if he was still alive? They’d always been so much in tune with each other…

There was a glass of water on her desk next to a packet of painkillers. Lucia placed two pills on her tongue and took a sip to wash them down. Tomorrow, she’d be moving into a hospice, so she needed to write that important letter now.

* * *

The next day, Lucia walked around her apartment for the last time. In her American will, she’d given instructions for it to go to her great-niece, Karen, who’d become like a granddaughter to her. In fact, she’d asked Karen to drive her to the hospice. The girl reminded her so much of Gero – she had the same chocolate-brown eyes, as well as his generous nature.

Was Jessica like him too? The English detective had relayed information about the breakup of Jessica’s marriage and had sent a photo of her taken from a distance. But it was impossible to know anything about her personality. Lucia only prayed she’d find happiness and hoped she would agree to inherit the baglio, and that it would help her heal from her wounds.

The sound of a key opening her front door alerted Lucia to Karen’s arrival. She swept her gaze around her home, then, with sadness in her heart, went to greet her great-niece.