Sidney Sheldon - The sands of time

"You must be cultured—not a peasant, like your Papa.

Travel will round out your education. In Capri Aunt Rosa will take you to see the Carthusian Monastery of St. James and the

Villa of San Michele and the Palazzo a Mare…"

"Yes, Papa."

"In Venice there is St. Mark's Basilica, the Doges'

Palace, the church of San Giorgio, and the Accademia museum."

"Yes, Papa."

"Rome is the treasure house of the world. There you must visit the Vatican City, and the Basilica of Santa Maria

Maggiore, and the Borghese Gallery, of course."

"Of course."

"And Milano! You must go to the Conservatorio for a concert recital. I will arrange tickets for La Scala for you and Aunt Rosa. In Florence you will see the Municipal Museum of Art, the Uffizi Museum, and there are dozens of churches and museums."

"Yes, Papa."

With very careful planning, Lucia managed to see none of those places. Aunt Rosa insisted on taking a siesta every afternoon and retiring early each evening.

"You must get your rest too, child."

"Certainly, Aunt Rosa."

And so, while Aunt Rosa slept, Lucia danced at the

Quisisana in Capri, rode in a carrozza with a beplumed and behatted horse pulling it, joined a group of college boys at the Marina Piccola, went on picnics at Bagni di Tiberio, and took the funicolare up to Anacapri, where she joined a group of French students for drinks at the Piazza Umberto I.

In Venice a handsome gondolier took her to a disco, and a fisherman took her fishing at Chioggia. And Aunt Rosa slept.

In Rome Lucia drank wine from Apulia and discovered all the offbeat fun restaurants like Marte and Ranieri and Giggi

Fazi.

Wherever she went, Lucia found hidden little bars and nightclubs and romantic, good-looking men, and she thought:

Dear Papa was so right. Travel has rounded out my education.

In bed she learned to speak several different languages,

and she thought: This is so much more fun than my language classes at school.

When Lucia returned home to Taormina, she confided to her closest girlfriends: "I was naked in Naples, stoned in

Salerno, felt up in Florence, and laid in Lucca."

Sicily itself was a wonder to explore, an island of

Grecian temples, Roman and Byzantine amphitheaters, chapels,

Arab baths, and Swabian castles.

Lucia found Palermo raucous and lively, and she enjoyed wandering around the Kalsa, the old Arab quarter, and visiting the Opera dei Pupi, the puppet theater. But

Taormina, where she was born, was her favorite. It was a picture postcard of a city on the Ionian Sea on a mountain overlooking the world. It was a city of dress shops and jewelry stores, bars and beautiful old squares, trattorias and colorful hotels like the Excelsior Palace and the San

Domenico.

The winding road leading up from the seaport of Naxos is steep and narrow and dangerous, and when Lucia Carmine was given a car on her fifteenth birthday, she broke every traffic law in the book but was never once stopped by the carabinieri. After all, she was the daughter of Angelo

Carmine.

To those who were brave enough or stupid enough to inquire, Angelo Carmine was in the real estate business. And it was partially true, for the Carmine family owned the villa at Taormina, a house on Lake Como at Cernobbio, a lodge at

Gstaad, an apartment in Rome, and a large farm outside Rome.

But it happened that Carmine was also in more colorful businesses. He owned a dozen whorehouses, two gambling casinos, six ships that brought in cocaine from his plantations in Colombia, and an assortment of other very lucrative enterprises, including loan-sharking. Angelo

Carmine was the capo of the Sicilian Mafiosi, so it was only appropriate that he lived well. His life was an inspiration to others, heartwarming proof that a poor Sicilian peasant who was ambitious and worked hard could become rich and successful.

Caimine had started out as an errand boy for the Mafiosi when he was twelve. By fifteen he had become an enforcer for the loan sharks, and at sixteen he killed his first man and made his bones. Shortly after that, he married Lucia's mother, Anna. In the years that followed, Carmine had climbed the treacherous corporate ladder to the top, leaving a string of dead enemies behind him. He had grown, but Anna had remained the simple peasant girl he had married. She bore him three fine children, but after that her contribution to

Angelo's life came to a halt. As though knowing she no longer had a place in her family's life, she obligingly died and was considerate enough to manage it with a minimum of fuss.

Arnaldo and Victor were in business with their father, and from the time Lucia was a small girl, she eavesdropped on the exciting conversations between her father and her brothers,

and listened to the tales of how they had outwitted or overpowered their enemies. To Lucia, her father was a knight in shining armor. She saw nothing wrong in what her father and brothers were doing. On the contrary, they were helping people. If people wanted to gamble, why let stupid laws stand in their way? If men took pleasure in buying sex, why not assist them? And how generous of her father and brothers to loan money to people who were turned away by the hard-hearted bankers. To Lucia, her father and brothers were model citizens. The proof of it lay in her father's choice of friends. Once a week Angelo Carmine gave an enormous dinner party at the villa, and oh, the people who would be seated at the Carmine table! The mayor would be there, and a few aldermen, and judges, and seated next to them would be movie stars and opera singers and often the chief of police and a monsignor. Several times a year the governor himself would appear.

Lucia lived an idyllic life, filled with parties,

beautiful clothes and jewels, cars and servants, and powerful friends. And then one February, on her twenty-third birthday,

it all came to an abrupt end.

It began innocuously enough. Two men came to the villa to see her father. One of the men was his friend the chief of police, and the other was his lieutenant.

"Forgive me, Padrone," the police chief apologized, "but this is a stupid formality which the commissioner is forcing me to go through. A thousand pardons, Padrone, but if you will be kind enough to accompany me to the police station, I will see to it that you are home in time to enjoy your daughter's birthday party."

"No problem," Carmine said genially. "A man must do his duty." He grinned. "This new commissioner who's been appointed by the president is—in the American phrase—'an eager beaver,' eh?"

"I'm afraid that is so," the police chief sighed. "But don't worry. You and I have seen these pains in the asses come and go very quickly, eh, Padrone?"

They laughed and went to police headquarters.

Angelo Carmine was not at home for the party that day, or the next. In fact, he never saw any of his homes again. The state filed a one-hundred-count indictment against him that included murder, drug trafficking, prostitution, arson, and scores of other crimes. Bail was denied. A police dragnet went out that swept up Carmine's crime organization. He had counted on his powerful connections in Sicily to have the charges against him dismissed, but instead he was taken to

Rome in the middle of the night and booked at the Regina

Coeli, the notorious Queen of Heaven prison. He was put in a small cell that contained barred windows, a radiator, a cot,

and a toilet with no seat. It was outrageous! It was an indignity beyond imagining.

In the beginning Carmine was sure that Tommaso Contorno,

his attorney, would have him released immediately.

When Contorno came to the visiting room of the prison,

Carmine stormed at him. "They've closed down my whorehouses and drug operation and they know everything about my money-laundering operation. Somebody is talking. Find out who it is and bring me his tongue."