was taking any notice of Rosa. She hurried over to her bag and stuffed the folder with Gaia’s documents in it. As she straightened up again, she heard a droning noise over the sea, coming toward the beach.
The sound of helicopter blades.
Blinking into the sun, she saw a chopper coming in over the water, racing past the anchored yacht and heading straight for the beach. Its outline was blurred by the glittering of the sun on its fuselage.
Alessandro threw Tano to the ground and dropped with both knees brutally on his adversary’s rib cage.
The two girls tore open one of the crates, and the next moment they had machine guns in their hands. Machine guns! The sight was so unlikely that Rosa blinked again.
One of the boys took his sunglasses off. The steward looked as if he were turned to stone.
Alessandro crouched over Tano on the ground, threw his head back, and uttered a triumphant howl like a beast of prey. Shadows raced like wildfire over his body, turning it black as pitch.
Tano howled as well.
Alessandro opened his mouth wider, even wider. He looked as if he were going to sink his teeth into Tano’s throat. Or was he calling something out, something that Rosa couldn’t hear through the noise of the rotor blades?
Sand swirled up and hid her view.
I promise you , she’d told Iole, we’ll get you out of here .
The skids of the helicopter touched down.
FAMILY FEUD
T HE PILOT LEFT THE BLADES turning as he ran from the cockpit, bending low, and opened the sliding door in the side. Sand blew over the beach; the girls’ hair danced on their bare shoulders.
Rosa already knew who she was going to see.
Florinda Alcantara slipped out, ducked under the noisy scythe of the rotor blades, and straightened up. Two armed men jumped out of the helicopter behind her.
Her henchmen were carrying light machine guns, like the girls in Tano’s party. The pilot drew an automatic from his jacket, too. The whole thing was like a scene from a third-rate action movie—made on a low budget that didn’t allow for crowds of extras.
Bikini-clad girls toting machine guns, Mafiosi with mirrored sunglasses. A pilot in an artificial leather jacket. She’d have liked to call “Cut!” to stop the action. Then they could all go home while the movie people swept the set.
Instead, her aunt called, “Come along, Rosa, the party’s over.” Even her dialogue belonged to a villain in a B movie.
Florinda was halfway between the helicopter and Rosa. Her dyed blond hair whipped around her face, while the two men with guns took up their position on either side of her.
You had to hand it to Florinda, thought Rosa. This might be a silly scene, but she was as elegant as ever in a black suit with a short skirt and a fitted jacket. The clearest sign that she didn’t seriously expect violence was her high-heeled boots. In a fight, she couldn’t have run three yards over the sand in those things.
And suddenly Rosa saw what was going on. All this was pure theater. Every gesture, every word, every look was part of a secret language that only members of the families understood. The concordat protected them from each other, and the whole macho show was nothing but the icing on a cake with a flavor they all knew well. It was like the Mafiosi were sticking to a tradition based on what they’d seen in films about themselves. Probably they could all reel off the dialogue of The Godfather and Scarface along with the actors.
Alessandro was still kneeling on Tano’s chest, with both hands around his cousin’s throat. The strange darkness that had come over his body just now had disappeared. Rosa couldn’t see his eyes closely; they still looked very dark, but that might be because of the shadows. When he glanced at her, she thought she saw sadness in his gaze.
Only seconds had passed since Florinda’s arrival. Tano used the moment of surprise to rear up—and this time he succeeded in throwing his opponent off balance. Alessandro’s attention
The sound of helicopter blades.
Blinking into the sun, she saw a chopper coming in over the water, racing past the anchored yacht and heading straight for the beach. Its outline was blurred by the glittering of the sun on its fuselage.
Alessandro threw Tano to the ground and dropped with both knees brutally on his adversary’s rib cage.
The two girls tore open one of the crates, and the next moment they had machine guns in their hands. Machine guns! The sight was so unlikely that Rosa blinked again.
One of the boys took his sunglasses off. The steward looked as if he were turned to stone.
Alessandro crouched over Tano on the ground, threw his head back, and uttered a triumphant howl like a beast of prey. Shadows raced like wildfire over his body, turning it black as pitch.
Tano howled as well.
Alessandro opened his mouth wider, even wider. He looked as if he were going to sink his teeth into Tano’s throat. Or was he calling something out, something that Rosa couldn’t hear through the noise of the rotor blades?
Sand swirled up and hid her view.
I promise you , she’d told Iole, we’ll get you out of here .
The skids of the helicopter touched down.
FAMILY FEUD
T HE PILOT LEFT THE BLADES turning as he ran from the cockpit, bending low, and opened the sliding door in the side. Sand blew over the beach; the girls’ hair danced on their bare shoulders.
Rosa already knew who she was going to see.
Florinda Alcantara slipped out, ducked under the noisy scythe of the rotor blades, and straightened up. Two armed men jumped out of the helicopter behind her.
Her henchmen were carrying light machine guns, like the girls in Tano’s party. The pilot drew an automatic from his jacket, too. The whole thing was like a scene from a third-rate action movie—made on a low budget that didn’t allow for crowds of extras.
Bikini-clad girls toting machine guns, Mafiosi with mirrored sunglasses. A pilot in an artificial leather jacket. She’d have liked to call “Cut!” to stop the action. Then they could all go home while the movie people swept the set.
Instead, her aunt called, “Come along, Rosa, the party’s over.” Even her dialogue belonged to a villain in a B movie.
Florinda was halfway between the helicopter and Rosa. Her dyed blond hair whipped around her face, while the two men with guns took up their position on either side of her.
You had to hand it to Florinda, thought Rosa. This might be a silly scene, but she was as elegant as ever in a black suit with a short skirt and a fitted jacket. The clearest sign that she didn’t seriously expect violence was her high-heeled boots. In a fight, she couldn’t have run three yards over the sand in those things.
And suddenly Rosa saw what was going on. All this was pure theater. Every gesture, every word, every look was part of a secret language that only members of the families understood. The concordat protected them from each other, and the whole macho show was nothing but the icing on a cake with a flavor they all knew well. It was like the Mafiosi were sticking to a tradition based on what they’d seen in films about themselves. Probably they could all reel off the dialogue of The Godfather and Scarface along with the actors.
Alessandro was still kneeling on Tano’s chest, with both hands around his cousin’s throat. The strange darkness that had come over his body just now had disappeared. Rosa couldn’t see his eyes closely; they still looked very dark, but that might be because of the shadows. When he glanced at her, she thought she saw sadness in his gaze.
Only seconds had passed since Florinda’s arrival. Tano used the moment of surprise to rear up—and this time he succeeded in throwing his opponent off balance. Alessandro’s attention
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