LITMIR.BIZ

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had fallen madly in love with Paolo the first time she had seen him. She managed to run into him as often as possible. It never occurred to Paolo that their constant meetings had been carefully contrived. He regarded the attractive young daughter of Angelo Carmine as a child. But on a hot summer day in August, Lucia decided she could wait no longer. She telephone Paolo.

      ‘Paolo – this is Lucia Carmine. My father has something he would like to discuss with you, and he wondered whether you could meet him this afternoon at our pool house?’

      Paolo was both surprised and flattered. He was in awe of Angelo Carmine, but he had not known that the powerful Mafioso was even aware of his existence. ‘I would be delighted,’ Paolo said. ‘What time would he like me to be there?’

      ‘Three o’clock.’

      Siesta time, when the world would be asleep. The pool house was isolated, at the far end of their widespread property, and her father was out of town. There would be no chance of their being interrupted.

      Paolo arrived promptly at the appointed hour. The gate leading to the garden was open, and he walked directly to the pool house. He stopped at the closed door and knocked. ‘Signore Carmine? Pronto …?’

      There was no response. Paolo checked his watch. Cautiously, he opened the door and stepped inside. The room was dark.

      ‘Signore Carmine?’

      A figure moved towards him. ‘Paolo …’

      He recognized Lucia’s voice. ‘Lucia, I’m looking for your father. Is he here?’

      She was closer to him now, close enough for Paolo to see that she was stark naked.

      ‘My God!’ Paolo gasped. ‘What –?’

      ‘I want you to make love to me.’

      “You’re pazza! You’re only a child. I’m getting out of here.’ He started towards the door.

      ‘Go ahead. I’ll tell my father you raped me.’

      ‘No, you wouldn’t.’

      ‘Leave, and you’ll find out.’

      He stopped. If Lucia carried out her threat, there was not the slightest doubt in Paolo’s mind as to what his fate would be. Castration would be only the beginning.

      He walked back to Lucia to reason with her. ‘Lucia, dear –’

      ‘I like it when you call me dear.’

      ‘No – listen to me, Lucia. This is very serious. Your father will kill me if you tell him I raped you.’

      ‘I know.’

      He made another stab at it. ‘My father would be disgraced. My whole family would be disgraced.’

      ‘I know.’

      It was hopeless. ‘What do you want from me?’

      ‘I want you to do it to me.’

      ‘No. It is impossible. If your father found out, he would kill me.’

      ‘And if you leave here, he will kill you. You haven’t got much choice, have you?’

      He stared at her, panicky. ‘Why me, Lucia?’

      ‘Because I’m in love with you, Paolo!’ She took his hands and pressed them gently between her legs. ‘I’m a woman. Make me feel like one.’

      In the dim light Paolo could see the twin mounds of her breasts, her hard nipples, and the soft, dark hair between her legs.

      Jesus, Paolo thought. What can a man do?

      She was leading him to a couch, helping him out of his trousers and his shorts. She knelt and put his male hardness in her mouth, sucking it gently, and Paolo thought: She’s done this before. And when he was on top of her, plunging deep inside her, and she had her hands tightly wrapped around his backside, her hips thrusting hungrily against his, Paolo thought: My God, she’s marvellous.

      Lucia was in heaven. It was as though she had been born for this. Instinctively she knew exactly what to do to please him and to please herself. Her whole body was on fire. She felt herself building to a climax, higher and higher, and when it finally happened, she screamed aloud in sheer joy. They both lay there, spent, breathing hard.

      Lucia finally spoke. She said, ‘Same time tomorrow.’

      

      When Lucia was sixteen, Angelo Carmine decided that it was time for his daughter to see something of the world. With an elderly Aunt Rosa as chaperone, Lucia spent her school holidays in Capri and Ischia, Venice and Rome, and a dozen other places.

      ‘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 Chapel 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 Gregorio, and the Accademia Museum.’

      ‘Yes, Papa.’

      ‘Rome is the treasure house of the world. There you must visit the Citta Vaticano, and the Basilica of Santa Maria Maggiore, and the Galleria Borghese, 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. You will see the Municipal Museum of Art, 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 Umertol.

      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 off-beat 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 girl-friends: ‘I was naked in Naples, stoned in Salermo, felt up in Florence, and laid in Lucca.’

      

      Sicily itself was a wonder to explore, an island of Grecian temples, Roman Byzantine amphitheatres, 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 theatre. But Taormina, where she was born, was her favourite. 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 jewellery stores, bars and beautiful old squares, trattorie and colourful hotels like the Excelsior Palace and the San Domenico.

      The winding road leading up from the seaport of Nachos 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 Carahiniere. After all, she was the daughter of Angelo

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