The Sands of Time

The Sands of Time Page 9

Taormina, Sicily

1968

She was awakened every morning by the distant sound of the bells of the Church of San Domenico, high in the Peloritani Mountains surrounding Taormina. She enjoyed waking up slowly, languorously stretching like a cat. She kept her eyes closed, knowing that there was something wonderful to remember. What was it? The question teased at her mind, and she pushed it back, not wanting to know just yet, wanting to savor the surprise. And suddenly her mind was joyously flooded with it. She was Lucia Maria Carmine, the daughter of Angelo Carmine, and that was enough to make anyone in the world happy.

They lived in a large, storybook villa filled with more servants than the fifteen-year-old Lucia could count. A bodyguard drove her to school each morning in an armored limousine. She grew up with the prettiest dresses and the most expensive toys in all of Sicily, and was the envy of her schoolmates.

But it was her father around whom Lucia's life centered. In her eyes, he was the most handsome man in the world. He was short and heavyset, with a strong face and stormy brown eyes that radiated power. He had two sons, Arnaldo and Victor, but it was his daughter whom Angelo Carmine adored. And Lucia worshiped him. In church when the priest spoke of God, Lucia always thought of her father.

He would come to her bedside in the morning and say, "Time to get up for school, faccia d'angelo." Angel face.

It was not true, of course. Lucia knew she was not really beautiful. I'm attractive, she thought, studying herself objectively in the mirror. Yes. Striking, rather than beautiful. Her reflection showed a young girl with an oval face, creamy skin, even, white teeth, a strong chin - too strong? - voluptuous, full lips - too full? - and dark, knowing eyes. But if her face fell just short of being beautiful, her body more than made up for it. At fifteen, Lucia had the body of a woman, with round, firm breasts, a narrow waist, and hips that moved with sensuous promise.

"We're going to have to marry you off early," her father would tease her. "Soon you will drive the young men pazzo, my little virgin."

"I want to marry someone like you, Papa, but there is no one like you."

He laughed. "Never mind. We'll find you a prince. You were born under a lucky star, and one day you will know what it is like to have a man hold you in his arms and make love to you."

Lucia blushed. "Yes, Papa."

It was true that no one had made love to her - not for the past twelve hours. Benito Patas, one of her bodyguards, always came to her bed when her father was out of town. Having Benito make love to her in her house added to the thrill because Lucia knew that her father would kill them both if he ever discovered what was going on.

Benito was in his thirties, and it flattered him that the beautiful young virgin daughter of the great Angelo Carmine had chosen him to deflower her.

"Was it as you expected?" he had asked the first time he bedded her.

"Oh, yes," Lucia breathed. "Better."

She thought: While he's not as good as Mario, Tony, or Enrico, he's certainly better than Roberto and Leo. She could not remember the names of all the others.

At thirteen, Lucia had felt that she had been a virgin long enough. She had looked around and decided that the lucky boy would be Paolo Costello, the son of Angelo Carmine's doctor. Paolo was seventeen, tall and husky, and the star soccer player at his school. Lucia 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 telephoned 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 toward 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 pazzo! You're only a child. I'm getting out of here." He started toward 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 don't have much choice, do 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, sucked 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 marvelous.

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 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 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 Maggjore, 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.

Carmine 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."

"Do not worry, Padrone," Contorno assured him. "We will find him."

His optimism turned out to be unfounded. In order to protect their witnesses, the state adamantly refused to reveal their names until the trial began.

Two days before the trial, Angelo Carmine and the other members of the Mafia were transferred to Rebibbia Prigione, a maximum-security prison twelve miles outside Rome. A nearby courtroom had been fortified like a bunker. One hundred sixty accused Mafia members were brought in through an underground tunnel wearing handcuffs and chains and put in thirty cages made of steel and bullet-proof glass. Armed guards surrounded the inside and outside of the courtroom and spectators were searched before they were allowed to enter.

When Angelo Carmine was marched into the courtroom, his heart leaped for joy, for the judge on the bench was Giovanni Buscetta, a man who had been on the Carmine payroll for the last fifteen years and who was a frequent guest at the Carmine house. Carmine knew at last that justice was going to be served.

The trial began. Angelo Carmine looked to omerta, the Sicilian code of silence, to protect him. But to his astonishment, the chief witness for the state turned out to be none other than Benito Patas, the bodyguard. Patas had been with the Carmine family so long and had been so trusted that he had been allowed to be in the room at meetings where confidential matters of business were discussed, and since that business consisted of every illegal activity on the police statutes, Patas had been privy to a great deal of information. When the police apprehended Patas minutes after he had cold-bloodedly murdered and muti-lated the new boyfriend of his mistress, they had threatened him with life imprisonment, and Patas had reluctantly agreed to help the police build their case against Carmine in exchange for a lighter sentence. Now, to Angelo Carmine's horrified disbelief, he sat in the courtroom and listened to Patas reveal the innermost secrets of the Carmine fiefdom.

Lucia was also in the courtroom every day listening to the man who had been her lover destroy her father and her brothers.

Benito Patas's testimony opened the floodgates. Once the commissioner's investigation began, dozens of victims came forward to tell their stories of what Angelo Carmine and his hoodlums had done to them. The Mafia had muscled into their businesses, blackmailed them, forced them into prostitution, murdered or crippled their loved ones, sold drugs to their children. The list of horrors was endless.

Even more damaging was the testimony of the pentiti, the repentant members of the Mafia who decided to talk.

Lucia was allowed to visit her father in prison.

He greeted her cheerfully. He hugged her and whispered, "Do not worry, faccia d'angelo. Judge Giovanni Buscetta is my secret ace in the hole. He knows all the tricks of the law. He will use them to see that your brothers and I are acquitted."

Angelo Carmine proved to be a poor prophet.

The public had been outraged by the excesses of the Mafia, and when the trial finally ended, Judge Giovanni Buscetta, an astute political animal, sentenced the other Mafia members to long prison terms and Angelo Carmine and his two sons to the maximum permitted by Italian law - life imprisonment, a mandatory sentence of twenty-eight years.

For Angelo Carmine it was a death sentence.

All of Italy cheered. Justice had finally triumphed. But to Lucia, it was a nightmare beyond imagining. The three men she loved most in the world were being sent to hell.

Once again, Lucia was allowed to visit her father in his cell. The overnight change in him was heartbreaking. In the space of a few days, he had become an old man. His figure had shrunk and his healthy, ruddy complexion had turned sallow.

"They have betrayed me," he moaned. "They have all betrayed me. Judge Giovanni Buscetta - I owned him, Lucia! I made him a wealthy man, and he did this terrible thing to me. And Patas. I was like a father to him. What has the world come to? Whatever happened to honor? They are Sicilians, like me."

Lucia took her father's hand in hers and said in a low voice, "I am Sicilian too, Papa. You shall have your vengeance. I swear it to you, on my life."

"My life is over," her father told her. "But yours is still ahead of you. I have a numbered account in Zurich. The Bank Leu. There is more money there than you could spend in ten lifetimes." He whispered a number in her ear. "Leave cursed Italy. Take the money and enjoy yourself."

Lucia held him close. "Papa - "

"If you ever need a friend, you can trust Dominic Durell. We are like brothers. He has a home in France at Beziers, near the Spanish border."

"I'll remember."

"Promise me you'll leave Italy."

"Yes, Papa. But there is something I have to do first."

Having a burning desire for revenge was one thing; figuring out a way to get it was another. She was alone, and it was not going to be easy. Lucia thought of the Italian expression Rubare il mestiere - You steal their profession. I must think the way they da

A few weeks after her father and brothers had started serving their prison sentences, Lucia Carmine appeared at the home of Judge Giovanni Buscetta. The judge himself opened the door.

He stared at Lucia in surprise. He had seen her often when he was a guest at the Carmine home, but they had never had much to say to each other.

"Lucia Carmine! What are you doing here? You shouldn't have - "

"I have come to thank you, Your Honor."

He studied her suspiciously. "Thank me for what?"

Lucia looked deep into his eyes. "For exposing my father and brothers for what they were. I was an innocent, living in that house of horrors. I had no idea what monsters - " She broke down and began to sob.

The judge stood there uncertainly, then patted her shoulder. "There, there. Come in and have some tea."

"Th - thank you."

When they were seated in the living room, Judge Buscetta said, "I had no idea that you felt that way about your father. I had the impression that you were very close."

"Only because I had no idea what he and my brothers were really like. When I found out - " She shuddered. "You don't know what it was like. I wanted to get away, but there was no escape for me."

"I didn't understand." He patted her hand. "I'm afraid I misjudged you, my dear."

"I was terrified of him." Her voice was filled with passion.

Judge Buscetta noticed, not for the first time, what a beautiful young woman Lucia was. She was wearing a simple black dress that revealed the outlines of her lush body. He looked at her rounded breasts and could not help observing how grown up she had become.

It would be amusing, Buscetta thought, to sleep with the daughter of Angelo Carmine. He's powerless to hurt me now. The old bastard thought he owned me, but I was too smart for him. Lucia is probably a virgin. I could teach her a few things in bed

An elderly housekeeper brought in a tray of tea and a platter of cookies. She put them on a table. "Shall I pour?"

"Let me," Lucia said. Her voice was warm and filled with promise.

Judge Buscetta smiled at Lucia. "You can go," he told the housekeeper.

"Yes, sir."

The judge watched as Lucia walked over to the small table where the tray had been set down and carefully poured out tea for the judge and herself.

"I have a feeling you and I could become very good friends, Lucia," Giovanni Buscetta said, probing.

Lucia gave him a seductive smile. "I would like that very much, Your Honor."

"Please - Giovanni."

"Giovanni." Lucia handed him his cup. She raised her cup in a toast. 'To the death of villains."

Smiling, Buscetta lifted his cup. "To the death of villains." He took a swallow and grimaced. The tea tasted bitter.

"Is it too - ?"

"No, no. It is fine, my dear."

Lucia raised her cup again. "To our friendship."

She took another sip, and he joined her.

"To - "

Buscetta never finished his toast. He was seized by a sudden spasm, and he felt a red-hot poker stabbing at his heart. He grabbed his chest. "Oh, my God! Call a doctor..."

Lucia sat there, calmly sipping her tea, watching the judge stumble to his feet and fall to the floor. He lay there, his body twitching, and then he was still.

"That's one, Papa," Lucia said.

Benito Patas was in his cell playing solitaire when the jailer announced, "You have a conjugal visitor."

Benito beamed. He had been given special status as an informer, with many privileges, and conjugal visits was one of them. Patas had half a dozen girlfriends, and they alternated their visits. He wondered which one had come today.

He studied himself in the little mirror hanging on the wall of his cell, put some pomade on his hair, slicked it back, then followed the guard through the prison corridor to the section where there were private rooms.

The guard motioned him inside. Patas strutted into the room, filled with anticipation. He stopped and stared in surprise.

"Lucia! My God, what the hell are you doing here? How did you get in?"

Lucia said softly, "I told them we were engaged, Benito."

She was wearing a stunning red low-cut silk dress that clung to the curves of her body.

Benito Patas backed away from her. "Get out."

"If you wish. But there is something you should hear first. When I saw you get up on the stand and testify against my father and brothers, I hated you. I wanted to kill you." She moved closer to him. "But then I realized that what you were doing was an act of bravery. You dared to stand up and tell the truth. My father and my brothers were not evil men, but they did evil things, and you were the only one strong enough to stand up against them."

"Believe me, Lucia," he said, "the police forced me to - "

"You don't have to explain," she said softly. "Not to me. Remember the first time we made love? I knew then that I was in love with you and that I always would be."

"Lucia, I would never have done what I - "

"Caro, I want us to forget what happened. It's done. What's important now is you and me."

She was close to him now, and he could smell her heady perfume. His mind was in a state of confusion. "Do - do you mean that?"

"More than I've ever meant anything in my life. That's why I came here today, to prove it to you. To show you that I'm yours. And not with just words."

Her fingers went to her shoulder straps, and an instant later her dress shimmered to the floor. She was naked. "Do you believe me now?"

By God, she was beautiful. "Yes, I believe you." His voice was husky.

Lucia moved close to him, and her body brushed against his. "Get undressed," she whispered. "Hurry!"

She watched Patas as he undressed. When he was naked, he took her hand and led her to the little bed in the corner of the room. He did not bother with foreplay. In a moment he was on top of her, spreading her legs, plunging deep inside her, an arrogant smile on his face.

"It's like old times," he said smugly. "You couldn't forget me, could you?"

"No," Lucia whispered in his ear. "And do you know why I couldn't forget you?"

"No, mi amore. Tell me."

"Because I'm Sicilian, like my father."

She reached behind her head and removed the long, ornate pin that held her hair in place.

Benito Patas felt something stab him under his rib cage, and the sudden pain made him open his mouth to scream, but Lucia's mouth was on his, kissing him, and as Benito's body bucked and writhed on top of her, Lucia had an orgasm.

A few minutes later she was clothed again, and the pin had been replaced in her hair. Benito was under the blanket, his eyes closed. Lucia knocked at the cell door and smiled at the guard who opened it to let her out. "He's asleep," she whispered.

The guard looked at the beautiful young woman and smiled. "You probably wore him out."

"I hope so," Lucia said.

The sheer daring of the two murders took Italy by storm. The beautiful young daughter of a Mafioso had avenged her father and brothers, and the excitable Italian public cheered her, rooting for her to escape. The police, quite naturally, took a rather different point of view. Lucia Carmine had murdered a respected judge and had then committed a second murder within the very walls of a prison. In their eyes, equal to her crimes was the fact that she had made fools of them. The newspapers were having a wonderful time at their expense.

"I want her neck," the police commissioner roared to his deputy. "And I want it today."

The manhunt intensified, while the object of all this attention was hiding in the home of Salvatore Giuseppe, one of her father's men who had managed to escape the firestorm.

In the beginning, Lucia's only thought had been to avenge the honor of her father and brothers. She had fully expected to be caught and was prepared to sacrifice herself. When she had managed to walk out of the prison and make her escape, however, her thoughts changed from vengeance to survival. Now that she had accomplished what she had set out to do, life suddenly became precious again. I'm not going to let them capture me, she vowed to herself. Never.

Salvatore Giuseppe and his wife had done what they could to disguise Lucia. They had lightened her hair, stained her teeth, and bought her glasses and some ill-fitting clothes.

Salvatore examined their handiwork critically. "It is not bad," he said. "But it is not enough. We must get you out of Italy. You have to go somewhere where your picture is not on the front page of every newspaper. Somewhere where you can hide out for a few months."

And Lucia remembered:

If you ever need a friend, you can trust Dominic Durell. We are like brothers. He has a home in France at Beziers, near the Spanish border.

"I know where I can go," Lucia said. "I'll need a passport."

"I will arrange it."

Twenty-four hours later Lucia was looking at a passport in the name of Lucia Roma, with a photograph taken in her new persona.

"Where will you go?"

"My father has a friend in France who will help me."

Salvatore said, "If you wish me to accompany you to the border - ?"

Both of them knew how dangerous that could be.

"No, Salvatore," Lucia said. "You have done enough for me. I must do this alone."

The following morning Salvatore Giuseppe rented a Fiat in the name of Lucia Roma and handed her the keys.

"Be careful," he pleaded.

"Don't worry. I was born under a lucky star."

Had not her father told her so?

At the Italian-French border the cars waiting to get into France were advancing slowly in a long line. As Lucia moved closer to the immigration booth, she became more and more nervous. They would be looking for her at all exit points. If they caught her, she knew she would be sentenced to prison for life. I'll kill myself first, Lucia thought.

She had reached the immigration officer.

"Passport, signorina."

Lucia handed him her black passport through the car window. As the officer took it, he glanced at Lucia, and she saw a puzzled look come into his eyes. He looked from the passport to her face and back again, this time more carefully. Lucia felt her body tense.

"You're Lucia Carmine," he said.