The Sands of Time (8 page)

C
HAPTER
E
IGHT

Taormina, Sicily

1968

S
he 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.”