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An hour or so later Giovanni was loath to leave. The night was bitterly cold; it had been a long time since he had drunk alcohol and he was feeling the effects of the rough red wine. He wanted to stay in his cosy bunk and talk to his brother.

‘Will you come to the village with me?' he asked. ‘Company for the journey?'

‘No, no,' Rico laughed. ‘It is too cold. Go warm yourself in the widow's bed and I will think of Teresa and envy you.'

 

I
T WAS NOT
yet eleven o'clock when, from the upstairs salon, Sarina heard the door of the servants' entrance open and close. It could not be the servants. Guiseppina and Ernesto had retired well before ten as they always did. It could not be Giovanni. He never arrived until midnight and, in any event, he did not have a key—she always met him outside. Only she and the servants had a key. Then she remembered. There was one other person who held keys to the house. He always had …

She heard footsteps crossing the courtyard and, even before she stepped out onto the balcony, she knew who she would see.

‘Mario,' she said. ‘Luigi.' The brothers stopped in the centre of the courtyard beside the marble statue. Sarina
stood erect in her red velvet gown at the top of the stone steps and tried to quell her rising fear. ‘What has brought you to Santa Lena? I was not expecting you.'

Mario nodded for Luigi to remain where he was and slowly walked to the staircase. ‘Disturbing news has reached us, Sarina.' Sarina stood her ground, although her heart was thumping wildly. The first step, the second, the third; slowly he mounted the staircase towards her. ‘We need to talk, you and I.'

‘Disturbing news, Mario?' She tried desperately to steady the tremor in her voice. ‘What has happened?'

As he reached the top of the stairs, she backed away slightly. She could tell nothing from his eyes. They were black, impassive. Had he heard about Giovanni? But surely if he had there would be anger in his eyes. What did he want? ‘You should have sent word,' she said, trying to smile. ‘I would have had Guiseppina prepare a special supper.'

‘You have defiled my brother's memory,' Mario said as he slowly circled her. Still his eyes were cold. She would have preferred to see anger there, but there was no emotion. Nothing. Terror struck Sarina. He was going to kill her. He was going to destroy her the way he would a dog that had not done his bidding.

‘No, Mario, no. I swear …' She started to back away but there was nowhere to go. She felt the corner railing of the staircase dig into her spine.

‘You have debased the name of De Cretico.' He did not touch her but his face was only inches from hers. ‘You are a whore, Sarina. A
putanna
who gives her body to any man who can pleasure her. Was it worth it? Did the young Gianni satisfy you enough to warrant the degradation of my brother's memory?'

He even knew Giovanni's name. There was no point in denial. All she could do was plead for her life. Sarina started to sob. Painful, racking sobs of desperation.

‘Please Mario … please … you do not know the loneliness … You do not know the life I have led in this house. I needed the boy. I needed …' She could not go on.

Mario looked at her as she wept pitifully, her body slumped, defeated, and he wondered that he had ever desired her. All these years he had hated her for the lust she had aroused in him, and where was her sexuality now?

Mario felt no sympathy for Sarina but the desire to watch her grovel for her life had gone. He had wanted her death to be tormented. He had wanted her to feel her life ebb away while she begged to be spared. Whether there was actually a spark of pity in him or not, Mario neither knew nor cared, but the relishing of her death was no longer important to him. He would not only make it quick and painless, he would even distract her from its imminence.

‘You needed a man,' he said and slowly put an arm around her waist and drew her to him. ‘You needed a man in your bed and yet you chose a boy.'

Sarina's sobs slowly subsided. There was something else in his eyes now. She tried desperately to read what was there.

‘You always needed a man, Sarina.'

His mouth was very close to hers now and she could feel his body against her. Relief surged through every fibre of her being. He wanted her. That was it. How could a man kill the very thing he wanted? Mario had always desired her, she had sensed it. Even through her fear of him she had sensed it. And she had always wanted him. She remembered her fantasies as Marcello had made love to her. It had been Mario, always Mario. She closed her eyes and, as she felt him take her head in his hands, she opened her lips to receive his kiss.

The crack as her neck broke was audible. For a moment Mario stood bearing the weight of her body in his hands, then, adding just enough momentum, he let her go and watched her tumble in her red velvet gown down the stairs to land in a crumpled heap at the bottom.

He nodded to Luigi who had watched silently throughout. ‘Fetch the servants,' he said.

When he met the three of them at the bottom of the stairs Guiseppina was standing to attention like a soldier awaiting orders, avoiding the sight of the body before her. Ernesto was not. Ernesto was staring open-mouthed at Sarina. He had obeyed his wife's instructions. ‘The boy will be returning to Santa Lena soon,' she had said. ‘I heard them talking. And when he does, the signora will become even more indiscreet and everyone will know. If we do not inform the brothers we will be seen as accomplices and instantly dismissed.'

Ernesto had never been particularly fond of Sarina. She was arrogant and dismissive, but such was the privilege of her class. ‘What will they do to her?' he had asked.

‘They will punish her, it is their right, but we must look after ourselves, Ernesto.' And, as always, Ernesto had given in. Why was he so shocked now, he wondered. Sarina's eyes stared up at him, surprised, questioning. And her lips were parted as if to receive a kiss. She looked as beautiful in death as she had in life. Perhaps it was her beauty which shocked him. Such beauty should have lived, he thought, lived and been admired. Ernesto wanted no part of it. But Mario was delivering his instructions.

‘You saw the accident, the two of you,' he was saying. ‘You saw your mistress trip on the uppermost step. You saw her fall down the staircase and when you ran to her aid there was nothing you could do.'
Guiseppina was nodding and Mario turned towards Ernesto. Ernesto felt himself nod back. ‘The boy arrives at midnight, you say?'

‘Yes,' Guiseppina answered, ‘midnight on Saturday. He will come tonight.'

Mario checked the gold watch in his fob pocket. ‘When we have taken the boy away, you will report this accident. You will say nothing of the boy.'

Guiseppina nodded again. ‘
Si, signore
.'

Mario, Luigi and Guiseppina all looked to Ernesto for his affirmation and Ernesto heard himself say, ‘You must leave the signal for the boy or he will know there is something wrong.'

‘What signal?' It was Luigi who asked. It was Luigi who had communicated with Guiseppina. ‘You said nothing of a signal.'

Before Guiseppina could reply, Ernesto said, ‘The signora always asked me to light the small lamp by the door to the servants' quarters. I think it was her signal that we had retired and that all was safe.'

Luigi turned to Guiseppina who did not dare look at Ernesto. ‘I very often retire before my husband,' she said. ‘I did not know of the signal.'

‘Light the lamp,' Mario instructed.

The servants were told to wait in their bedroom until, through the shutters, they saw Mario put out the lamp. Ten minutes after that they were to report the accident.

While Mario and Luigi went out into the night to take up their vigil in the shadow of the stables, Guiseppina and Ernesto huddled together in the blackness of their bedroom.

‘Why did you lie about the signal?' Guiseppina hissed. ‘She never leaves a signal. She waits for him in the dark.'

‘I will not be party to another death,' Ernesto
whispered back. ‘It was wrong, woman, you should never have spoken out.'

‘They will hunt the boy down anyway,' she said sullenly, unaccustomed to criticism from her husband. ‘They will hunt him down and kill him.'

‘At least we will not have laid the trap. We have given him the chance of escape and you should pray to God that he does. Pray for the salvation of your soul, Guiseppina. It is a bad thing you have done.'

 

G
IOVANNI SAW THE
lamp in the distance and he was puzzled. There was never a light left on in the big house when she was expecting him. She always waited in the dark. Sarina was sending him a signal. Had the brothers arrived? Was she warning him? It was certainly not worth the risk of investigation. He turned and doubled back, skirting around the fringes of the village towards his family's cottage.

 

‘W
HERE IS THE
boy? Why does he not come?' Mario called the servants from their quarters. He and Luigi had been waiting in the snow for almost an hour and Mario was cold and irritable.

‘He does not come every Saturday,' Guiseppina said. ‘He will not come now, it is too late. He will stay at the camp.'

‘Where do I find this camp?'

As Guiseppina told the brothers of the site on the side of the mountain where they were digging the new railway tunnel, she did not look at Ernesto. ‘You will find him there,' she said.

 

I
T HAD STOPPED
snowing. The air was clear and the moon shone down on the camp, still and quiet in the dead of night. Mario lifted the flap of one of the tents. Four men asleep, two of them snoring heavily.

‘Gianni,' he barked. ‘Where do I find Gianni?'

One of the men sat up, startled. ‘Eh? Eh? What is it, what has happened?' he muttered, groggy with sleep.

The silhouettes of two men stood framed in the moonlight at the mouth of the tent. ‘Is one of you Gianni?' a voice demanded.

‘Gianni? No. The next tent.' The man pointed to the right and, as the figures disappeared into the night and the tent was once more in darkness, he slumped back into his bunk. It sounded as if one of the Gianni brothers was in trouble. Or maybe it was just a dream. His bunk was warm and sleep was near. Just a dream, he thought, and soon he was snoring again.

‘Gianni! Which of you is Gianni?' The sound of his name cut through his sleep and Rico awoke to see the shadowy shapes of two men in the tent.

‘I am Gianni,' he said sitting up. ‘Is something wrong?'

‘Come with us.' The voice was authoritative and automatically Rico rose from his bunk.

‘What has happened? How can I help you?'

‘Come with us,' Mario repeated.

One of the other two sleeping men woke and propped himself up onto his elbow. ‘What is it?' Fernando the Spaniard whined irritably. ‘A man is trying to sleep, what is going on?'

‘Nothing that concerns you,' Mario said. ‘Come.' And Rico felt a hand of steel grasp his arm.

He tried briefly to struggle but another hand grasped his other arm. ‘You. Stay here,' Luigi commanded Fernando. And, before he knew it, Rico was dragged out into the bitter cold.

Fernando was wide awake now. He watched as the men dragged Rico outside. Rico was wearing nothing but his long cotton underwear; he would freeze out there. Should he wake Natale? Fernando wondered.
Natale was snoring gently in the other bunk. No. Natale was the undisputed leader at the camp. Older and tougher than the others, he always acted as protector to the younger workers. He would want to interfere. This was not any of their business, Fernando decided. These men were bad men, he could sense it. Let Natale sleep on—he could sleep through anything. If Rico Gianni was in trouble then it was of his own doing and he must bear the consequences. In the dark, Fernando listened to the men's boots crunching in the snow.

Rico was half-carried, half-dragged to the gully beside the track which led to the work site. ‘What is it?' he demanded, his teeth chattering from the intense cold. ‘What do you want of me?' From the little he could see of the men's faces in the moonlight he did not recognise them. ‘I do not know you.'

‘But we know you, Gianni. You have defiled our family name.' Luigi released Rico's arm but, before he could struggle, Mario had locked both his elbows so hard behind his back that Rico felt any moment his arms would be ripped from their shoulder sockets. Mario nodded to Luigi who took a short length of steel pipe from his greatcoat pocket.

‘She was not worth your life, Gianni,' Mario said. ‘You are a young man and she was a whore. Anybody could have had her. We will not take your life.'

Rico's mind was racing. The De Cretico brothers. Of course. He recognised them vaguely now. He had seen them in the village years ago when he was a boy. They thought he was Giovanni.

‘She was not even worth your manhood. We will leave you to sire children. But you must pay for defiling the memory of our brother.'

Luigi struck with the steel pipe and Rico screamed as his kneecap shattered.

‘You must pay for degrading the name of De Cretico,' Mario continued.

As Luigi raised the pipe again, Rico wanted to scream, ‘It was not me!' But he did not. He clenched his teeth and waited for the blow. Again the steel pipe struck and this time Rico did not cry out. He fell to the ground and lay groaning as his shattered knees sank into the snow.

‘It will be a long time before you again walk up the hill to the big house,' Mario said.

They carried him to his tent and threw him to the ground. ‘Crawl,' Mario said. ‘Crawl inside to the warmth or you will die out here in the cold. Either way it matters little to us.'

The brothers left and it was only when Fernando could no longer hear the crunch of their boots that he shook Natale. ‘Natale, wake up,' he begged. ‘Something has happened.'