The Prince (24 page)

“Prince Licata, open up!” Jano shouted at the top of his lungs. He was infuriated and had yet to fully vent his rage over the affront that had been done to him. A supreme offense for any human being, but unimaginable for a son in Sicily.

He continued banging furiously on the wooden door. The sound of a bolt sliding open was heard on the other side; then two burly campieri appeared. The older of the two was Bettino, whom Jano had already had the misfortune of meeting some time ago. The two men looked threatening, like a dark sky before a storm lets loose, and were armed with double-barreled hunting rifles.

“Take me to your boss, now,” Jano ordered impatiently.

But Bettino, a good several inches taller than him, put out a hand to bar the way. Meanwhile, the other campiere had stepped aside to make way for Lavinia, who appeared behind them. The woman stopped in the middle of the doorway, and the younger campiere stood protectively beside her.

“If you are looking for my brother, I will tell you that he left last night for one of his regular trips to Europe. You will have to return in a year or so,” she said very calmly.

“Are you fucking with me?” Jano had thrown all caution to the wind.

Offended by his language, the woman pursed her lips and turned to go back into the palazzo. But Jano, more enraged than ever, overtook her and, pushing her aside, broke into the house, followed by three of his men.

Bettino and the other campiere immediately reacted by cocking their rifles, but Lavinia, with an imperious wave of her hand, indicated that they should let them enter. Cosimo and Prospero remained outside, holding off the two campieri with their muskets, so they wouldn't move.

Jano and the three other Black Shirts searched every corner of the palazzo, but there was no sign of the prince. Lavinia had been telling the truth: evidently Licata had gone on a long journey, given that his clothes were gone from the closets.

– 1939 –

N
o one in town would ever have imagined that Ferdinando Licata,
u patri
of the entire community, would one day be forced to flee Salemi to avoid arrest or imprisonment. But the prince was despised by Mayor Costa and even more so by Jano, who basically viewed all aristocrats and those in power as the origin of his troubles. The young man would surely have subjected him to the infamy of the dreaded “box” in order to humiliate him and make him see who was now in command in Salemi.

Licata would never stand for such an affront. Consequently, after displaying his power to Jano by violating his mother's grave, he planned to leave for America that very night.

A Florio steamer sailed every two weeks from Palermo, headed for America. He would return once things had changed. After assigning his sister Lavinia blank power of attorney, the prince left Salemi with a heavy heart.

That same morning, Jano Vassallo hurried to Rosario Losurdo's farm. Prince Licata's gabellotto was third on the list of those he had to arrest. Now he was afraid he wouldn't find him. If Losurdo had learned from some friend of a friend that he was making those arrests, he too would have gone into hiding and would never be found.

Though he'd been warned by the prince, Rosario Losurdo had not wanted to abandon his lands. He had thanked the prince but told him that he would not budge from his farm. He had had nothing to do with the death of Marquis Pietro Bellarato nineteen years ago.

And so Losurdo was actually waiting for the Black Shirts to turn up, standing in the yard of his farmstead surrounded by his children and the peasants who helped him work his lands. The arrival of the combat league's truck was heralded by the sputtering of its old engine.

Jano climbed out and approached Losurdo, his five militiamen flanking him. Stopping a few steps away from the gabellotto, he surveyed the entire Losurdo family lined up in support. For an instant, his eyes met Mena's, but she quickly lowered her gaze.

Jano pointed his club at Rosario's chest and said, “Losurdo, I have to speak to you in private.”

Rosario pushed aside the threatening club with a swipe of his hand.

“Follow me,” he said, heading for the house.

Jano motioned to his men not to move and disappeared inside the farmhouse.

“The beauty of our land,” Jano began, “is that here secrets fly like arrows. If an act of violence happens, no one talks and everyone looks the other way, yet it is instantly known to all with the speed of light.”

“I don't have much time for you, Jano. Get to the point,” Losurdo said brusquely.

“My dear Rosario, how much time you have depends on my mood.” He pulled a legal document from his shirt and showed it to the gabellotto. “See this? It's a warrant for your arrest. For a crime that you committed nineteen years ago.”

“Bellarato again? Jano, why are you all so determined to get me? First they tried to frame me for the slaughter of your family. Someone planted weapons from the massacre at my house. I did five years for that charge, but I had nothing to do with it, and you know it. Then the marquis's murder. I was in the fields when they killed him, and I can prove it. You should look elsewhere for your scapegoat, Jano.”

“This time there's an eyewitness,” Jano insisted. “Somebody saw you kill Bellarato with your own hands.”

The new accusation infuriated Losurdo. “That's a lie! Why this persecution?”

“It depends on you,” said Jano enigmatically, folding the sheet in four.

“What do you mean it depends on me? What do you have in mind? Whom do I have to betray?” Losurdo thought Jano was asking him to testify against Prince Licata.

“You don't have to betray anyone. Let's just call it a trade: I let you have your freedom in exchange for a favor.”

“What kind of favor?” Losurdo asked suspiciously.

“These days it's not advisable to have your father-in-law in jail on a murder charge. For that reason, I'll spare you.”

Losurdo was beginning to understand.

“Basically, I'm not asking you to do anything improper. You can continue to enjoy your lands, and we will be more than friends.”

Rosario Losurdo went rigid. He clenched his fists to force himself not to beat the hell out of that cocky little shit in a black shirt.

“In fact, we'll be family! So, can I call you . . . Papa?”

It was too much for Rosario Losurdo. He went for Jano menacingly. Jano tried to hit him with his club, but Losurdo, despite his fifty years of age, was more agile and grabbed the wood as it was being brought down on him. He twisted Jano's wrist, forcing him to let go of it. Losurdo tossed it away and then grabbed Jano by the shirt, nearly lifting him off the ground. He was furious and could have strangled him.

“You vicious little sewer rat, I will
never
give my daughter to a bastard like you, I'd rather be hanged. Blackmailing son of a bitch! How much did that fake witness cost you? I'll give him three times what you gave him to make him testify that it was
you
who killed Bellarato when you were six years old!” Losurdo slapped him with such force that he knocked Jano off balance, causing him to hit his head on the table as he fell to the floor.

A moment later, the five Black Shirts burst into the room along with Michele, Donato, Mena, and Rosita. Nunzio and Prospero were the first to enter, and when they saw Jano on the floor, rubbing his head, they rushed to pin down Rosario.

Rosita screamed, “Leave my husband alone!”

The shouting grew louder. Michele, Losurdo's eldest son, put his hand on his
Sanfratellano
, and for a moment the knife's long blade got everyone's attention. He yelled, “Someone is going to get hurt! Watch out, I'm not joking!”

Fearing reprisals against his son, Losurdo roared, “Michele, put that knife away.”

Cosimo leveled his sawed-off shotgun at Michele. “Do what your father told you.”

Jano got up, refusing Quinto's help. “Calm down, nothing happened. Everybody calm down.”

To make everything perfectly clear, Rosario explained his action to his family: “He asked for my permission to marry Mena. In return he would burn the testimony of a false witness who has accused me, saying he saw me kill Marquis Bellarato. But I had nothing to do with that murder. I will not sacrifice my daughter over such
infamità—
such vile infamy.”

Jano went over to him. “Losurdo, today, here in front of everyone, I'm telling you that you will soon rot in jail, that Mena will be mine, and that I will become padrone, landowner, of the Castellana and Giovinazzo estates. Your family will be disgraced, and your wife will crawl on her knees to beg me for a crust to ease her hunger.”

A desperate cry interrupted that grim scene. Mena fell at his feet, weeping forlornly. “Jano, have mercy! Don't harm us, I implore you.”

Jano took hold of her and lifted her up. “Mena, don't despair, it's all right. Everything will be straightened out, don't worry. It's just that your father's head is harder than mine.”

Rosita went to her daughter and snatched her out of his hands. “Jano, a curse on you,” she pronounced angrily.

But Jano smiled and then turned back to Losurdo, who was being restrained by Nunzio and Prospero. “So, what's your final word?”

“You're despicable,” Rosario Losurdo said sharply.

Jano ordered his men to put him in irons and take him to the truck.

The cellar of Salemi's town hall had been transformed by the mayor into holding cells where political dissidents could be detained along with those who had to be leaned on to extract a confession or some information.

Losurdo was locked up in one of these cells, which was located next to the one in which Peppino Ragusa had been jailed the night before.

The doctor had fallen into a pit of depression, unable to accept what had been done to him after his years of sacrifice to bring some small comfort to the citizens of Salemi.

He heard another unlucky soul being put in the neighboring cell. Then the bolt slid closed and the lock clicked. When the heavy footsteps had moved off, he put his mouth close to the wall that separated him from his prison mate.

“Peppino Ragusa here. Who are you?”

“It's Rosario Losurdo, Doctor.”

“Rosario? What are you doing here?”

“The same old story about Marquis Bellarato. They say they have an eyewitness who swears he saw me kill the marquis. It's obvious it's all a frame-up. I'm innocent.”

“Being innocent is a fine predicament, because generally you have no alibi,” the doctor declared.

“I'll be able to show that I had nothing whatsoever to do with that murder. But I'm afraid for my family. I don't trust those buffoons and the way they handle their power. They don't even fear the carabinieri. By now they've supplanted them.”

“Despite everything, however, we must not lose hope.”

“But you, Doctor, why have they arrested you?”

“They accuse me of having issued a false statement in connection with my postmortem of the charred body found in Marquis Bellarato's palazzo. I identified it as Salvatore Turrisi, one of the marquis's campieri, whereas it's been ascertained that it was an attorney from Petralia Sottana, Nicola Geraci.”

“For this they're going to try you?” Losurdo asked incredulously.

“They say I lied about the identification to sidetrack the investigation. But I acted in good faith. I had no wish to derail the inquiry.”

The doctor moved away from the wall and slumped on the straw pallet, his head in his hands as he swallowed back tears.

On the other side of the wall, Losurdo bottled up his rage, and hearing the doctor's anguish, felt more pity for his fate than for his own. He released his anger by punching the door violently, nearly injuring his wrist.

That same afternoon, Rosita, accompanied by her son Michele and her daughter, Mena, climbed into the buggy and set out at a gallop for the carabinieri's headquarters. Montalto represented the law there in Salemi, and he would have to listen to her.

The marshal lived with his wife, Lucia, just above the station house. Lucia welcomed Rosita with a firm, compassionate embrace. News of the combat league's arrests of Losurdo and Ragusa had already traveled through the countryside.

Rosita confronted the marshal, coming straight to the point: “Marshal, lawfulness must return to Salemi. This morning Jano and those thugs of his came and took my husband, an upstanding man. You must do something.”

“I'll speak with Jano myself, Donna Rosita, but take it easy now. Come and sit down.”

Lucia brought a tray with liqueur glasses and a bottle of
rosolio
. She poured a little and handed the glasses to Rosita and the men. Mena was too young to drink.

“Those men are worse than wolves. They sink their teeth into your neck and never let go. Marshal, you have to take Rosario under your protection. You're the only one I trust.”

Then Michele chimed in: “Excuse me, Marshal, but shouldn't it be you who makes arrests? What do the combat leagues have to do with it?”

“We had to make an agreement with them. The leagues handle politicos and dissidents. We carabinieri take care of ordinary crimes.”

“Exactly, that's what I'm saying. Why are they involved in carrying out an arrest on a murder charge?” Michele, getting worked up, rose from his chair. “That's your job!”

“Yes, it's true, they've overstepped their bounds. I'll go and request that they hand them over to me. I promise.”

“When will you do that?” Rosita insisted.

“As soon as I assemble my men.” Marshal Montalto knew he was going to encounter trouble. “It's likely, however, that they had orders from Mayor Costa.”

“Naturally, their worthy accomplice!” Michele spat.

Rosita spoke again. “Marshal, Jano must be stopped. He has his sights set on her”—she gestured to Mena sitting nearby, silent and frightened—“and he's created all this mayhem to extort Rosario's consent to marry her.”