by Karen Moore
“So, what’s happening with the police investigation?” Rhys asked, changing the subject from endless chatter about the wedding arrangements.
Sergio wiped his mouth with his linen napkin. “Still a few loose ends to tie up,” he replied in a low voice. “Once the police are satisfied that they have everything they need, they’ll be able to co-ordinate with the police forces abroad to make sure they get everyone involved. If all goes well, the swoop is likely to be the week after next.”
“Swoop?” asked Hanna, frowning.
“A dawn raid on a massive scale. I don’t have all the details yet. Can’t wait to run the story.” He sounded excited, his voice rising in pitch as he talked.
“Does that mean they’ll get the people in North Wales, too?” Rhys looked concerned.
“As far as I know, yes. At least, that’s the plan. Dad said the Welsh police have been very co-operative. They’re keeping the gang under close surveillance.”
“And Luciano?” asked Hanna.
Sergio shrugged. “He, and the rest of the family, are the main players in all of this. Top of the arrest list. This time, he’ll go down for a long stretch, and no early release.”
A wave of relief flooded through Hanna. Finally, it looked as if Luciano would get what he deserved, and his heinous sex-trafficking network be smashed for good.
“At last, thank God,” she murmured, glad it would all soon be over.
“You don’t anticipate any – you know – problems?” asked Rhys.
“What do you mean, problems?” asked Ceri, looking anxious.
“Well, you know, obstacles – anything that could stop the arrests going ahead?” Rhys looked slightly uncomfortable for having brought the subject up.
“According to my dad, the police are confident that they’ve nailed it,” said Sergio, scooping a forkful of food into his mouth.
A few moments of silence ensued as they resumed eating.
“Well, that was delish!” Rhys declared, polishing off the last mouthful and laying his fork to rest on the empty plate. “Your Nebrodi pork is a worthy match for our Welsh lamb and black beef.”
“Glad you approve!” said Ceri with a touch of sarcasm. “Maybe you’ll come and visit us more often now, if only for the food!”
“Absolutely!” Rhys said, patting his stomach happily. “What’s for dessert?”
The waiter appeared and whisked away their empty plates, returning promptly with terracotta dishes bearing their dessert.
Rhys regarded his with a puzzled look. “And dessert is…?”
“Taste it first and see!” said Hanna.
He dug his spoon into the little mound set before him and brought it to his mouth.
“Mmm!! That, whatever it is, is a little piece of heaven!” he declared, rolling his eyes upwards in mock ecstasy. “I still don’t know what it is, though.”
Ceri laughed and explained. “It’s an almond semifreddo, a kind of semi-frozen ice-cream cake. It’s a house speciality. I had it the first time I came here, and it was so good that I ended up taking one home, all packed up in a freezer bag.”
Hanna tasted hers. Nibbed almonds ran through the creamy concoction which, although rich, retained a slight bitterness. “Fabulous,” she agreed. “I can see why you like it so much.”
The semifreddo quickly vanished before it even had a chance to melt.
Sergio rose from the table, excusing himself as he made for the toilet, promising to order coffee and digestivi on the way back. No sooner had he disappeared from view than Hanna heard raised voices and chairs being moved on the far side of the terrace as the three men got up to leave, passing their table without a second glance. Maybe I was mistaken about them, thought Hanna, as she watched them pay the bill and leave, smiling and bidding goodnight to the restaurant staff.
But when Sergio returned a few minutes later, he collapsed onto his chair, visibly shaken, his face ashen.
“Oh my God, what’s happened?” asked Ceri.
He gasped, “Those three men… They followed me into the toilet.”
“Did they hurt you?” Ceri looked him up and down for any signs of injury.
Sergio shook his head. “No, no, they didn’t touch me. Just pointed a gun to my head and threatened me. Told me to halt the police investigation, or else. And, under no circumstances, to run a story in La Gazzetta.”
“Christ, what did you say?” asked Hanna.
“I told them the police investigation wasn’t my call. And as for the story, I told them no chance and to fuck right off,” Sergio replied, with more than a hint of triumph in his voice.
Chapter Thirty-Five
The three of them looked at each other, aghast.
“You did WHAT? Sergio, you’re such an idiot,” growled Ceri, tears in her eyes. “You’re lucky to have got out of there in one piece. Do you want to get yourself killed?”
“But that’s exactly the point,” said Sergio, gradually becoming more composed. “These people have always used bully-boy tactics to get what they want, and in the past people have been too scared to take a stand against them. It’s time that changed. We have to destroy their toxic influence once and for all.”
“But at what cost?” said Hanna, quietly. “God knows what the consequences might be. Look what happened to Eva and me.”
“Do you really think it’s wise to go ahead in the circumstances?” asked Rhys. “You could be putting the two of you in danger, as well as your dad.”
Sergio made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “It’s the only way. Once the whole sorry affair is out in the open, they won’t dare retaliate.”
Hanna begged to differ, but said nothing; she could remember numerous cases where acts of retribution had been swift and deadly. Was Sergio intent on wiping out the trafficking, or was he simply trying to make a name for himself? Either way, he was playing a dangerous game.
In sombre mood and deep in thought, they drank their coffees and downed the amari. The alcohol soothed their nerves, and talk turned to the following day. The candle on the table flickered in the breeze as they got up to leave. Myriad stars twinkled in the inky sky, mesmerising Hanna who couldn’t ever remember seeing so many. No lights shone across the countryside, a reminder of the masseria’s isolated position. Hanna felt a shudder of apprehension.
***
Despite the grim end to the evening, Hanna quickly fell into a deep sleep. She awoke shortly after eight-fifteen to an empty bed. Her initial reaction was a twinge of alarm as memories of the previous evening’s threat came flooding back.
Warm, slightly-perfumed air wafted through the open French windows. There was no sign of Rhys. He’d left his mobile and wallet on the bedside table, so he couldn’t be far away, could he? Trying not to consider the worst, she threw back the covers and ran down the stairs of the split-level room, calling his name. No response, but no sign of any disturbance.
Outside, the little mosaic table on the patio was laid ready for breakfast. Hanna scanned the gardens for any sign of life, shielding her eyes from the bright morning sun. All was peaceful, the only sounds a soft breeze rustling through the umbrella pines and the birds chirping merrily. Her heart was beating wildly now, convinced that something was wrong. Suddenly she heard a shout and turned to see a dripping wet Rhys, dressed in a pair of swim shorts, scamper across the lawn towards her.
What the hell…
“I thought something had happened to you,” said Hanna, angry but relieved to see him.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to give you a fright,” he said, holding up his hands in a gesture of surrender while trying to regain his breath. “Just thought I’d go for a quick dip in the pool before you woke up. Didn’t want to disturb you, you looked so peaceful.” He slipped a wet arm around her waist and laughed when she shrieked, trying to shrug it off.
“Get away with you, you’re soaking! Go and dry off!” she cried, struggling to escape his grip. He laughed again, stole a quick kiss, and ran off to get a towel. “And don’t
do anything like that again. I was really worried,” she called after him. He raised an arm to acknowledge that she had a point.
Returning to the table, she sank onto a chair and fished her mobile out of her pyjama pocket. It was still a bit early to call Nerys with the hour’s time difference. She’d called briefly the day before, but she wanted to hear her daughter’s voice again and make sure she was okay. No matter, she’d call later.
Rhys appeared minutes later, somewhat drier, still in his shorts, a towel slung across his shoulders. “I’ve asked them to bring breakfast over now. Hope that’s okay?” He still looked sheepish.
“’Course it is. We’ve got loads of time for a leisurely breakfast, then the rest of the morning to get ready before the car picks us up,” said Hanna.
She settled back in the chair, enjoying the warmth of the sun on her face, and began to relax, her usual composure gradually returning. All around, the garden was a blaze of colour: swathes of deep pink and purple bougainvillea, yellow and orange hibiscus, and a showy scarlet flower that Hanna recognised but didn’t know the name of. All offset by an impossibly green lawn which must have been a nightmare to maintain in the hot summer sun. Coming back to Sicily seemed to have heightened her senses and emotions somehow, leaving her feeling a little off-balance.
The arrival of the waitress a few minutes later shook her from her reverie. Breakfast turned out to be a veritable feast. Not just the usual pastries and coffee, but an assortment of local cold cuts and cheeses, a courgette frittata, sweet cherry tomatoes and olives, a medley of citrus fruits and watermelon, fresh bread, and a selection of jams. According to the young waitress, the pastries – croissants filled with a vanilla, hazelnut, or pistachio crema – were made fresh on the premises each morning.
Rhys eyed up the food with glee. “Can’t wait to get stuck in! My early morning swim must have given me an appetite!”
Although Hanna didn’t have the same excuse, she had to admit the spread looked tempting. Rhys passed her a plate and began to load his with a generous selection of food.
“What time will the wedding breakfast be?” he asked between mouthfuls.
“Probably not until about mid-afternoon,” Hanna replied, adding with a note of sarcasm, “D’you think you’ll last out till then?”
“You know that appetite I mentioned?” he said, with a twinkle in his eye as he continued to attack the food with enthusiasm.
“You can think again!” said Hanna, laughing as she realised what he was referring to.
They continued to demolish the food until there was little left.
“That was such a fantastic breakfast,” said Hanna. “I can hardly move, I’m so stuffed. I’m just going to make a quick call to Eva and Nerys to make sure everything’s okay, then I’m off to have a shower.”
Rhys’ face fell with disappointment, and she could feel his eyes watching her as she disappeared into the room.
Chapter Thirty-Six
As they waited for the car in the hotel’s cool reception area, Hanna caught sight of their reflection in the enormous gilt-framed mirror hanging on one of the stone walls. Decked out in their wedding outfits, their arms interlinked, any onlooker could be mistaken for thinking that they were the couple about to be married. Except for the coral and caramel tones of her dress, rather than the traditional white. What would it be like to marry Rhys, Hanna wondered? Not that he had asked her, but then, she was still married to Luciano. But he was keen for them to have a baby together. No time to think about that now. This was Ceri and Sergio’s day. Everything else would have to wait.
A screech of brakes outside indicated their transport had arrived. Rhys pulled Hanna closer and kissed her tenderly on the lips.
“I wish it was us getting married,” he whispered as they pulled apart.
Flummoxed and at a loss what to say, Hanna merely smiled and squeezed his hand in what she hoped was a positive gesture. Still entwined, the two of them made their way to the little sporty convertible that was waiting outside. The driver, a handsome, immaculately-dressed, middle-aged man with greying hair, leapt out, his hand outstretched.
He introduced himself in Italian as Ignazio Spadoni, a journalist colleague of Sergio’s. It was, he explained, only a short drive, some eight to ten kilometres, to the little village church of Brocco where the wedding ceremony was to take place.
But to Hanna the drive seemed much longer, the car kicking up dust in its wake as Ignazio sped along the country lanes. Sicilian kilometres must be a bit like Welsh miles, she thought with a wry smile. For once, Hanna was grateful for the lack of breeze; her carefully-curled hair would stay in place.
Finally the village came into view: a collection of old stone buildings perched higgledy-piggledy on the top of a hill. By the time they pulled up in the piazza outside the little seventeenth-century church, her head was muzzy from the heat and the winding roads. Ignazio delved into the glove compartment and passed her a small bottle of water with a knowing wink. She took it gratefully and took a large gulp before consigning the rest to her handbag.
They left the car and entered the flower-adorned church. It was still early, and only the main party had arrived. Sergio, dressed in a smart midnight blue suit offset by a lemon and white buttonhole, stood near the altar looking nervous and talking in a low voice to the best man. Hanna remembered Ceri telling her that he was one of Sergio’s childhood friends. Sergio’s father, Vincenzo, was sitting in a nearby pew, next to a frail-looking grey-haired woman in a wheelchair who Hanna presumed must be his wife. Vincenzo beckoned them over and introduced them to Marta.
“Is Rhys okay with the arrangements?” whispered Vincenzo in Italian to Hanna. “He knows what he has to do?”
“Certo,” Hanna assured him with a smile. “He’s rehearsed it over and over again. He’ll be fine.”
She glanced at Rhys, who was now looking almost as anxious as Sergio. His face was flushed, and a few beads of sweat had appeared on his forehead.
“Are you OK?” she asked.
He gulped and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand.
“Just don’t want to mess up Sis’s big day. I better go and wait outside for her. See you later.”
He pecked her on the cheek, then retreated down the aisle towards the front door and disappeared outside.
Hanna felt for him; it wasn’t every day that you gave your sister away. With their mother injured, there was no-one else to do it. Not that Ceri was close to her anyway, not after the way she’d walked out on them when they were little. It was typical of her to leave them in the lurch again.
The organist started to play, and the church filled with the strains of rousing music. The priest shuffled into place in front of the altar. Ceri and Sergio had insisted on a low-key affair, no bridesmaids, and only thirty or so guests at the church, with others coming to the reception later that evening. More guests began to arrive and fill up the remaining pews, chattering excitedly among themselves. Eager anticipation hung in the air.
Hanna turned her head and noted that the little church was now almost packed to capacity. Three men sitting towards the back caught her eye. Although suitably dressed, they seemed oddly out of place. Could they be the same men responsible for the threat at the hotel, she wondered with a shudder? But on closer scrutiny she realised they were different: younger, remaining curiously aloof and distant from what was going on around them. Maybe they were the undercover police that Vincenzo had promised.
She was on the verge of asking him who they were when the organist launched into a rendition of Debussy’s Clair de Lune, signalling the bride’s arrival. Minutes later, Ceri made her entrance, walking slowly down the aisle on Rhys’ arm, clutching an elaborate bouquet of lemon and white flowers, matching Sergio’s buttonhole. She looked relaxed and radiant, smiling at the guests on both sides as she went.
The white wedding dress fitted her petite frame perfectly: a sleeveless lace bodice, cut wide across the shoulders with a deep V-shape neckline that revealed
her dark tan, ending in a satin bow above a tight-fitting waist. From there, the material fell in soft layers to the ankle. A simple net veil, adorned with clusters of matching lace, revealed her blonde-streaked hair that had been coaxed into an elegant chignon for the occasion and woven with wildflowers. Her only jewellery was a pair of large pearl teardrop earrings. She was dazzling, glowing with happiness. Hanna reached into her handbag for a pack of tissues as she felt the first tears begin to trickle down her cheeks.
***
The service passed in a blur, although Hanna remembered the priest’s voice droning on for what seemed like forever. At last, she heard the words “Vi dichiaro marito e moglie” as he pronounced the couple man and wife. Their first marital kiss sent her into another flurry of tears. As the organist struck up the Wedding March, and Ceri and Sergio began to make their way back down the aisle past the guests, Rhys reappeared at her side, looking much more at ease now.
Hanna dabbed at her face with a paper hankie, hoping her waterproof mascara would live up to its claims and she wouldn’t end up with panda eyes. Rhys took the hankie from her and finished off the job. Bending his head close to hers, he brushed his lips against her ear and whispered, “Us next!” More tears threatened and Hanna bit the inside of her cheek as she struggled to regain control of her emotions. Rhys hugged her tightly against his chest.
The music blotted out any further attempts at conversation, and they fell into step behind Vincenzo as he slowly pushed Marta in the wheelchair towards the exit. There was no sign of the three men who’d been at the back of the church earlier.
The guests drifted out into the bright sunshine, their loud chatter drowning out the faint strains of music coming from within the church. Some jostling followed as the photographer identified the key players and elbowed them into position, shouting encouragement to relax and smile as he expertly captured various poses. Then it was over, and the guests gathered round the happy couple, showering them with handfuls of rice and paper confetti.