The Orsinni Contracts

by Bill Cariad

  Physical demonstration was another problem. Anything he tried, from sprinting or climbing, from distance-spitting or wrestling, anything at all it seemed, she could outdo him. He really detested her at those times, but then she would compliment him in some way which made him feel ten feet tall and he was head-over-heels again. They were the same age but she could, right in front of his eyes, suddenly seem to look much older than fifteen. And sound much older. And act much older, making him feel like a little boy again. He didn’t even like her when that happened, until she’d hold his face with her hands in a way that made him feel special and he was right back where he’d started. Which was with the thought that he was pretty sure he was in love with Maria Orsinni. Whatever love was.

  They were now on their way back to the Orsinni casa (house) using an untried route, thanks to Paolo whose idea it had been to run like the wind from the beach and leave behind the two men charged to escort and protect them wherever they went. Lucca was used to Paolo always wanting to go his own way so he was perfectly cool with this. If anything happened, he, Lucca Bartalucci, would rescue Maria and she would fall into his arms. Then Lucca’s daydreams were abruptly halted because ahead of him, something was happening!

  The Orsinni trail-blazers had reached an area of well-trodden and sun-baked ground they recognized. This they knew was where the hill farmers stopped to check that their herded goats were all present and correct before descending any further. Undulating under a hovering heat-haze, creating an illusion of vividly coloured and patterned blankets spread out as if to dry, the terraced crop fields they had skirted earlier to reach here now lay below them to their left. The distant Mediterranean sea was a deep blue shimmering border between the multi-coloured land and a clear blue sky suspended over the Catanian Gulf. Dense thickets of small trees and bushes covered a steep hill before them but they knew where the path was, wide enough for two, and they knew that it would take them to their Casa on the other side of the hill.

  Sufficiently ahead of Lucca to prevent being overheard, Paolo and Maria had been discussing their mother’s illness, their father’s occupation, and the seventeen-year-old Paolo’s future plans. Clad only in black shorts and a tee-shirt, the muscular Paolo bent suddenly to scoop up a stone from the path. He pitched it skywards, forcefully, as if attempting to release some of the frustration which could still be heard in his voice.

  “I am serious Maria. I will leave when our madre is well again.”

  Her mind busy with thoughts she would never voice, Maria Orsinni didn’t respond. She knew Paolo would never leave while their mother lived. Barefooted like her brother alongside, their footwear had been left behind to lull the guards, and wearing a faded yellow sundress with deep pockets currently housing the beach pebbles she could feel against her legs with every step, Maria carefully picked out the spots on the path to place her feet. Her eyes were focused downwards, her facial expression unreadable. She was unable to tell her brother what she knew beyond doubt. Their mother would never be truly well again. The disease steadily spreading through her body made that an inescapable fact, quite apart from the irreparably broken heart. But her mother had asked for, and had been given, her daughter’s solemn promise not to tell Paolo. A promise which had been readily given, because Maria had instinctively understood that the volatile Paolo must never share the knowledge of his father’s infidelity and its devastating consequences. Giovanni Orsinni’s all-consuming allegiance to the Bartalucci’s, together with his adultery, had, in different ways, left its indelible mark on his wife and children. Sacrificing in its wake, the happiness of one family for the interests of another.

  Maria also knew that, no matter what tradition might dictate, when the mother they worshipped inevitably succumbed to her fate, Paolo would leave to go his own way. Paolo was not cut out to be a Bartalucci herd animal, anymore than she herself was, and therefore the future for both she and her brother was impossible to predict. Which had partly contributed to her decision to continuously keep Lucca Bartalucci at arm’s length; the main reason was that she’d simply outgrown him. She thought of Lucca as a boy; a boy she liked and even teased, but that was it. She also looked on her brother as a boy, an older boy she adored but still a ragazzo.

  Maria’s concentration on her thoughts was broken as her senses registered changes in her environment. Paolo’s quickening step was taking him ahead of her to crest the hill, and a glance back over her shoulder confirmed that Lucca had shortened the gap between them. She turned her head back towards Paolo and then her thoughts were completely suspended as she saw him stop on the crest of the hill, his back stiffening as he slowly raised his arms in the air. Maria instantly spun round again to face Lucca and rapidly issued instructions.

  “Keep walking up towards Paolo, but slowly. Keep calling to him as you go, tell him his sister has run away and ask him what is happening.”

  Maria side-stepped off the path, flicking a glance to where she could still see Paolo’s hands in the air. He still hadn’t moved. Neither had Lucca, who was rooted to the same spot on the path, his eyes wide and staring at her. “Do it now, Lucca,” she commanded fiercely. Already moving away from him, she kept her body low and as near to the path as she dared. She was relieved to see that Lucca was obeying her and had started climbing again, calling as he went the words she had given him. She wasn’t worried about Paolo believing the words, he would have realized immediately that she had told Lucca what to do. Just as he knew that his sister would never run away whilst he was in trouble.

  The shoulder-high bushes gave way to a cluster of small trees and she chose one which she reckoned would give her a view of what Paolo was facing from where he still stood, body rigid, hands still high in the air. She climbed the tree smoothly, carefully keeping as much of the foliage between her body and whatever she was destined to see once she gained sufficient height. Suddenly she was high enough and the scene ahead and below her made her feel as if her heart was actually beating in her throat. Paolo was slowly moving forward now, down a short but steep incline. Halfway down the incline and to one side of the rough path being negotiated by Paolo, a man sat astride a tree stump and he was holding a Lupara aimed at her brother. The bottom of the incline levelled out to form a small plateau which in turn sloped upwards again to where the Orsinni Casa stood.

  Three other men, one of them also armed with a Lupara, were approaching the plateau from the direction of the Casa. Two of them held beer cans which they brought to their lips as they swaggered to join their companion; who had now seen Lucca and was saying something to the clearly frightened boy. Lucca slipped on the incline, and as Maria slithered down her tree she could hear the men laugh.

  Grounding herself at the base of the tree, Maria paused. Calming herself by taking deep breaths. She’d recognized one of the men as Fabrizio Sardi, a frequent visitor to her father’s house. But she’d already seen enough to know this was no friendly visit. Without even realizing how fluid her thoughts were at this point, she ran the appraisal through her mind as she gathered herself. Four men, two armed with sawn-off shotguns. The one on the elevated tree stump must have been a lookout while the others had been waiting inside the Casa. Maria allowed herself the small smile; Paolo’s route had brought them in the back door, surprising the men, giving her an edge she must not waste.

  Maria regained the path and began moving towards the crest of the hill, selecting from her sun-dress pockets the pebbles she must use, reminding herself she now had two weapons, the pebbles and the element of surprise. She knew that the surprise element was a considerable advantage; these men would have no knowledge of the combat skills she and Paolo had acquired over the past two years. Only a trusted few knew of the professionally equipped private gymnasium and the lessons learned in both orthodox and unorthodox disciplines. All provided for by their guilt-ridden and indulgent father, and exhaustively used by two youngsters referred to as precocious talents. Maria suddenly had a memory-flash o
f Tanaka telling her she was ‘a natural’, telling her that combat was a state of mind. If you don’t win in your mind, he’d said, you will lose on the ground. Tanaka, who was teaching her about mindsets, would be pleased right now, she thought. Because behind her focused facial expression, in her mind, the four men had just become no more than four targets.

  Maria crested the hill and swiftly took in the new scene before her; the figures were now spread out. Maria’s snapshot impression was that of a small fan-shaped tableau and at the base of the path, where it met the plateau, gun number one, maybe less than two metres away, had his back to her and was obviously covering Paolo. Her brother was kneeling on the ground, his back to her, hands behind his head now. Fabrizio Sardi and another man stood in front of Paolo, looking down at him, laughing and saying something she couldn’t make out. Flanking Paolo to his left, in profile to Maria, Lucca also knelt with his hands behind his head. The boy was looking up at gun number two pointing at his terrified looking young face. The man holding gun number two was maybe five metres away from Maria and not looking directly at her.

  Maria’s periphery senses picked up the sound of a car engine, but she was committed now and tuned out the sound as she stepped forward and launched her first pebble with tremendous force. Even as the stone left her hand she was reducing the distance to her next target, taking another two quick steps down the path and throwing her second missile at gun number two. The following moves happened very quickly because Maria knew that speed was now imperative; the pebbles would only stun enough to buy shocked seconds. But seconds were all that Paolo and Maria needed. While the men in front of him were just registering the fate of gun number two, Paolo, confident his sister would be covering his back, rose like the gymnast he was and traversed the metre separating him from the staggered man holding gun number two. Paolo grabbed the Lupara and clubbed its owner on the skull, then brought the weapon to bear on Fabrizio Sardi and the man beside him. As in differing fashion three no longer dominant attackers displayed their stunned disbelief at their rapid change of fortune, Maria’s quick strides had already taken her to gun number one and she too seized the weapon and clubbed its owner without any hesitation.

  Loud voices could suddenly be heard coming from inside the Casa, and then more men were spilling out of the building and hurrying towards them. Some of the approaching men were brandishing guns, but a relieved Maria now recognized them as her father’s people and also now realized the significance of the car engine sound she’d heard earlier. She helped a badly shaken Lucca to his feet as Paolo grinned at her, the release of tension and spent adrenalin still resonant in his voice.

  “Sa’lute, Maria, the time you have forced me to spend in the gymnasium has not been wasted.”

  Paolo’s eyes were locked on to his sister as his words kept coming, “But this was something which could have ended very differently from combat practice had it not been for you. I wondered what you would do, but could never have imagined it would involve the use of beach pebbles.” His eyes left her to quickly range over the terrain before returning to her as he added, “You must learn to throw a knife, Maria, you have the eye, my sister.”

  Fabrizio and his sorry looking companions were already being led away, to what fate Maria only briefly speculated upon. Her Sicilian mind told her that these had been men who had come to harm her brother and Lucca, and so deserved whatever fate lay in store for them. She was aware of her trembling and fought to conceal it from the man now gently relieving her of the captured Lupara. His name, recalled Maria now, was Costello and he was clearly in command of the men she was very glad had arrived. She was trying not to think of what her volatile brother would have done had Costello and his men not arrived, and trying not to wonder whether she would have attempted to stop him.

  Costello, a craggy-faced individual, smiled at her as he spoke. “Only four men and two guns against the Orsinni children? We could have stayed in our beds.”

  Maria did not respond to Costello’s statement, he was one of the few who knew about the private gymnasium. She saw that Lucca was shaking uncontrollably, but pretended not to notice the dark stain down the front of his shorts. She motioned her intention to Paolo, and together they led Lucca towards the Casa. There she would find clean shorts for her friend, and privacy for her own trembling limbs. She was also pretending not to notice the way that Paolo was looking at her as they walked. Dismissing in her mind the thought that he was looking at her as if he was seeing his own sister for the very first time.

  Costello and two of his men watched the Orsinni duo escort Lucca away from the scene, but not until they were out of earshot did one of them speak.

  “That one is no child,” said the man, “she is a fenomeno.”

  Costello raised a warning hand to silence the man who had used the word freak. Earlier, from the Casa’s veranda, both of them had watched as Maria Orsinni had so effectively triggered the ensuing action.

  “Watch your tongue,” growled Costello. “If she had failed, we would all be answering this day to Don Carmine Bartalucci for the loss of his grandson.”

  Chapter One

  Chance Encounters

  Rome, Italy, January 1983

  The January sales were underway in Roma’s eastern Regola district and Maria Orsinni wasn’t looking for a fight that cold Saturday morning, she was actually looking for shoes.

  It was still early but the streets housing the main shopping area were already crowded with people. Maria had spotted a few reluctant looking males but the throng was mainly comprised of her own gender. Brightly coloured ‘half-price’ sale slogans criss-crossed the fully dressed shop windows, attracting intensely focused women of all ages. Like heat-seeking missiles in search of a hot bargain, thought Maria with a wry smile. But when she rounded the street corner taking her into the Via Del Monseratto, what she found was a fight on special offer. It was an offer she instantly knew she would be unable to refuse. Three tough looking characters, two of them armed with knives, were attacking a young man who was falling to his knees as shoppers screamed and scattered. Maria dropped her shopping bag, stepped out of her high-heeled shoes, and took four running paces before launching herself into the air.

  Only the last six of Maria Orsinni’s nineteen years had been spent training in the martial arts, but not for nothing had she been described by her Japanese-American teacher as one who had been ‘born with knowledge.’ Even whilst briefly in mid-air, her combat brain was computing at lightning speed the next moves she must make. She knew that the one she was executing now, the Shotokan Karate attack move known as the Yoko Tobi Geri, was a risky one to make on this terrain. With both feet now off the ground she could not afford to miss her targets, but landing badly on concrete paving was something which must be avoided. Her first two targets were the knife carriers and a split second before reaching the first of them, her left leg straightened and snapped out a heel which struck the man’s right eardrum and rendered him unconscious. Even as her first target crumpled and began falling, she was delivering an elbow strike to the nose of the second knife wielder. As his eyes reactively closed she followed up with a knuckle strike to his larynx, then used the body of her first target to break her own fall.

  Maria flowed upright to confront the third assailant who had barely moved since his two cohorts had been simultaneously brought down by a flying object. Staring now at a tall shapely girl before him, her black hair swept back in a pony-tail, her long legs encased in black slacks and wearing a red cashmere sweater over magnificent looking breasts, the disbelief was there in his eyes. But even as he was still mesmerised by her appearance, Maria was stepping in close to deliver the Ura Zuki punch to his solar plexus. The man with the scarred face of a bar-room brawler collapsed to the ground, trying to find oxygen for shocked lungs.

  Maria side-stepped the prostrate trio and saw that the young man who had been the catalyst of events had risen to his feet and had ga
thered up the two knives. He held the weapons with one hand, with easy familiarity, she noted, whilst the other was rubbing the back of his head.

  “Are you okay, signore...?” she asked, fully aware of how unnaturally calm he appeared to be, suddenly recognizing him for what he was. She saw him survey the scene at his feet before his dark eyes found her own, and he smiled as he answered her in a tone of voice which conveyed his obvious surprise and relief.

  “Sabbatini,” he replied, smiling as he added, “but you can call me Sergio.” The smile broadened as he went on, “and I’m in better shape than these three, signorina...?”

  “Orsinni,” she replied, smiling herself now as she added, “but you can call me Maria.”

  At the mention of her name Maria saw the subtle change in his expression, and would have questioned it but for the sudden arrival on the scene of the police van from which emerged three uniformed carabiniere officers. One of them, with a sergeant’s stripes on his arm, saluted the handsome young man holding two knives by his side and still rubbing the back of his head.

  “Buon giorno, lieutenant,” said the sergeant, “what have we here?”

  “Armed assault on a police officer,” replied Sabbatini. “Plenty of witnesses, so one of you take statements while we handcuff these three and put them in the van.”

  Maria watched as one of the policemen moved towards the crowd of spectators.

  “And the young lady is...?” began the sergeant, hesitating, handcuffs at the ready.

  “If I told you,” interjected Sabbatini, “you wouldn’t believe me. But she just prevented these three from carving my face, or worse. You take care of them, and I will talk to the young lady.”

  Maria was aware of some onlookers already dispersing to renew their own assault on the shops, but she was focusing now on the handsome face of Sergio Sabbatini. Who was regarding her with the same obvious concentration. ‘You can talk to your priest, if you must, but you must never talk to the carabiniere,’ her father had told her a thousand times.