"Would you ask him to call me, please?" Lara left her number.
At three o'clock in the afternoon she still had not heard from him. She called him again.
"I'm sorry. Mr. Martin is not available."
He did not return her call.
At five o'clock Lara went to Paul Martin's office.
She said to the blond secretary, "Would you please tell Mr. Martin that Lara Cameron is here to see him?"
The secretary looked uncertain. "Well, I'll...Just a moment." She disappeared into the inner office and returned a minute later. "Go right in, please."
Paul Martin looked up as Lara walked in.
"Yes, Miss Cameron?" His voice was cool, neither friendly nor unfriendly. "What can I do for you?"
"I came to thank you."
"Thank me for what?"
"For...for straightening things out with the union."
He frowned. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"All the workmen came back this morning, and everything's wonderful. The building is back on schedule."
"Well, congratulations."
"If you'll send me a bill for your fee..."
"Miss Cameron, I think you're a little confused. If your problem is solved, I'm glad. But I had nothing to do with it."
Lara looked at him for a long time. "All right. I'm...I'm sorry I bothered you."
"No problem." He watched her leave the office.
A moment later his secretary came in. "Miss Cameron left a package for you, Mr. Martin."
It was a small package, tied with bright ribbon. Curious, he opened it. Inside was a silver knight in full armor, ready to do battle. An apology. What did she call me? A dinosaur. He could still hear his grandfather's voice. Those were dangerous times, Paul. The young men decided to take control of the Mafia, to get rid of the old-timers, the mustache Petes, the dinosaurs. It was bloody, but they did it.
But all that was a long, long time ago, in the old country. Sicily.
Chapter Thirteen
Gibellina, Sicily - 1879
The Martinis were stranieri - outsiders, in the little Sicilian village of Gibellina. The countryside was desolate, a barren land of death, bathed in blazing pitiless sunlight, a landscape painted by a sadistic artist. In a land where the large estates belonged to the gabelloti, the wealthy landowners, the Martinis had bought a small farm and tried to run it themselves.
The soprintendente had come calling on Giuseppe Martini one day.
"This little farm of yours," he said, "the land is too rocky. You will not be able to make a decent living on it, growing olives and grapes."
"Don't worry about me," Martini said. "I've been farming all my life."
"We're all worried about you," the soprintendente insisted. "Don Vito has some good farmland that he is willing to lease to you."
"I know about Don Vito and his land," Giuseppe Martini snorted. "If I sign a mezzadria with him to farm his land, he will take three fourths of my crops and charge me a hundred percent interest for the seed. I will end up with nothing, like the other fools who deal with him. Tell him I said no, thank you."
"You are making a big mistake, signore. This is dangerous country. Serious accidents can happen here."
"Are you threatening me?"
"Certainly not, signore. I was merely pointing out..."
"Get off my land," Giuseppe Martini said.
The overseer looked at him for a long time, then shook his head sadly. "You are a stubborn man."
Giuseppe Martini's young son, Ivo, said, "Who was that, Papa?"
"He's the overseer for one of the large landowners."
"I don't like him," the young boy said.
"I don't like him either, Ivo."
The following night Giuseppe Martini's crops were set on fire and the few cattle he had disappeared.
That was when Giuseppe Martini made his second mistake. He went to the guardia in the village.
"I demand protection," he said.
The chief of police studied him noncommittally. "That's what we are here for," he said. "What is your problem, signore?"
"Last night Don Vito's men burned my crops and stole my cattle."
"That is a serious charge. Can you prove it?"
"His soprintendente came to me and threatened me."
"Did he tell you they were going to burn your crops and steal your cattle?"
"Of course not," Giuseppe Martini said.
"What did he say to you?"
"He said that I should give up my farm and lease land from Don Vito."
"And you refused?"
"Naturally."
"Signore, Don Vito is a very important man. Do you wish me to arrest him simply because he offered to share his rich farmland with you?"
"I want you to protect me," Giuseppe Martini demanded. "I'm not going to let them drive me off my land."
"Signore, I am most sympathetic. I will certainly see what I can do."
"I would appreciate that."
"Consider it done."
The following afternoon, as young Ivo was returning from town, he saw half a dozen men ride up to his father's farm. They dismounted and went into the house.
A few minutes later Ivo saw his father dragged out to the field.
One of the men took out a gun. "We are going to give you a chance to escape. Run for it."
"No! This is my land! I..."
Ivo watched, terrified, as the man shot at the ground near his father's feet.
"Run!"
Giuseppe Martini started to run.
The campieri got on their horses and began circling Martini, yelling all the while.