The exclusive Conca D’Oro villa was almost hidden from inquisitive glances made by passers-by, nestled as it was into a mountainside overlooking a spectacular view of the deep blue Mediterranean with the looming Mt. Pellegrino bulging up through its surface. The villa was one of three situated inside a secure, residential park, which was guarded by electric sensors, motion sensors, and human body guards, hired for their stoicism in the face of boring spells of staring at the same scenery hour after hour. The charming owner of Conca D’Oro, one Signora Felicia Gaspore, was a young widow, whose husband, Dominic, had been one of Salvatore Falcone’s favorite “wise guys” because he could speak fluent American English, had no interest in greasing his own palms and none at all in chasing women. He was the ideal right-hand man and when he was diagnosed with testicular cancer, Sal was as devastated as Felicia and their three children were, now all grown and gone.

After the doctors in Rome and London had verified his condition as terminal, Tony declined chemo and radiation, preferring to spend his last days walking as long as he could among his olive trees and his vineyard. Conca D’Oro had been his great-grandfather’s vineyard and olive grove many years earlier, and subsequent generations had gradually bought up most of the acreage encircling the original property, then enclosed it in protective fencing, shrubbery and trees and footpaths connecting all sections of the perimeter. Felicia made her home in one of the smaller houses, just below the larger villa, and was a renowned cook of the entire area, including smaller towns around Palermo, and was happy to prepare meals for people who rented her villa if she liked them and when they agreed to her prices. She did not have to work for a living because Dominic had left her debt free, and she liked her life much better this way.

The huge kitchen at the main villa was decorated with everything done in sea green and white. One entire wall was resplendent with copper-bottomed pots and pans and kettles and ladles and trays hung from floor to ceiling in picture-perfect display. Her gas stove had six burners and two griddles, and she was her happiest when she was in charge of the menus and cooking for as many as could fill up the five bedrooms. The cleaning maid, a younger girl named Heloisa, cleaned every day for three hours and also worked as Felicia’s assistant in the kitchen for major meals, which both women enjoyed. The villa was, without a doubt, an elegant alternative to a hotel or apartment, and each room had been featured in photographs of exclusive Sicilian resorts appearing in one of the leading Italian home decorating magazines, but that exposure had been several years earlier. Salvatore didn’t want too many people knowing about his favorite hideaway.