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Franco waited for the shouting to subside. “Mauro gave his life to rescue Don Roberto! We can’t have let Mauro die in vain! We have to find Don Roberto!”
“Yes!” The Fiorvantis hoisted their guns. One man called out, “How will we find Don Roberto?”
“I have a plan!” Franco answered, though he’d changed his mind. “They’re hiding Don Roberto, and the most logical place is in an abandoned mine. Sebastiano is looking for a map.”
“Excellent thinking, Don Franco!” “That’s what I would do!” “We saw some of them on the ride here!”
Sebastiano appeared with a rolled-up map. “Don Franco, I found it.”
“Bravo, Sebastiano.” Franco took the map, walked to a clearing, and unrolled it on the ground, weighing it down with two rocks. The map looked homemade and was roughly topographical, showing the location of Don Bruno’s mine, working mines owned by other families, and abandoned mines in the area. Landmarks like Don Bruno’s villa, the mountain, various large hills, and major rock formations were plain.
“Men, come look!” Franco motioned to the Fiorvantis. “This map will tell us what we need to know, and there are landmarks if you can’t read.”
The Fiorvantis gathered around, murmuring among themselves while Franco picked up a sharp rock and scratched three lines across the map, then three lines down, dividing the search area into nine squares.
“Men, I’ll arrange you into nine groups. Each group will be assigned a square to search for Don Roberto. You’ll take a look at your square and note its relationship to landmarks such as the villa, the mountain, the rock formations, and the like. Understand?”
“Yes, it’s orderly!” the Fiorvantis chimed in. “We’ll find Don Roberto in no time!”
One man called out, “Don Franco, which group will you join?”
“I’ll ride from one group to the next, going back and forth to see if you’ve found Don Roberto. I may even head up the mountain to take in the entire vista.” Franco straightened. “Fiorvantis, I place the life of my beloved Robo in your hands. I have absolute faith in you.”
“Thank you, Don Franco!” “We’ll rescue Don Roberto!” “We are the Fiorvantis!”
“Now, men, let’s go! We haven’t a moment to lose!”
CHAPTER EIGHTY-TWO
Dante and Gaetano left Palermo on horseback, galloping through the Conca d’Oro in the darkness. The dirt road past the lemon groves was rocky, pitted, and rutted, and Dante bounced along on a bay horse named Toto.
“Dante, put your heels down.” Gaetano looked over from atop Argent, a gray Thoroughbred.
Dante complied, and soon got the hang of riding, moving with the rhythm of the horse. They passedgiardinoaftergiardino, and he marveled at the vastness of the open space. He was completely free, a revelation that would have made his heart soar, but his soul had darkened. “How much longer to Mussomeli?”
“It’s in the next province south, Caltanissetta. We’ll have to stop and water the horses.”
“Can’t we go any faster?”
“How?” Gaetano looked over, his smile faint in the moonlight. His hair blew back, and his cravat had come undone. “This terrain is hard and only gets harder. We can’t risk injuring the horses.”
“Are you absolutely sure this is the shortest route?”
Gaetano nodded. The route went through the rugged countryside and the foothills of the Sicani Mountains, and Dante had been astonished to see that Sicily was so large on the map. He didn’t knowanything about his own country, as a result of his father’s wrongdoing. The revelation embittered him further.
Dante returned to his dark thoughts. Every stride brought him closer to Mussomeli and Enrico Tonelli, who would lead him to his father. Dante didn’t know whether he wanted revenge or justice. He would decide when he got there. Lucia popped into his mind, but he couldn’t think about her now. She was light, and he had become darkness itself.
The two men rode on and on, passing through Villafrati, Vicari, and finally Lecara Friddi, on the border of the province of Palermo. The elevation changed as they entered Caltanissetta province. The horses breathed with effort, and the air cooled.
Gaetano pointed out Mount Cammarata, but Dante barely looked over, singularly focused on their destination. They rode day and night through the countryside, and all around them were hills covered in brown dirt and wild grasses. Here and there were the entrances to caves, hidden in the stony faces of the hills. Most of the land was dry and uncultivated, rocky and overgrown with underbrush.
“That’s Mussomeli!” Gaetano pointed at a town situated at the top of a mountain. The sky glowed faintly, silhouetting the houses, a church dome, and an old castle.
“Let’s go!” Dante headed for the dirt road that zigzagged up the mountain.
“Right behind you!” Gaetano called back, rallying.
Dante and Gaetano entered mussomelion horses exhausted from the trip. The sun was rising, shooting pinkish rays into the sky. Dark anticipation filled Dante, quickening his heartbeat. To be in the same town as Enrico Tonelli strengthened his resolve. Dante concluded that there was no difference between justice and revenge—or even if there was, he felt entitled to both.
