Page 96 of Mafia Kings: Valentino

Is this it?I wondered.

Sure enough, we turned down a gravel road towards the building. After a few minutes, we reached a massive brick wall with a wrought-iron gate, much like the one my family had around our property in Tuscany.

Unlike ours, though, there were no surveillance cameras or automatic gates – just two guys with shotguns standing guard.

As soon as they saw the cars, they unlocked a chain around the bars and pulled the gates open.

After we drove through, they shut the doors again and locked the chain.

Beyond the brick walls, there weren’t any trees – just lots of dry grass and rocky ground. Probably so nobody could sneak across the property and attack it.

We soon came to the building I’d seen from the road. Its three-story walls were made of massive sandstone blocks worn down by centuries, with two dozen arched windows barricaded with metal bars.

I wondered if the bars were to keep peopleout…orin.

The SUV drove around the corner, and I realized that the wall belonged to just one of two buildings that made up a larger compound.

Between the two buildings stood a massive iron gate – not made of bars with space between them, but a solid sheet of hammered metal.

Perfect for stopping bullets,I mused.

In the right of the metal slab was a single doorway big enough for a person to walk through.

The armed guard at the doorway saw the SUVs and went inside. Then he and three other men manually pulled back the iron gate on creaking hinges so the caravan could drive through.

As we entered, I noticed the rooftop terraces on either side of the gate. At least half a dozen men stood atop them, each with a high-powered rifle.

Snipers nest.

The SUVs pulled in between the two buildings, and I realized it was actually pretty beautiful inside.

The gravel gave way to a worn cobblestone road that stretched for at least two hundred feet between the buildings.

Off to the right was a grassy courtyard. The fountain in the center had what looked like an ancient Roman sculpture of a woman pouring water from a jug.

Terracotta pots lined the drive and hung from chains embedded into the stone walls. Inside them were colorful flowers and desert-looking plants.

The SUV parked in front of the entrance to the main building: giant doors made of weathered wood with iron trim and massive rings as doorknockers.

Vicari waited as the driver quickly hopped out and opened the Don’s door.

I noticed Shotgun didn’t do the same for me, though.

“Come on,” Vicari said. “Time to meet your future wife.”

I warily got out and stood by the car as the big wooden doors opened.

Half a dozen guys wearing black pants, white shirts, black vests, and caps came out first. They all had shotguns or rifles, so I was guessing they were foot soldiers.

Then came a tiny little bird of a woman, maybe 4’10”. Her face was wrinkled as a walnut, with skin browned by decades of harsh sun, and white hair pulled back in a tight bun.

She wore an old-timey black dress with a high neck, lots of black lace, and long sleeves that came down to her wrists. A widow’s dress.

A servant girl in an apron held her arm as she walked. The old lady took small steps, and it was a long process just to travel a few feet – but she grinned happily the entire time.

“That’s my nonna,” Vicari said. “Ninety-one years old and sharp as a tack. Come say hello.”

I followed Vicari dutifully over to the old woman, who had finally reached the bottom of the steps.

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