"Better," he said. "But never tell her that."

She was still looking at him like a cat. "And is it as good as La Venera's?"

Turi Guiliano had never had a love affair with a young girl. He was caught by surprise, but his tactical mind processed the question quickly. Next would come questions about his lovemaking with La Venera. He didn't want to hear such questions or answer them. He had not felt the love for the older woman that he felt for this young girl; still he felt a tenderness and respect for La Venera. She was a woman who had suffered tragedies and pain this young girl for all her charms had no knowledge of.

He smiled at Justina gravely. She had risen to clear the table but was waiting for his answer. Guiliano said, "La Venera was a great cook – it's not fair to judge you against her."

A dish went flying past his head and he began to laugh uncontrollably. He laughed with joy and delight at being part of such a domestic scene and because for the first time the mask of sweetness and docility was stripped from the young girl's face. But when she began sobbing he took her in his arms.

They stood there in that instant silvery twilight that falls so quickly in Sicily. He murmured into her ear that peaked so rosily from her jet black hair. "I was joking. You are the best cook in the world." But he buried his face in her neck so that she could not see his smile.

On their last night together, they talked more than made love. Justina asked him about La Venera and he told her that was the past and to be forgotten. She asked him how they would see each other in the future. He explained that he was arranging for her to be sent to America and would join her there. But her father had already told her that; she was concerned only about how they would manage to see each other before she left for America. Guiliano saw that it never occurred to her that he might not escape, she was too young to imagine tragic endings. Her father came in the early dawn. Justina clung to Turi Guiliano for one last moment and then was gone.

Guiliano went to the chapel in the ruined castle and waited for Aspanu Pisciotta to bring him his chiefs. While he was waiting he armed himself with the guns he had hidden in the chapel.

In his conversation with Abbot Manfredi just before the wedding, Guiliano had told the old man about his suspicions that Stefano Andolini and Passatempo had had a meeting with Don Croce two days before the massacre at the Portella della Ginestra. He assured the Abbot he would not harm his son, but that it was essential he know the truth. The Abbot told him the whole story. As Turi had guessed, his son had confessed to him.

Don Croce had requested Stefano Andolini to bring Passatempo to him at Villaba for a secret meeting. Andolini had been ordered to wait outside the room where the two other men conferred. This had only been two days before the slaughter. After that May Day tragedy Stefano Andolini had confronted Passatempo, who had admitted that Don Croce had paid him a handsome sum of money to go against Guiliano's orders and have his machine guns fire into the crowd. Passatempo had threatened that if Andolini said anything about this to Guiliano he would swear that Andolini had been in the room with Don Croce when the bargain was struck. Andolini had been too afraid to tell anyone except his father, the Abbot Manfredi. Manfredi had counseled him to keep his mouth shut. The week after the massacre Guiliano had been in such a raging grief that he was sure to execute both men.

Again Guiliano assured the Abbot that he would not harm his son. Guiliano instructed Pisciotta on what he was to do but said they would conclude the matter after Justina returned to Montelepre, after the honeymoon. He did not want to play the butcher before he played the groom.

He waited now in the chapel of the ruined Norman castle, its ceiling the blue Mediterranean sky. He leaned back against the remains of the altar, and that was how he received his chiefs when Aspanu Pisciotta led them in. The Corporal had been briefed by Pisciotta and stood where his gun could command Passatempo and Stefano Andolini. Those two men were led directly to face Guiliano before the altar. Terranova, who knew nothing, sat on one of the chapel stone benches. He had commanded the defense of the perimeter during the long night hours and he was exhausted. Guiliano had not told any of the others what he would do to Passatempo.

Guiliano knew that Passatempo was like a wild animal – he could sense changes in the atmosphere and the smell of danger as it came off other people. Guiliano was careful to behave exactly as he always had with Passatempo. He had always kept more of a distance between them than with the others. In fact he had assigned Passatempo and his band far away to control the area near Trapani, for Passatempo's savagery disgusted him. He used Passatempo to perform executions of informers and also to threaten stubborn "invited guests" until they paid their ransoms. Just the sight of Passatempo would usually frighten prisoners and shorten negotiations, but if that was not enough, Passatempo would tell them what he would do to them and their families if the ransom was not paid, and tell them with such relish that the "guests" would stop haggling to be released as quickly as possible.

Guiliano pointed his machine pistol at Passatempo and said, "Before we part we must all settle our debts. You disobeyed my orders, you took money from Don Croce to massacre the people at the Portella della Ginestra."

Terranova was looking at Guiliano with narrowed eyes wondering about his own safety, whether Guiliano was trying to find out who was guilty. Whether perhaps he too would be accused. He might have made a move to defend himself, but Pisciotta had also leveled his pistol at Passatempo.

Guiliano said to Terranova, "I know your band and you obeyed my orders. Passatempo did not. He endangered your life by doing so, since if I had not found out the truth, I would have had to execute both of you. But now we have to deal with him."

Stefano Andolini had not moved a muscle. Again he trusted to the fates. He had been faithful to Guiliano and, like those believers in God who cannot believe their God malignant, and commit all crimes in His honor, he had absolute faith he would not be harmed.

Passatempo also knew. With that deep animal instinct he sensed his death was at hand. Nothing could help him but his own ferocity, yet two guns were leveled at him. He could only play for time and make a last desperate attack. So he said, "Stefano Andolini gave me the money and the message – bring him to account," hoping that Andolini would make a move to protect himself and that under cover of that movement, an opportunity to attack would open.

Guiliano said to Passatempo, "Andolini has confessed his sins and his hand was never on the machine guns. Don Croce deceived him as he deceived me."

Passatempo said with brute bewilderment, "But I killed a hundred men and you never complained. And the Portella was almost two years ago. We have been together for seven years and that is the only time I disobeyed you. Don Croce gave me reason to believe that you would not be too sorry about what I did. That you were simply too soft to do the deed yourself. And what are a few people dead more or less after all the others we've killed? I've never been unfaithful to you personally."

At that moment Guiliano knew how hopeless it was to make this man understand the enormity of his deed. And yet, why should this offend him so? Over the years had he not himself ordered deeds almost as terrible? The execution of the barber, the crucifixion of the fraudulent priest, the kidnappings, the slaughter of carabinieri, the merciless killings of spies? If Passatempo was a brute, born and bred, then what was he, the Champion of Sicily? He felt his own reluctance to perform the execution. So Guiliano said, "I will give you time to make your peace with God. Kneel and say your prayers."