Valerie Barona - Thats Amore!: Lasagne, Language Trouble, and Love in a 1970s Italian Village

Intent on polishing the table, I didnt hear the door of the disco open, but the sharp clip of footsteps on the newly laid tiles made me look up. Two tall men wearing expensive dark suits and sunglasses strode purposefully into my vision.

This is like a scene from The Godfather, I thought as laughter bubbled up in my throat. Wheres the violin case with a rifle? Then I noticed that one of them carried a briefcase and suddenly it didnt seem so funny.

I tried to attract Micheles attention but hed already seen them. Carefully replacing the records hed been sorting through in the DJs corner, he made his way towards them, gesturing to them to take a seat around one of the modern blue tables. Exchanging looks, they refused. Then the one carrying the briefcase laid it ceremoniously on the counter of the bar.

I wish Pietro was here, I thought. Why on earth did he have to go to Morbegno this afternoon?

Worried about Michele and too far away to see or hear anything clearly, I inched forward in the shadows until I almost tripped over a table. With adrenaline pumping through my body and my heart thumping loudly, I sat down where I was, deciding that maybe I shouldnt interfere after all.

Peering round a chair, I saw Michele offering the Men-in-Black a drink. Fortunately, just at that moment, as they put down their glasses, Pietro arrived. The conversation became quite animated as clipped voices grew in volume and I caught glimpses of gold cufflinks and gold watches when they gestured towards the interior of the Rendez Vous discotheque. These strangers exuded wealth but their body language emanated an element of danger. Both Michele and Pietro shook their heads repeatedly and I almost jumped out of my skin when one of the men slammed his hand down on the counter, the noise echoing around the walls like a warning. I shivered.

They left as quickly as theyd arrived and following them quietly, I just had time to see a sleek, black Mercedes purr down to the bottom of the road. Who were they and what did they want? Deep down, though, I knew the answer.

Michele and Pietro still had their heads together, talking in dialect and didnt hear me when I walked up behind them.

Have we just had a visit from the local mafia?

Theyre from somewhere near Lake Como and they came specifically to ask if we wanted to pay them protection money, Michele explained, as beads of perspiration appeared on his forehead.

And? I had never seen him so apprehensive before.

And we refused their kind offer but now we ave to be careful nothing appens to our disco or us.

Oh. As the significance of what Michele was saying sank in, I realised that this was for real. My days of boredom in a sleepy mountain village in northern Italy had ended but what would happen now?