'Senor Mascolino? Come with me please. Don Miglione wishes to see you in his private office'.
A chill ran through Antonio's hot Italian blood. He had never been asked into Don Miglione's private office before. That only meant one thing.
The luxury of the vast room that greeted Antonio was overwhelming. Priceless ancient Oriental wall hangings fought with the porcelain Siberian tigers for the attention of his eyes. At the centre of the room behind an intricately carved oak desk sat Don Richardo Miglione, the most powerful mafioso this side of Sicily. He beckoned Antonio towards him and silently dismissed his flunkey with an almost indiscernable nod of the head. 'Antonio', said Miglione warmly. 'Sit, please'.
Antonio almost melted into the luxurious velvet armchair, both thrilled and terrified at the thought of what he would ask to do. Miglione paused for effect then said, 'My Jocasta is to be married today'.
Jocasta Beaverington. Although Antonio had never set eyes upon her, the legend of her heavenly beauty rivalled that of Helen of Troy. But what really made that name mystical was her role in Don Miglione's life. She was the chink in his armour; the only rough edge on a flawless diamond of unemotional power.
'Of course this cannot be allowed to happen'. Miglione produced a handcrafted Genoan leather briefcase from beneath his desk. 'There is £100,000 in this briefcase. Use it in whatever way you wish. Just guarantee me that wedding does not go ahead'. He handed Antonio an envelope. 'All you need to know is in there'.
Finding himself dismissed, Antonio took the case and stepped up to leave, struggling to take in the enormity of his task. 'Oh, and Antonio?'
Antonio turned nervously back to face the Don.
'If you go past Marks can you pick me up a sarnie? I'm starved. Nothing with mayonnaise, I'm doing the Rosemary Conley'.
