Sorted in Naples

Don Vincenzo Rastello had resembled a ghost-like apparition to the Italian authorities, their countless attempts to bring him to justice failing every time. To all Neapolitans Rastello was regarded as the serpent amongst the snakes. For thirty years he had ruled from the shadows with a notoriety unsurpassed, even in this most violent of cities. Any who dared raise a hand in defiance were dealt with in a manner that sent shivers down the spine of even the most hard bitten of the Camorra underworld

A reputation that struck fear into all. Mothers would chide their children at bedtime by saying, 'go to sleep or I will send for Don Rastello'.

But on this fateful night even the great Don suffered doubts on whether this was the right path to follow. This man held no misgivings, his was a soul already hell bound and redemption was no longer a viable option. For not even the almighty could turn a blind eye to the murderous nature of Don Vincenzo Rastello. His crimes were simply too heinous to comprehend and Neapolitans claimed the possibility of even the devil refusing him entry. For hell would surely not be big enough for them both.

Rastello motioned to his oldest and most trusted bodyguard Paolo valturi that he was ready to begin and before him was dragged kicking and screaming a bloodied, battered young man, Calo Montello. Rastello had already decreed the sentence for the evidence was overwhelming. The unfortunate Montello had committed the ultimate aberration. To escape a drugs rap he had become a police informer and for this lowly, drug addicted, street thief from the wretched slums of Forcella there could be only one sentence.

Montello pleaded desperately for mercy. 'Please my Godfather let me prove my loyalty'? Don Vincenzo lifted his hand and Montello instantly fell silent, his sobbing reduced to a whimper. A disarming half-smile crossed the lips of Rastella and for a second Montello felt hope. Maybe God had been listening to his fervid prayers? Then almost in that same instance Paolo Valturi stepped forward, produced a small knife and slit Calo Montello's throat from ear to ear. As Montello lay dying, trying desperately to hold in the blood spurting horribly from him, Don Vincenzo spoke quietly.

'Calo Montello you did something we could never forgive but I will pray for your soul. 'Sleep well'.

Happy to be rid of this thorn in his shoe that had irked him all day Rastello relaxed a little and prepared for other business. 'A good cut Paolo', he exclaimed. 'But can you make sure there is no blood showing on the carpet, for the shoemaker Ernesto Malignari is waiting and you know what a nervous soul he is. God forbid he catches sight of your handiwork the shock is likely to kill him'.

How Rastello wished his only son Angelo could be like this man, instead of the accursed infamita he had turned out to be. 'Of course Don Vincenzo' replied Valturi, appreciating the irony of his boss's comments. 'The shoemaker will live to see out the day. If you desire'.

That same night an unsuspecting knock on the door of Maria Montello's house resulted in her screams echoing horrifyingly over the bay of Naples.

Her son Calo Montello had come home.