The Godmother by Leigh Esposito

Author:Leigh Esposito
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Raffi Truvarizzi is the most formidable woman in Miami. Leveraging her notorious Sicilian surname, she became the Godmother—a fixer for women in need. Behind her enigmatic exterior, she is haunted by her mother's disappearance and a lifelong question: is she or is she not related to the deadliest mafioso in history? When the death of her mentor sends Raffi on a surprise trip to Sicily with a young Cuban psychic, the unlikely friends find a glittering island of sumptuous tastes, brooding volcanoes, and ancient mysteries. But when a shocking event brings Raffi to her knees, she is forced to confront the truth of her lineage and the unintended consequences of who she has become. Against the lush backdrop of Sicily, The Godmother is an eclectic journey into the worlds of Sicilian legend, Mafia lore, jazz, tarot, witchcraft, and telenovelas, all within a story of identity, inheritance, and the unbreakable bonds between women.
Publisher: Selvatica Books
Published: 2023-03-15T00:00:00+00:00

20

When Raffi suggested they extend their stay in Sicily, Isabel was quick to agree. The girl had nothing to rush back to in Miami. All that awaited her there, Raffi knew, was a dingy hotel room and a life suspended in action.

For this late addition to their itinerary, they chose the waitress Agata’s recommendation of Cefalù, a breezy north-coast fishing town famous, per Isabel, for its delectable frutti di mare and even more delectable fishermen. Like many parts of Sicily, Syracuse included, it was also a former Greek colony and showcase of Norman architecture. Perhaps in Cefalù Raffi could have a respite from prying eyes; for the first time since they’d announced their plans to Agata, no one knew where she and Isabel were. Spontaneity and anonymity went hand in hand.

Another reason Raffi did not mind extending their trip: it delayed her arrival in Lercara Friddi. On the one hand, she was eager to see where her family had come from, the epicenter of Truvarizzi secrets. On the other, Nino’s Cousin Pasquale had insisted they stay at his “penthouse” in the village. Raffi preferred hotels—always—but Lercara Friddi was short on tourist accommodations. She did not like this, either.

Their first day in Cefalù, Isabel had hoped to lure Raffi to the beach below the old town in search of something called Sfoglio of Madonie, a salty local cake. An unfortunate handheld arancina bought at a bus stop the night before, however, had Isabel in the toilet the entire morning. Raffi took to the streets alone.

Cefalù was glittery and pungent: the Tyrrhenian Sea the color of absinthe, the air thick with sardine. Unlike the elegant buildings that bordered Ortygia harbor like swanky cocktail-party guests, Cefalù’s jumble of terracotta buildings were papier-mâché bricks packed together by an overzealous child. The sky billowed like a blue silk tarp. According to the hotel concierge, God did not allow clouds over Cefalù.

Raffi wandered down to the stretch of pavement that doubled as a dock, enjoying her solitude. She was comfortable alone. Mostly, she preferred it.

She bought a cheap straw hat and, on a whim, a ticket for a boat ride full of tourists from Long Island. The boat had a bright green awning and was piloted by a captain even handsomer than Enzo. (“But much less charming,” she would tell the girl later at her crestfallen face.) Hat stuffed low over her unruly waves, Raffi watched the town from the water, following the captain’s hairy finger to notable sights both high—the twin peaks of the Norman Cefalù Cathedral—and low—a quartet of old men paddleboarding in matching yellow bikini bottoms.

Cefalù’s defining feature was the imposing Promontory of Hercules, a colossal rock that rose from the center of town like a reverse sinkhole, threatening to do whatever an enormous rock could do to the village below. Across the top, sacred icing on an earthen cake, was a temple to the goddess Diana. Isabel would be happy to learn that, unlike the nymph-made Fountain of Arethusa in Ortygia, neither Diana nor any other goddess had thrown herself on the ground to create this landmark.

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