But it was the next development which seemed to confirm that Signora Squillace's suspicions had not been exaggerated. This took the form of a telephone call from an official at the elite Direzione Investigativa Antimafia. He explained that Zen's request had been routinely copied to him since the two names were on a file of suspected gang members whom the DIA had under long-term surveillance, and wanted to know what had brought them to the attention of the port police. Zen invented a vague but plausible cover story and promised to relay any further information he might have to the DIA before taking any action himself.

At a second meeting, over lunch in a restaurant beneath the Castel dell'Ovo, he had reported his findings to Valeria Squillace. Oddly, she seemed almost reassured by this proof that her worst fears had been realized. The question was what to do now.

'Why not just forbid your daughters to see them?' Zen had suggested.

Valeria merely smiled sadly.

'You're out of touch, Don Alfonso. The girls simply wouldn't obey me. They're in love, or think they are. For the young these days, that's a licence to do anything.

Besides, it might just make matters worse as far as the men are concerned. Gangsters never take no for an answer, even if they're not really that interested. It's a question of principle with them.'

Things had come a long way since that stiff-backed, exploratory rendezvous at La Cantinella. In retrospect, the turning-point had probably been Zen's agreeing to give up smoking. Valeria's late husband had been a sixtya-day man, and the smell of cigarettes, she explained, still evoked disturbing memories. Much to his surprise, Zen had simply shrugged and said, 'All right/ It was just another example of how he had changed since moving to Naples. All his habits and attributes had come to seem provisional, decorative impedimenta related to choices he had once made for reasons now forgotten, no more a part of him than his clothes. He'd started smoking at a certain moment, now he would stop. Why not?