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- Herausgeber: Youcanprint
- Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
- Sprache: Englisch
- Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024
A luxury cruise ship, a chilling nursery rhyme, and a deadly secret that threatens to capsize the voyage of a lifetime. When Gianni Bertini and his partner Olga embark on a four-month world cruise, they're hoping for relaxation and adventure. But their journey takes a dark turn when they meet Rocco Montalbano, a charismatic figure who reveals himself to be a powerful 'Ndrangheta leader. As passengers begin disappearing one by one, a macabre nursery rhyme counting down the deaths echoes through the ship, mirroring a real-life mafia feud unfolding on board. Gianni, fascinated by Rocco's complex character and the dark undercurrents of the 'Ndrangheta, begins documenting the events. But as the body count rises and the mystery deepens, he finds himself entangled in a dangerous web of secrets, where loyalty is fragile and survival hangs in the balance.
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Contents
Titolo
Diritto d'autore
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1 - Boarding
Chapter 2 - Olga
Chapter 3 - Welcome Aboard
Chapter 4 - The Magic Mountain
Chapter 5 - Evaluation
Chapter 6 - Bari First Excursion
Chapter 7 - History of ‘Ndrangheta I
Chapter 8 - Panama Canal Crossing
Chapter 9 - Anna Scipliti and Ines Opis
Chapter 10 - 1860, Montalbano Family II
Chapter 11 - Visiting of the ship
Chapter 12 - The Miss Marples Spring into Action
Chapter 13 - Baldo Montalbano Leaves Calabria III
Chapter 14 - We Grew Up This Way
Chapter 15 - Garibaldi’s Baldo Montalbano IV
Chapter 16 - The Last Rapa Nui Tree
Chapter 17 - The Differently Normal Ship
Chapter 18 - Moorea Tahiti
Chapter 19 - Everything Changed and Everything Remained the Same V
Chapter 20 - Bora Bora!
Chapter 21 - The End of the Nineteenth Century VI
Chapter 22 - The Undertow
Chapter 23 - 1938 The Racial Laws
Chapter 24 - The ‘Ndrangheta in the Twentieth Century and the Third Millennium VII
Chapter 25 - February 23, 2020, Day Zero
Chapter 26 - COVID-19
Chapter 27 - Rocco Montalbano’s Turn VIII
Chapter 28 - Nora Freelance Journalist
Chapter 29 - The ‘Ndrangheta in Germany
Chapter 30 - Assassination Attempt on Rocco Montalbano IX
Chapter 31 - Tauranga and Auckland, New Zealand
Chapter 32 - Australia and New Zealand, Face-to-Face
Chapter 33 - Sydney, February 13, 2008
Chapter 34 - Calabrian-Australians Party
Chapter 35 - Virus, Lombardy Closed Up
Chapter 36 - Albany, Australia
Chapter 37 - Warning: We will skip some ports
Chapter 38 - Warning: Suspension of Entertainment Activities
Chapter 39 - What To Do
Chapter 40 - Please Note: The Cruise Has Ended
Chapter 41 - Caution – Commemoration
Chapter 42 - The Lottery Has Gone Crazy
Chapter 43 - Rocco Montalbano The Final Solution X
Chapter 44 - The Changeling XI
Chapter 45 - The confession
Chapter 46 - Nora Marries Rocchino
Chapter 47 - Rocco Dies
Guide
Copertina
Table of Contents
Start
Giovanni Bertini
Murder on theCosta Deliziosa
This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, affairs, events, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to real people, living, dead, or real events is purely coincidental.
Title | Murder on the Costa Deliziosa
Author | Giovanni Bertini
ISBN | 9791222757179
© 2023 – All rights reserved to the Author
This work is published directly by the Author through the Youcanprint self-publishing platform and the Author holds all rights to it exclusively. No part of this book can therefore be reproduced without the prior consent of the Author.
Youcanprint
Via Marco Biagi 6 - 73100 Lecce
www.youcanprint.it
Made by human
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1 - Boarding
Chapter 2 - Olga
Chapter 3 - Welcome Aboard
Chapter 4 - The Magic Mountain
Chapter 5 - Evaluation
Chapter 6 - Bari First Excursion
Chapter 7 - History of ‘Ndrangheta I
Chapter 8 - Panama Canal Crossing
Chapter 9 - Anna Scipliti and Ines Opis
Chapter 10 - 1860, Montalbano Family II
Chapter 11 - Visiting of the ship
Chapter 12 - The Miss Marples Spring into Action
Chapter 13 - Baldo Montalbano Leaves Calabria III
Chapter 14 - We Grew Up This Way
Chapter 15 - Garibaldi’s Baldo Montalbano IV
Chapter 16 - The Last Rapa Nui Tree
Chapter 17 - The Differently Normal Ship
Chapter 18 - Moorea Tahiti
Chapter 19 - Everything Changed and Everything Remained the Same V
Chapter 20 - Bora Bora!
Chapter 21 - The End of the Nineteenth Century VI
Chapter 22 - The Undertow
Chapter 23 - 1938 The Racial Laws
Chapter 24 - The ‘Ndrangheta in the Twentieth Century and the Third Millennium VII
Chapter 25 - February 23, 2020, Day Zero
Chapter 26 - COVID-19
Chapter 27 - Rocco Montalbano’s Turn VIII
Chapter 28 - Nora Freelance Journalist
Chapter 29 - The ‘Ndrangheta in Germany
Chapter 30 - Assassination Attempt on Rocco Montalbano IX
Chapter 31 - Tauranga and Auckland, New Zealand
Chapter 32 - Australia and New Zealand, Face-to-Face
Chapter 33 - Sydney, February 13, 2008
Chapter 34 - Calabrian-Australians Party
Chapter 35 - Virus, Lombardy Closed Up
Chapter 36 - Albany, Australia
Chapter 37 - Warning: We will skip some ports
Chapter 38 - Warning: Suspension of Entertainment Activities
Chapter 39 - What To Do
Chapter 40 - Please Note: The Cruise Has Ended
Chapter 41 - Caution – Commemoration
Chapter 42 - The Lottery Has Gone Crazy
Chapter 43 - Rocco Montalbano The Final Solution X
Chapter 44 - The Changeling XI
Chapter 45 - The confession
Chapter 46 - Nora Marries Rocchino
Chapter 47 - Rocco Dies
Prologue
The metastases that afflict Italy were the mafias; of all the ‘Ndrangheta had spread throughout the world, and they pretended not to know it.
Life is a journey out of time, a book in which everything writes about itself. It can be read in a variety of ways. We flip through the pages, read the words, and surrender to emotions. The journey is worth the life.
We were three thousand guests who were always sacred everywhere. The captain chose a dumb old man and arrested him on suspicion of murder. Why? Why?
The more I racked my brain the more the seat of the intellect sank confused into the icy waters of the Pacific Ocean (or was it the Atlantic?) while our splendid ship was delightfully plowing through her.
Don’t think I’m rich, I’m not, and I don’t think any of my fellow adventurers are. The truly rich have their own hundred-foot yacht equipped with every service, and even perhaps a car and helicopter, to cross these unpredictable seas. If they don’t have a yacht, a relative or friend of theirs will probably have one.
Also, for a cruise like this, four months from January to April, one needed to be idle. All it takes is a few tens of thousands of euros and the desire to share a small space every day with other people, always the same, and the illusion of being, if not Captain Nemo, certainly an indomitable, comfortable adventurer.
If you saw us the moment we set foot on this traveling skyscraper called Costa Deliziosa with twelve floors (plus four, under sea level, for the crew and the engine room) and two facades about three hundred meters long, you would realize that the vast majority were like me and my partner, Olga. We had white hair. You would notice that we were all, or almost all, serenely retired.
Many, though apparently gallantly ambulatory, had one foot in the grave and the other about to go. I, for example, had three or four stents (expandable reticular cylinders) in the arteries that are responsible for circulating blood because I’m arteriosclerotic; that was why I’m a bit dazed.
Olga, meanwhile, had an oncological problem and her reproductive system removed. Her mind was awake, very awake, more than mine, though not that much. In fact, together with the murdered ‘Ndrangheta gang leader, she is the protagonist of this story. I’m just a humble reporter. A bit like Dr. Watson to Mr. Holmes.
You see, not only were all of us close to the end of our terrestrial journey, but also the presence or absence of the straight path no longer concerned us. We were stubbornly intent on enjoying every aspect of the last stretch, whatever the great poet may say. (I am referring to Dante, the rhymer, and not to Virgil, the symbol of human reason.)
These gigantic ships have a special respect for life. They try to pollute less and less and have a particular regard for those with practical difficulties in living everyday life, whether for health, age, or existential reasons. Life on board and excursions in every way are facilitated and made livable for anyone with discretion and a respect for privacy.
Olga and I were two nosy people, a little irresponsible. Since we solved a case that concerned not only the professional life of a famous journalist of the ’60s but also the suspected causes of his death, we rewarded ourselves (as the others ignored us) with a trip around the world.
We wanted to feel alive again; we loved the thrill of hope that something would happen to us on this journey full of the expectations of each of its passengers. Well, maybe not like the last time, when twenty fanatical hags tried to drown us in the flooded basement of the huge artistic mansion owned by the Genoese Princess Mafalda Ademaschi.
Here I come to that tall and imposing person who commanded our immense and majestic ocean liner carefully avoiding rocks and “bowing with the ship” to characters who may be worthy of such respect. The “bow” is a risky maneuver of a ship near the coast, which is what Captain Francesco Schettino used to do until that cursed day January 13, 2012, when he brought the cruise ship Concordia to be shipwrecked on the rocks. He did not abandon the ship last and caused the death of 32 people.
“Go on board now, fuck!” Livorno Coast Guard Officer Gregorio De Falco (now a badass and quarrelsome Member of Parliament) shouted at him over the phone.
He, the esteemed captain of our ship, satisfied all our wishes, but I didn’t know why he was angry with me. With no apparent motivation, he had me confined to a room with the function of a cell. The slanderer affirmed that I murdered a man, but he did not have any evidence, and he did not question me. I was waiting for the investigating authorities.
Ten cartridges had been found in the murdered man’s suite. Nine bullets were embedded in a magazine photograph pasted on the wall of the cabin depicting the victim sitting in an armchair and another person kneeling kissing the ring on the little finger of his left hand. The tenth bullet was in the wall after having passed through the brain of the Mafioso ringleader. The bald, shiny head reflected the image hanging on the wall riddled with bullets.
I swear I had never seen the bearer of that lousy ring before I got on this dream ship. True, we got to know each other and sympathized, but I never thought of hurting him.
That is why I formally invested in the need for Olga, who through computers, human contacts, and any other means would investigate and, possibly, find the culprit of the afore mentioned crime.
However, in fact, she was the one who solved the previous cases. I imagined them before they happened and, afterward. I described them in detail in the relevant books I wrote.
I want to point out that Olga was a former math teacher in a Genoese scientific high school, passionate about the bridge game, winner of tournaments and swimming competitions, and, as I said, smarter than me.
I was a merchant surveyor in the port of Genoa who checked and registered the goods that were unloaded or loaded on ships. After eleven years of terrible jobs, I spent thirty years in the beloved Compagnia Unica Lavoratori Merci Varie Paride Batini, a fixture of the Genoese port since 1340. That’s why I insisted Olga make this trip with me. I love the sea, the ships, the smell of the salty air, the cranes, and everything related to the complex life on board and in the port.
In fact, when I was young, with sweat and sacrifice, I honored forty-two promissory notes to own a small apartment in the historic center right where Genoa, my adopted city, was established before the foundation of Rome. From the window, I could see my port.
One day, Olga reminded me that the port of Genoa is not the center of the world, which is true, though it was of my world. (I think it’s safe to say that it saved my life, but that’s another story.)
Not from Genoa but from Venice our cruise began; we stayed in a cabin with a balcony. The Lagoon City is the best place to start a trip around the world.
Both Olga and I paid for the trip of our lives with a good part of our severance pay. But now this captain wants to ruin my memorable vacation. (How many and which ports would we touch? Would everything be fine?)
We would see.
I knew the officers well. I knew who they are. Do you know how many times I had argued with them about the condition of the cargo or the number of packages unloaded? Sometimes I informed them that I had counted a quantity of goods that did not correspond to the ship’s manifest. They invariably accused me of having made a mistake in counting or whatever. My statements always prevailed. Once the ship docked, both outside and inside the port, the master’s authority would be transferred to the maritime authorities on land. My signature as a merchant appraiser was registered with the Genoese Chamber of Commerce.
So, when freight forwarders had to pick up their goods from warehouses, barges, or yards, they turned to me. I, for better or worse, was responsible.
Captain Albani, I’ll show you who I am. Fuck!
Chapter 1 - Boarding
Costa Deliziosa January 5, 2020
As Olga and I climbed the Costa Deliziosa’s ladder, I wondered again why I insisted on this four-month journey between the oceans with my partner.
Yes, nostalgia for my work and that Babel that is the port of Genoa both count, but deep down there are other motivations.
With foreign captains and officers, I disputed mainly in English the quantity or quality of packages showing obvious signs of dampness and mold due to violent waves. I pointed out to the shippers in Italian that some of the crates brought to the embarkation were without boards and that when they were moved, you could hear noises of possible breakage. All of them invariably belittled my concerns. Yes, I then signed the handover documents with them, but I, as a merchant surveyor, was ultimately the one in charge.
And that’s not all. With the camalli (the unloaders), in strict Genoese, I explained how to handle goods. What a struggle it was for me, a Tuscan raised by a mother and an aunt who spoke in Italian, that not even that of the great Montanelli. I also had to discreetly ensure that the camalli did not steal.
I loved running from one ship to another; the adrenaline was always high; the people I met, even the camalli, were different every day. Thousands of people were operating in the port in orderly chaos. I wasn’t locked inside four walls, and for me, multi-phobic and a little hyperkinetic, that was important.
As we crossed the threshold of the liner, I realized that I didn’t just want to breathe in the salt, identify its smell, and turn around again and listen to the conversations of the people and the crew. No, something inside me began to stir; the adrenaline wanted to flow back into my fibers. I wanted an event to occur, something that would cause the click that, like the last time, would lead to an investigation and its related risks.
That case, the last one, which Olga solved as always, I described because writing (or rather, scribbling) is my senile pastime; since I can no longer jump here and there, now I fly like Pindar, the ancient Greek poet.
Olga, with her pragmatism and her captivating and cunning smiles, dissolves the most complex intrigues. One may ask themselves what she sees in me. I ask myself in vain too.
“Gianni,” she told me now. “Did you see those two who were next to the photographer who immortalized us and how they looked at you?”
“Yes, Olga, they are two plainclothes policemen who, when our eyes met, noticed that I recognized them. It’s normal; they are on board for our safety and that of the ship.”
“But how did you know? Do you know them personally?”
“No, but I’ve got practice. If I had met them at the beach with their family, I wouldn’t have noticed them. But here they are on duty, and although they try to hide their inquisitive way, an experienced man like me spots them. Rather, the problem is something else.”
“Do you want to ruin my trip? What’s up?”
“Opposite them were two others. I wonder what team they belong to. Anti-terrorism, anti-espionage, anti-drug dealing, anti-mafia, or what?”
“I didn’t see them. But is it normal to take pictures of us like that?”
“Yes, all the passengers are photographed. Then they sell the photos to us; it’s a business. You’ll see. We paid for the trip with the all-inclusive package, but the optional extras are endless.”
“Well, but we knew that, didn’t we?”
We arrived at our cabin door. Next to us, a man of middle height, bald and very muscular, was trying to open his door.
“Sorry, how do you open it?” he asked, turning to me. “I slip this thing into the crack, but the door won’t open. Can you help me?”
“Of course, I said, then turned back to my companion. “Olga, why don’t you go inside and take a shower? We must go to the welcome cocktail party.” I then turned back to the man and took his card. “Well, you see, it is not enough to put the magnetic card into the slot. You must insert it this way and take it out quickly. So, done.”
I smiled and handed the card back. “My name is Gianni. If you need me, you may knock on the wall. As you have noticed, we are adjacent.”
“Thank you very much. Since we will be traveling companions for four months, we better get to know each other. Come in with me; there should be a bottle of champagne. Do you want to have your lady come too? By the way, my name is Rocco, Rocco Montalbano, and it’s the first time I’ve left Calabria. Why do you look at me like that; do we know each other?”
“No, excuse me. It’s just that you look a lot like Inspector Montalbano, but that’s a fictional character so I don’t ask you if you’re related. Anyway, cheers! We must go to the welcome party. We’d better hurry.”
I went into our cabin and found Olga standing there. “Gianni,” she said. “What did that gentleman do to you; you have a face—”
“Olga let’s be calm. That man is the head of the ‘ndrina, I mean gang, in the Calabrian Ionian Sea area. I saw him last month on the news; he has a guaranteed notice for a feud in the ‘Ndrangheta, the Calabrian mafia. To date, twenty-seven have killed themselves. What the hell is he doing here and right in the cabin next to ours?”
“Did you want the boat to be beautiful? Now row. What is it; has your asshole humor passed you by?”
“If you’ll allow me, I’m surprised. Don’t worry, Olga, I’m still the same. I will take a quick shower, and we get to the refreshments, and, Olga, when we’ll be there, we’ll be close to the exit because I think they’ve put a bomb there for the ‘Ndranghetista.” I laughed. “Just kidding.”
“John.”
“Yes, love? Kiss?”
“Go fuck yourself.”
Chapter 2 - Olga
We met at the art exhibition hall on the main floor of the Doge’s Palace in Genoa.
That neoclassical building whose origins date back to the thirteenth century is one of the Rolli, forty-two noble palaces protected by UNESCO. This doesn’t mean the other 120 patrician candidates are outdone. Those who walk around the historic center, one of the largest in Italy, should look at the entrances and halls of every house they see; they would have pleasant surprises, and perhaps they would discover ancient Genoese mysteries.
Particular attention is due to the votive shrines that adorn the facades and corners of the ancient mansions. They are tabernacles, true works of art, dedicated to the Virgin and the Saints, pieces of history of a Genoa or Zena that was.
Returning to Olga, let me start by saying that comedian Paolo Villaggio and I have nothing in common apart from citizenship, though mine is adoptive. And yet if I think of that day, it’s Fantozzi, the mythical character Villaggio played, whom I see with a mega-galactic camera in his hands. I use it strictly on auto.
We came across an exhibition which was dedicated to Robert Capa, the great Hungarian photographer who witnessed five different wars. The large audience consisted almost exclusively of women. When it comes to reading, but also art in general and other mental pursuits, they are almost always the ones who prevail. Maybe it’s because they have more free time. However, there were only three males present that morning including myself. Thanks to that, I was the most noticeable one in the crowd.
I was also the only one who had snow-white hair. No, I saw there was also a lady with a silver bob illuminated by golden rays that filtered through the high windows. They looked as blond as a wheat field on harvest day. The radiant irises were the same color.
Frantically, I took photographs. In the artistic effort, I writhed like a worm that doesn’t want to be pierced by a hook. In short, I was trying to frame from every side not only the photos but also that mature lady with the physique of a dancer. My heart was pounding.
“Excuse me,” Olga said, turning to me, “but what do you find so interesting about this old lady?”
“I, no, that is, well, you look so interesting. You are a teacher, aren’t you?” I asked. It hadn’t been since school that I stuttered like that.
We talked about our hobby, Capa, and the war, which I had known as a child, and about the post-war period when Olga also lived in a town in the Ligurian hinterland. She, a former mathematics teacher at the scientific high school, as well as simple and direct as her name, is more pragmatic than an English economist. Maybe it’s because she’s a bridge champion as well as a former swimming champion.
I, on the other hand, how to say, improvise. I get along, I fantasize, and then I act. In the long run, I started slowly, and sometimes I ended up earning my marathon medal. Now I’ve started writing. I got into it after I retired. I’ve dreamed of it all my life. Even when I go to sleep, my mind is constantly creating various stories.
If an ant crosses the table at the bar, I imagine that due to radiation from a previous nuclear conflict, it grows taller than a building and threatens humanity. I imagine science fiction books. The writer, like all artists even if he is an amateur like me, works twenty-four hours a day.
