One morning, seven months after arriving in Sicily, Michael decided to
walk into the mountains past the hilltop town of Corleone. He walked
with his two bodyguards along dusty country roads, past fruit-trees and
fields of flowers. The hot, still air was rich with the smell of oranges.
Along the way, they met a group of girls and children picking flowers.
They stopped to watch them pass. One girl in a simple dress with a
basket over her arm stopped in front of Michael to pick a small pink
flower. Michael watched her, studying the way that her long, brown hair
shone in the sunlight and hung around her face. Suddenly, the girl lifted
her head and looked at him. She had large brown eyes, and her heartshaped
mouth was red with the juice of grapes.