The narrow pathway was shadowed the colour of pitch , and from the centre whereby the Don so walked , almost able to reach with outstretched arms the terraced house fronts on either side as he passed them by . With long strides , it took but a few short minutes before he was able to make out the dimly lit Piazza San Paulo . Once there , he crossed the intricate mosaics to the farthest side , eventually coming upon the address he so searched , the wooden entrance of which bleached almost white by the many years of neglect , and the relentless heat of an imposing Sicilian sun .
Without the need to knock , the door slowly opened , and there within the frame stood a man , mayhap more easily described as grotesque in appearance , the likes of which , found haunting the pages of some archaic book of black magic . He was short and bent , his spine curved , his malevolent features , warped , drawn , and withered , wringing together the gnarled , emaciated fingers of arthritic hands , the nails long and yellowed . His crooked mouth opened , and through thin cracked lips , he gave that of a decayed , black toothed , grimace .
Standing away from the now open doorway , he offered his talon like fingers in a gesture of welcome , whilst whispering so soft , as mayhap considered nothing more than the sound of a gentle breeze . ‘ Buongiorno signore , entare por favore .’ The Don followed the little man inside and continued along the tiled passage , inhaling the squalid odour of mildew and damp as it combated somewhat unsuccessfully against the pungent aroma of
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