Fiamma Vitale
When I was still a girl, my Nonna used to say that a Sicilian woman needed to be more dangerous than any weapon.
Precise.
Merciless.
Deadly.
Otherwise, the world would tear her apart and swallow her slowly, because Sicily knows nothing of simplicity.
Among us, no task is ever carried out along a delicate line. It is always all or nothing, and to preserve even the smallest measure of balance, we had to become generals.
We gave orders, overruled them, imposed our will—even when no one ever acknowledged our strength or had the chance to admire it.
From her, I learned how to become an invisible sss, a warrior without titles and a master without disciples.
That lesson remained with me throughout my childhood and youth, when our fathers went to war and the women stayed beh
