Ottavio Cappellani seems to me like a rich Italian fils-à-papa who spends his time going to clubs, playing the guitar in a rockband and hanging out with flattering friends on some terrace. And one day, he got the idea: "Hey, maybe I could also write a novel?" Being Sicilian, he doesn't take any chances and chooses the topic that is most likely to sell. Mafia.
The style is awfully ugly, the plot is so nonexistently chaotic that I won't even try to summarize it. And like all very poor writers, the book consists more of dialogue than descriptions. Someone should really go out and tell those authors that you also have something called 'a play', and that it would probably fit their meagre talents better. Furthermore, Capellani cannot repress the urge to show that he knows some English words and tries to use one at least every two sentences.
Ploughing through this book is really a masochistic enterprise, so I wouldn't advise it to anyone unless you really, really want to suffer!