Wrapped in white sheets on pink granite, set underground like an old-time bunker, hidden from the satellite reliefs by an eternally irrigated lawn without droppers, positioned right above the roofs of the "ghost" villa. The hermitage is a secret as few, stretching out towards the bay of Capo Capaccia, in the turquoise waters of the paradise of the Costa Smeralda. The cameras that surround it follow the faces from a distance, free access to those cliffs sculpted by the wind and the sea is forbidden even to the most rebellious rams at the forbidden gates. The entrance is dead-end. A roundabout makes you understand in no uncertain terms that you cannot go further, you have to turn. A block of olive wood, massive as a bison, runs on a steel track, between two stone pillars. The number is 26 of the Russian street in the hermitage of Romazzino, Porto Cervo. It is useless to look for the name on the doorbell, at most you can come across yet another severe eye set between small buttons and access codes that obviously nobody knows. Cars do not arrive here, no one dares to cross that winding path from the dead end. The extreme gamble was to place two silent bows in the secondary gate of this enclave, one white and green, like the flag of the violated land, and one white and red, of the invading nation. For the rest silence, absolute and impregnable.
Rocky Ram, the ram
That that tongue of pink rock is forbidden and inviolable can be understood from the name of the "dacha" in Sardinia, Rocky Ram, literally "rocky ram". Stubborn and lonely, aggressive and haughty. When a sort of dated Simca, a greenish quattroruote of other times, appears on the roundabout, the question arises spontaneously, addressed to the lady on her honeymoon backwards, who evokes the glories of the past with her better half. Wary, despite retirement, she replies with pride: I worked for many years here with the Engineer, I lived there as if it were my home. But then the Russians arrived, and we went back to the village.
The Engineer
It is useless to ask who the Engineer is, he will never tell. For discretion and eternal confidentiality. Here, however, for everyone, the Engineer is much more than a name and a surname. As for the Advocate or the Knight. It is the dawn of ten years ago when Carlo de Benedetti, almost an Italian oligarch, powerful and influential as few in the economic, political and editorial life of the Bel Paese, goes to the notary Carlo Munafò in Saronno together with Mrs. Margherita Crosetti, his first wife. To be sold there is a modest cheap company, with an allotment to make even the most chauvinist of Islamic faiths shudder, 90 euros owned by the Engineer and ten euros by his wife. It is a pity that the anonymous “Romazzino simple society”, born on 16 May 1995 and registered office in via Valeggio in Turin, is anything but an empty box. In the real estate “belly” of that modest team of such a consort there is the number one, the most exclusive, the unattainable villa of Capo Capaccia, Rocky Ram. It is March 26, 2012 when the spouses put their signature on that piece of paper with which they sell that strip of Sardinia to an unknown gentleman legal representative of a registered company a thousand miles away from the rocky ram. From the emerald paradise to the fiscal paradise of Cyprus, the step is short, secret, hidden and armored in the vaults of the third Mediterranean island, after Sicily and Sardinia. The sales contract is top secret. It is useless to dig into the Conservatories. Carlo de Benedetti, far-sighted and prescient, on April 3 two years ago dissolved the family company without liquidation. In the chamber registers, the "Romazzino" is a "canceled" company. Official sales documents are inaccessible on the Italian front. All that remains is to rely on the merchants of golden castles who are not lacking here, in the emerald genius of the Aga Khan Karim.
