She turned onto a dead-end lane off the Via Roma. Her father’s workshop was here, in an old cinema building he had bought two decades ago, the year Giulia was born. Back then, he had been operating out of smaller premises and needed to move somewhere bigger. The facade still bore the frames where film posters used to be displayed. The days were long gone when the Palermitani would jostle for tickets to see comedies starring Alberto Sordi, Vittorio Gassman, Nino Manfredi, Ugo Tognazzi or Marcello Mastroianni. Most of the cinemas had closed down, just like this little neighbourhood picture-house had done. The old projection room had been turned into an office, and windows had been cut into the auditorium walls to give the women enough light to work by. Papà had put them in himself. The place was like him, Giulia thought: rough-edged and warm. Pietro Lanfredi was liked and respected by his employees, despite his legendary rages. He was a loving father, but authoritarian too, with high standards. He had brought up his daughters to respect discipline; given them his taste for hard work and a job well done.

Giulia took the key and opened the door. Usually, her father was the first to arrive. He liked to greet his workers in person – that’s what a proper padrone does, he would say. Always a kind word for one of the women, a thoughtful gesture for another, a moment’s attention for everyone. But today was his day for making the rounds of the hair salons of Palermo and the surrounding villages. He wouldn’t be back before noon. This morning, Giulia was in charge.

All was quiet in the workshop at this hour. Soon the place would be humming with voices, singing, scraps of conversation, but for now there were only Giulia’s footsteps, echoing in the silence. She walked to the workers’ changing room and stowed her things in the locker bearing her name. She took her overall and slipped it on, as she did every day, like a second skin. She gathered her hair, rolled it into a tight chignon and pinned it with nimble fingers. Then she covered her head with a scarf – an essential precaution here. No stray strands could be allowed to mingle with the hair being treated at the workshop. Dressed and scarved, she was no longer the padrone’s daughter; she was a worker like any other, an employee of the House of Lanfredi. This was important to her – she had always refused special treatment of any kind.