The Bastards grow with the fundamental help of a number of wonderful people.
Fabiola Mancone, Valeria Moffa, Gigi Bonagura, Paolo Cortis: the angels of the city, and my own personal guardians.
Giulio Di Mizio, for everything that concerns the job of the medical examiner and our conversations about death and life.
Sister Rosa from the Convent of the Thirty-Three (Monastero delle Trentatre), for her patient efforts to instruct a perfect ignoramus on religious topics.
Roberto de Giovanni, for leading me through the mysteries of biotechnology, and Giovanni de Giovanni, for having kept me company during the writing.
Stefania Negro, who stitches one book to the other with extraordinary care.
I Corpi Freddi, who are inside every one of my stories.
Severino Cesari, Francesco Colombo, Paolo Repetti, Valentina Pattavina, Rosella Postorino. This and other novels belong to them more than to the author.
Maria Cristina Guerra, for her heroic support.
The late Gigi Guidotti: I don’t know how I’ll travel this road without him.
And once again, she who is at the source of all my writing and who lets me wander off, since I know she will be there to greet me with a smile once the river stops flowing: my Paola.