The Wild West. The words conjure images of cowboys and injuns … rattlesnakes and rot-gut whiskey … red-hot branding irons glowing in an open fire on the open range, ready to leave their mark more on the man than a steer’s bum … because nobody likes a bum steer. These are the smoky trails … before Marlboro was a man and an outhouse was still a luxury … all wisps of wonder wafting eastward, across the Atlantic, on to Sardinia … and into mind for young assistant deputy-to-be, Giovanni Sacchettini.
It’s 1876 and Gio, full of optimism and olive oil, hopes to join his Mafioso father in the royal protection business. A series of unfortunate events however – some might call Gio “a nice guy but a bit of a chucklehead” – puts him on the run for greener, less ornery pastures. He blazes a trail westward ho as only he can, leaving his mark in the corral dust of history. That is, the Wild West – the whole kit and caboodle – revisited for a spell.