Women and the ’ndrangheta: a family you can’t refuse

It is the autumn of 2015 in Calabria, the ‘toe’ of Italy. The place is Polsi, a small village clustered around a church that is said to be built on a seventh-century shrine. It’s famous for its statue of the Madonna, a magnet for pilgrims from around Italy and the world.

A tall, slim young woman glides through the crowd that’s gathered in front of the church. Her straight hair is held back from her finely chiselled face with a thin black headband. Lustrous and dark brown, it reaches almost to her waist. She holds her toned shoulders back, her head high, and gives the people a half smile. In a thin-strapped black singlet and body-hugging jeans, there is something almost regal about her. It’s obvious she commands respect, and knows it.