Cesare walked with a swagger along the seafront at Amalfi, knowing that his henchmen would even now be confronting the deceitful wife - but not realising that she was stuck under the long, scraggy body of his arch enemy.
The coachman urged the horses on even faster as he yelled to his passengers, "Sir! Madam! Riders approaching from the South!", but they could not hear him over the violent noise of the storm, and the carriage picked up speed, as did their greedy undulations.
The horsemen strew vast swaths of bubble wrap in the path of the oncoming carriage.
When their hooves hit the bubble wrap, the horses bolted, causing the carriage to overturn, killing the coachman instantly, freeing the horses, and leaving the injured lovers trapped in each other's arms in the wreckage, naked and badly bruised.
Cesare's men surrounded them and stowed each individually in the remaining bubble wrap packaging, leaving small bubblewrap gaps in the nasal area.
Then they bundled them into the carriage again, and rolled it to the edge of the precipitous ravine that ran the length of the road.
Through her frightened tears, and the bubble wrap that enclosed them together, Francesca could hear Carlo trying to console her, "My darling, at least it looks like we are going to go out with a bang!"
A lightning bolt hit the carriage, and flames lept up around them as Cesare's men bolted from the area, leaving the two lovers to a seemingly certain death.
Fumes from the bubblewrap soon started to overcome their senses, and they swooned in each other's arms.
Carlo began furiously chewing at the bubble wrap, trying desperately to free himself from this horribly gruesome fiery death.
Miraculously, he succeeded, and after freeing Francesca from her bonds also, the two lovers limped back up the ravine to the road, recovered most of their clothing, and hoped to catch a ride into Sorrento where they knew Maestro Grigorovitch would be waiting.
Maestro Gregorovich was having another snack.
As he stood on the ancient stone balcony of his apartment in Sorrento eating another slice of pizza marghuerita and enjoying the citrus-scented breezes, Carlo and Francesca were slowly making their way into town on the backs of wild donkeys.
Clop, clop clop, clop clop clop clop - sounds of donkey hooves on cobblestones resounded down into the nearby village at the same time the aroma of freshly roasted porchetta wafted up to the road.
"Is this the Maestro's street?" Carlo asked his benefactress, pointing at a narrow passage off the main piazza and Francesca nodded painfully, increasingly aware of the swelling caused by the torn ligament in her neck.
The Maestro turned with a sigh to the luscious tiramisu with whipped cream which always accompanied his snacks, and belched comfortably.
By now having trouble holding her head up, Francesca rapped on the old Maestro's door three times and was promptly greeted in the familiar by the Maestro's one-eyed manservant, Luca.
Luca noticed Carlo's look of shock at her appearance and said abruptly in a brooklyn accent, "what's a matta, you got some kind a problem, there, fruitypants!?"
Carlo looked down and, sure enough, the front of his britches was covered in mashed bananas left over from the tryst in the carriage.
