Vittoria was the woman who shot a bullet right through me. Even though I was technically healed, the fresh pink scar continued to ache. I should not have been smiling at her harmless flirting and immature teasing. And yet, her commentary on dinner became one of my favorite segments of the day.

She was brutally honest about her cooking and at times got cocky when her winning streak surpassed two days of good meals. By the third, she was promptly reminded that while she was an okay cook, she wasn’t a great one, and usually ended with her scraping the contents of her monstrous creation directly into the trash can and eating a bowl of cereal instead.

In her solitude, her inquisitive nature grew and she often asked me questions about myself, about how the kids were doing, and how she would really like a visit from Giada if I were to ever allow it.

It was strange that she rarely mentioned her sister, but then knowing Vincenza Vero, I deduced it wasn’t strange at all.

Their family dynamic was peculiar. It was curious to me that after that initial visit, Vincenza hadn’t followed up on her sister’s whereabouts. Had it been Giada, I would have torn the walls off of the fucking house with my bare hands just to get to her. I had a hard time understanding where or how the two fit in with one another. Vittoria was devoted to her sister regardless of her shortcomings, but Vincenza… she seemed to have moved on without giving Vittoria a second thought.

I didn’t like that. It was bullshit. But so long as my wife remained unaffected, it wasn’t my business.

The closer it got to the evening, I felt a restless impatience stir in my loins. I made sure that by eleven thirty, I was safely in the confines of my bedroom because that was usually when her performance began. I sat up against the headboard with the sheet loosely draped over the lower half of my naked body, my phone in my hands, waiting for my private show.