The Mafia Don knew that he would smash his friend's face if he stayed and he had no intention of scaring the children. He turned and strode towards the house, determined to take it out on his wife. But she was in the kitchen, her hair in a messy bun, tendrils curling around her flushed cheeks and long neck, with her arms deep in the dough as she prepared dinner. She was surrounded by the kitchen staff, who stood around, watching her with interest. Beatrice stood close, talking rapidly, watching over Proserpina with pride.

He stood in the doorway, studying the cosy atmosphere. The Mafia Don felt like a stranger...