“There are always roses among the thorns”
“There are always roses among the thorns”“Truly, Mama, if you take much longer, I will…”
“Rudolfo!”
Viviana threw open the door, her mouth split wide at the sight of both sons. Halfway up the curved staircase, so handsome, so young and strong, each with his own swagger yet with brotherhood undenied in the curve of the eye, in the width of the smile—her smile.
“Marcello!”
The very essence of life changed in that moment.
She was a young girl again, running after the round-cheeked little boys, so full of life, hair of curls, mouths boasting only a few teeth. As they climbed to greet her, Viviana flung herself into their arms. She pulled them close as if she were drowning and they were all that kept her afloat.
“Madre mia,” Marcello, the eldest,
