The letter came in the morning mail, buried between invoices and a postcard from the grape supply company. Giuseppe, their old postman, had brought it with his usual friendly nod and comment on the nice weather. He didn't know that he was carrying something that would ruin the tranquility they had worked so hard to build.
The envelope didn't look strange. This is the kind of white paper that is sold in any stationery store from Rome to Amsterdam. It is the European standard size. There is no return address. The only thing that stood out about them were their fake names, Luca and Emilia Vieri, which were printed in a mechanical font that might have originated from any office printer.
As she continued her morning ritual at the kitchen counter, Lila wore the plain cotton dress she had pur
