“Any artist may paint the truth,
“Any artist may paint the truth,or the truth as they see it.”
or the truth as they see it.”The carriage tethered to the post before her home looked familiar, but Viviana was unable to place it. She stepped around it to her door, assuming it was but one of her sons’ regular customers.
But one should never assume.
Her sons, like the ground floor full of employees, swirled in an eddy of frantic busyness. Viviana had no desire to get in their way, yet she needed to.
“Dinner this Sunday, sì?” she asked them quickly.
sì“Of course, Mama,” Rudolfo rushed past her.
Marcello simply nodded; he had not a glance to spare her from the mounds of parchment on a desk made invisible by them. Viviana leaned over the escritoire toward him. “I think it best if Carina doe
