He Burned the Woman His Mistress Killed, Then Learned She Was His Mother

Rosa Moretti had come in from the old country village for the feast day, and I took her to dine at the Family's newest social club, the flagship front my husband had opened only weeks before.

I ordered her favorite, the braised fish, but after one bite she found it stone cold, ice crystals still glinting inside the flesh.

I called the woman running the floor over, but she was blasé.

"Oh. I forgot to have it warmed."

I was puzzled. "You serve packaged food here? In a house like this?"