“Vittoria, you are alright, you are alright.” Vittoria looks up at her with red eyes. “It’s all my fault the truffle is ruined—I—stole Ugo’s Vespa from Nonna’s shed, I was driving it when I shouldn’t have been—I was selling things to make money for Nonna’s house—and yesterday I parked the Vespa in Borghese and someone stole it—”
