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Summary
“There was this dream,” He said, “There were babies, many of them. It usually starts like this.” He confessed, “But this one was different.” “How, Your Holiness?” Tommaso asked. Brows furrowed as blue eyes darted to the side and then back at the man. “There was a sole baby in the middle of the square, swathed in sheer cloth and it cried.” Balancing the cigarette between his teeth, he searched for his lighter. “And then a woman appeared with a blue mantilla.” “La Madonna?” Tomasso asked. “No, la mia donna,” he turned to look at Tommaso. “But it always comes back to the mother, doesn’t it?” He huffed in amusement.