Piazza Bella - Primi XVI
Piazza Bella - Primi XVI
A Besom Sweeps Clean
Piazza Bella - Aperitivo: I | II | III | IV | V | VI | VII | VIII | IX | X | XI | XII | XIII
Piazza Bella - Antipasto: I | II | III | IV | V | VI | VII | VIII | IX | X
Piazza Bella - Primi: Prologue | II | III | IV | V | VI | VII | VIII | IX | X | XI | XII | XIII | XIV | XV
Hi reader, before immersing in this chapter, kindly note the following, which I promise is relevant:
Besoms, also known as witches' brooms, are traditional tools used for sweeping and cleansing. They have a long history and have been associated with various rituals and practices, particularly in the realm of witchcraft and magic. The word "besom" is derived from the Old English "besma," which means broom.
Bella was incandescent with rage when we walked away from the wine seller after receiving dire news. I had an out-of-body experience and struggled to grasp my reality as Federico’s deceit percolated through my dulled brain, eventually punctuating painfully through an uneasy emotional state of mind.
Sarah’s anxiety rose quickly, and she split from us, hurrying away in the opposite direction. I couldn’t blame her, figuring she had enough emotional wreckage to deal with without watching our lives descend into chaos. As she strode out quickly, getting up a head of steam, I couldn’t match my sister’s pace as she aimed herself in the general direction of Federico’s restaurant, as I imagined a cruise missile would.
“Where are we going?”
“To see that old shit bag and give him a piece of our minds.”
“No… no, Bella, please, no… I am begging you, don’t do this.”
“Why the fuck not?”
She slowed momentarily, and I managed to haul Bella into a U-turn, but it was like forcing an oil tanker to adjust course by one hundred and eighty degrees. A small cicchetti house nearby looked like a beacon of safety, so I dragged my sister down two steps before its wooden and glass-paneled front door and three more steps after it into a dimly lit food paradise.
Inside, the ancient dining room was empty. The patron, an elderly man with a kind smile, set down his Besom and smiled. I flashed a forced grin and pointed to a table, barking an order without my usual politeness, feeling flustered.