Adriano Di Lauro

For a moment I don't think I'll make it in time, but my feet seem to fly and I stop her hand just a few millimeters from my wife's face.

Blood rushes through my veins feverishly, bubbling at the boiling point of hers and as it boils higher, the chill in my gaze grows. It is a trait that characterizes me: hot inside, cold outside.

"Don't you ever lay a hand on my wife". My voice is barely a hoarse whisper. "Not even with your thought".

"She offended me!" The old woman protests.