The Internet Murders continues www.silvaredigonda.ca

Tomasso’s house was on a relatively quiet side street. Philip knocked at the back door and Tomasso answered it, beer in one hand. He was beaming. Tomasso loved his work and he loved his home life just as much, if not more. “Hey maw, look who’s here!” Mrs. Rossini turned away from the hot stove and her face lit up. “Philipo come in; sit down. You must be hungry. You look so skinny. I have to fatten you up. Look at Tomasso. He is healthy!” Tomasso beamed. “Tomasso, give Philipo a glass of vino, from the basement. Bring up a bottle.” Tomasso began to object because he wanted to offer Philip a beer. He received a slap at the back of the head. “Maw, you can’t hit me. I am a man.” “A man! A man you say? A man listens to his mama. Now go get the vino.” Tomasso went to get the wine reserved for special occasions. Philip was always a special occasion because he could do no wrong in his mother’s eyes. At the dinner table there was a nice spread, which was a regular routine at the Rossini household. “Philipo, tell me. “Did you find a nicea gal? My Tomasso, he don’t wanna nicea gal. I try.” “Mrs. Rossini, I am still looking for one just like you, but I don’t think she exists.” Tomasso’s mom beamed. “Yu talka to alla gals lika that. I know. You carmo!” “Charmer, maw.” Tomasso blurted out before getting another cuff at the back of the neck.” “Maw stop hitting me!” Philip laughed. There was so much warmth and laughter in this house. Not at all like at his mom’s. His own mother never overcame the loss when his dad died. He had been her passion, her one love, she told him sadly over tea one day. His mother was the opposite of Mrs. Rossini except for one thing. They both had an enormous and protective love for their sons. Mrs. Rossini was a big woman and a bit crass for some, but with a huge heart and bubbling laugh. Mrs. Rossini always wore an oversized apron, with a caricature of a very jolly man with the most elaborate moustache, holding onto a spatula with some strings of spaghetti dangling. It seemed to be a male version of herself. He tried to remember if he had ever seen her without it. His own mother, the epitome of sophistication, was always immaculately dressed in the latest designer clothes, her blond hair coiffed neatly back. She had a soft demeanour and still turned heads where ever she went. She seemed oblivious to the attention. She spent most of her time supporting local charities and fundraising for the art gallery and the wing of the hospital where her husband had died. She was very comfortable. His dad had seen to that. He had been heavily insured and had accumulated some wealth throughout his young life. There was a pension from the university as well. Maybe with time, he thought, she could find love again. His attention went back to the table where Mrs. Rossini had provided Tomasso with another smack at the back of his head. “Mawwwww!” Excerpt From: Silva Redigonda. “The Internet Murders.”