Elena didn't flinch. She’d seen old buildings do strange things. Floors remember. They remember the feet that walked them, the wine that stained them, the arguments and the lullabies.
She followed. In the pantry, under a loose brick, she found a rusted key. And behind a false panel in the chimney, a small wooden box. wil tile xxx
"Six times," Rinaldi sighed. "Each new tile cracks within a week. Or it slides half an inch overnight. The workmen call it la matta —the wild tile." Elena didn't flinch
"Have you tried cutting a new tile to fit?" she asked. the wine that stained them